When The Dragonwolf Danced

by Alperez16

A collaborative effort between myself and my good friend, SPh0015. Jon Snow is born much earlier to a different prince of House Targaryen. Raised as Daemon Targaryen's son and betrothed to his cousin, Rhaenyra. How does his presence affect the Dance of Dragons and will he ever make sense of the dreams that hint at who he truly is?

6. Where the Wolves Howl

King's Landing 111 AC.

Viserys Targaryen.

Viserys, like everyone, was shocked by the death of Ser Arthor Oakheart. Though none were more so than his nephew, who after the knight failed to rise, jumped off his horse and knelt down beside the clearly dying man. Hearing the panic and concern in Aemon's voice, Viserys at first believed his nephew himself had been injured. The relief that he, Daemon, and Rhaenyra felt about that not being so, was but fleeting, however.

Aemon didn't attend that night's feast and it was during it that the first whispers began. Viserys not hearing them himself until the next day at the Small Council meeting. A meeting at which he thanked the gods that Otto Hightower was no longer his Hand. As he knew full well what words would be spoken about his nephew was that still to be so. Instead, it was left to each of his Small Council to make their feelings known. Though mainly it fell to Ser Gaven Tarly as both his Master of Whisperers and a man of the Reach.

"There are some who name this unfortunate accident as more than that, Your Grace." Ser Lyonel Strong began, his Hand blunt and to the point as always.

"Yet accident it clearly was, Lord Hand." Grandmaester Runciter replied.

"Can we be sure of such?" Lord Jaspar Wylde, the Master of Laws asked.

"It was as clean a joust as I ever saw, Lord Wylde." Ser Harrold Westerling declared. The Lord Commander's word on martial matters one that Viserys accepted completely.

"Should Weregild be offered?" Lord Lyman Beesbury asked, the Master of Coin thinking only of that.

Viserys looked aghast at the Master of Coin. The mere idea of a Prince of the Blood paying a debt such as was being suggested was not one that he would entertain. Before he got a chance to speak up about it, however, Ser Harrold put paid to that idea. It allowed Viserys a moment more to consider and he looked first to his Master of Ships, Lord Robert Redwyne, and then to his Master of Whisperers, Ser Gaven Tarly. Both men were from the Reach and both had been notably silent. Something that was to continue in Lord Robert's regard at least.

"Ser Arthor was not a beloved man, your grace." Ser Gaven began. "A most ambitious one too," he added as all eyes now looked his way. "His family are well aware of this and would see this as what it truly was."

"Which was?" Lord Lyonel asked.

"An unfortunate accident as the Grandmaester has rightly named it." Ser Gaven said looking not at Runciter but at Viserys.

"Then no more shall be spoken of this," Viserys said as he readied to rise. "If that is all, my lords."

"Your Grace." Lord Lyonel bowed his head and Viserys rose to his feet, Ser Harrold taking up his position at his back as they left the Small Council Chambers.

He held hope that this would indeed be the end of it and yet deep down he knew it would not. Firstly Daemon came to make his own case in Aemon's defense. One that had no need to be made, as Viserys told him truly. Then it was Alicent and her brothers, none of whom were happy and all of whom named Ser Arthor as far more than he truly was. Lastly, it was Rhaenyra who showed her worries and concerns as well as her sense of duty at the same time. Viserys was never more proud of her than he was as they spoke and when she made her request.

"A Royal Procession?" he asked. His fingers touching his chin as he considered the request.

"It would do the realm good to see their future Queen and King Consort, Father. As it would Aemon and I to see those we mean to rule over." Rhaenyra said passionately.

"That it would. Yet it could not be immediately, nor even in the next moon or so."

"No, not immediately, Father." Rhaenyra smiled.

"Then I name it a wondrous idea, Daughter mine."

He was embraced then by his daughter. The first they'd shared in far too long and one he welcomed eagerly. Later, they sat together and watched the tourney come to an end. The joyous occasion he'd hoped for, was almost what it had turned out to be, as other than Ser Arthor's death and a few bumps and bruises, no one else suffered any harm. Ser Criston Cole ended up taking the day and so Viserys lost the coin he put on Aemon, though he cared not for such.

He was happy to see Aemon attend the closing feast. Though it was clear by his expression that the joust had taken a toll on his nephew and other than with his father or Rhaenyra, nary a smile crossed Aemon's face. That he was then able to garner one later that night was something Viserys was most pleased about. His permission for Aemon and Rhaenyra to join Daemon on Dragonstone earned him a true smile and the gratitude of his nephew, brother, and daughter all at the same time.

Three Moons Later.

Even now, three moons after it had happened, his wife would still bring up Ser Arthor's death. At times she was more and more her father's daughter than her own woman, Viserys was loathe to see. Again and again, words were spoken that named Ser Arthor as more than he was and Aemon's actions as those they were very much not. So much so, that for the first time in their marriage, he and Alicent argued more than once.

Through his Master of Whisperers, Ser Gaven, Viserys had learned that Aemon himself had arranged for Ser Arthor's body to be seen to by the Silent Sisters. His nephew had even paid for the return of his bones to his family and had written a letter that only he and the Oakhearts would ever know the contents of. All of which put paid to any suggestion by Alicent or her brothers that his nephew was a callous and uncaring young man.

As for Aemon himself, his nephew had taken some time to put the death behind him and Viserys had been proved right in allowing both Aemon and Rhaenyra to spend so much time on Dragonstone with Daemon. While he missed his daughter much and was most grateful to have her and Aemon return often, his nephew's needs overruled his own as far as Viserys was concerned. Especially since Daemon had informed the Small Council that he'd not be staying for long, for the Stepstones needed their king and their enemies were ever watchful. It had led to a different conversation with his brother than he'd wished for, yet one that led to them parting as amicably as ever they had.

"I had hoped you'd serve, Daemon. A role of your choosing." Viserys said after Daemon had informed him of his intent to leave.

"Would that I could, brother. The Triarchy, however, would take my staying as a signal to attack. The Stepstones hold only because Corlys and I together will it so. Because Caraxes wills it so. Even knowing that. I know too that in time the Triarchs will think themselves strong enough to take it by force once more." Daemon said, sounding almost eager for the fight to Viserys ear.

"You truly believe they'll seek to regain the islands?"

"I know they will," Daemon said firmly.

There had been a time when Viserys would have said those accursed islands weren't worth the bother. Aemon, Daemon, and Corlys, along with others whose counsel he had listened to on the matter had changed his opinion on the Stepstone's worth, almost completely. Though a part of him still wasn't sure they were worth his brother's time or presence. Something he was about to say, only for Daemon to make a suggestion that took Viserys aback.

"Besides, you don't need my counsel nor my sword or dragon, Brother."

"That's untrue, Daemon, I always need at least one of those things." Viserys japed, garnering a true laugh from his brother in the process.

"You have, Aemon's, brother. My son is far more clever than I am and just as it stands my niece in good stead to serve in the role she does, it would serve my son to serve too. Would it not?"

"Aemon is too old to be a cupbearer, Daemon."

"But not too old to take on my old role as Commander of the Gold Cloaks."

Viserys was about to argue that Aemon was indeed too young for such, only for Daemon's words on who it was who was truly responsible for their being so little crime during the tourney to give him pause. When he asked, just to be certain that it was indeed all Aemon's doing, Daemon was firm and truthful. His brother even japing that not only did Aemon do as he said, but the little sod did it without asking for his leave or permission.

"I will think on it, Daemon, though I can see no fault in the idea."

"He'll serve you and the realm well, brother," Daemon said as he turned to leave.

"Be safe, brother," Viserys said, almost whispering.

"I'm never safe, brother, I thought you knew this about me."

"Be careful then." Viserys laughed.

"Always."

Opening his eyes, Viserys wondered why the memory of that conversation came to him now of all times. It was only later in the day, as they said their goodbyes and he waved Rhaenyra and Aemon off on their Royal Procession, that he realized the reason it had. Daemon had left more than a moon earlier, his brother leading a convoy of ships to the Stepstones and so not being here to wave his son and his niece off. The honor and responsibility for that having fallen to Viserys instead.

Sad as he was to see them leave, there was much pride in Viserys' voice as he spoke to them both. Not even the thoughts that it would be many moons until he saw either of them again were enough to stop that pride from being his overriding emotion. Viserys stood and smiled broadly as he watched almost the entirety of King's Landing come bid fare thee well to their future Queen and King.

That night, Viserys walked the Red Keep with Ser Harrold as his guard, both of them feeling the aches and pains of a long day. His own ailments were getting worse and worse, though he hid them as well as he could. While the Lord Commander was getting on in years and was not as spry as he used to be. His wanderings took him to the nursery where he looked in on his youngest son and daughter, then to Aegon's room where his oldest son slept peacefully. Finally, they took him to his wife's chambers and reluctantly he walked away from them and to his own. Only relenting once he took his seat on his bed and looked around the empty room.

"Ask my wife to join me," he said to Ser Harrold, the knight doing as he asked and Viserys both looked forward to the night to come and felt it to be one that was much needed. The small rift between Alicent and him was not one he'd allow to become a much larger one and there was a far better chance of healing that rift with Rhaenyra and Aemon far from sight.

Dragonstone 111 AC. (Two Moons Earlier)

Daemon Targaryen.

The three dragons soared through the air. Caraxes leading the way with both Vermithor and Syrax seeking to close the gap. Looking over his shoulder, Daemon watched as the Bronze Fury rose high and disappeared from his sight. Syrax at first matched the larger dragon's movements, yet soon headed in a different direction than the Bronze Fury. It brought a smile to his face as one of the earliest lessons he'd given his son and niece was now set to be used against him.

Laying down so he was almost flush on Caraxes' back, Daemon bid his dragon to fly faster. The attack was soon to come and it was for the best if he and his dragon were not where they were expected to be. Eyes on the horizon, with the occasional look up and to the sides, Daemon felt prepared for anything and yet he was stunned and shocked when Aemon and Rhaenyra reappeared.

They had learned, adapted, and dare he say, improved, on each of the lessons he'd tried to impart to them both. While he expected them to come from either side and above, only one of them did so. Aemon and Vermithor diving towards him and giving both him and Caraxes a large enough problem to deal with. One that was only exasperated by Syrax attacking not from above, but from below. There would be no flames to face, nor would this dance be settled by tooth and claw, yet a battle it would be all the same. Daemon felt his blood begin to rise as that battle began now in earnest.

An increase of speed from the Blood Wyrm, one that was matched by Vermithor whose dive gave him a distinct advantage. A quick sharp turn, to throw off Syrax off, as the She Dragon's slower speed was no less dangerous. Daemon almost believed victory or at least avoiding defeat was close at hand. That belief was shattered when Vermithor almost stopped in mid-air, its large tan wings opening up and slowing its descent. While below, Syrax somehow was able to find far more speed than should be possible.

Knowing he was done for and now feeling the wind and heat from both dragons' wings as they closed in on their target, Daemon looked not at his son or niece, but to the ground below. He wondered how it looked to their guests. To Corlys and Rhaenys, Laenor and Laena, the Sea Snake seeing clearly what Daemon already knew. His son was as born for battle as Daemon was and his niece was or would be just as gifted in this regard. He only hoped that neither of them would ever have the need to do anything more than play these simple games, and were he a man who believed in gods, he'd pray for that to be so. Alas, Daemon had long since given up such foolish beliefs and was far too much of a realist to think that Aemon, at least, wouldn't know war at some point in his life.

"Se tubis iksis aōhon!" (The day is yours) he shouted out as Aemon and Rhaenyra looked at him from no more than a few feet away. The smiles that both wore were more than worth the price of Daemon's defeat.

All three dragons now flew far more leisurely and were soon joined by three more. Vhagar, Meleys, and Seasmoke were all riderless for now, and yet by night's end, Daemon would wager that Laenor and Laena would ask to be included in his son and niece's night-time flight. Corlys' not-so-subtle attempts to try and break Aemon and Rhaenyra's betrothal was something that Daemon allowed to continue. Though only at Aemon's behest. His son showing a mind for politics that Daemon had never cared to develop.

As they turned and flew back to the island, their day done, they were joined by another dragon, this one even more welcomed than the other three had been. Daemon looked on almost awestruck as Silverwing flew so close to Vermithor that he wagered Aemon could reach out and touch the She-Dragon were he to wish to. Though it was the sounds that came from both Vermithor and Silverwing that were truly awe-inspiring. A song of sorts being sung by one to the other. One which sounded half a lament and half a love song to Daemon's ears.

By the time they reached the island, the three dragons were alone once more. Daemon bid Caraxes to land and both Vermithor and Syrax reluctantly joined the Blood Wyrm as he did so. Once they'd landed and dismounted, Daemon quickly praised Aemon and Rhaenyra for their win and their tactics. His niece giving his son the credit while Aemon named Rhaenyra as the true victor.

"I could not have flown from below, only you and Syrax could manage such a maneuver, Nyra."

"Yet it was your idea, Aems." his niece replied.

It had become something he'd noticed more and more. Each of them was only too eager to praise the other. Both of them always so proud of what the other achieved. It boded well for their future, as it showed that while they had a dragon's arrogance at times, they did not when it came to the other's achievements. Something that would stand them in good stead when they sat on the Iron Throne together.

"Come, no doubt our guests are irked that we've taken up so much of the morning." Daemon japed.

"More likely, Laenor and Laena are put out that they didn't get to join us." Rhaenyra giggled.

"Don't rule out Rhaenys, niece. She may act all strict and proper, but no one likes a good morning flight as much as her or the Red Queen."

Aemon watched the exchange with a small fond smile on his face. His son had shown that side of himself more and more since they'd been on the island. Dragonstone had always had a way of bringing that out even in him, Daemon remembered. The island belonged to dragons and dragon riders and ever did they feel most at ease when they stood on its rocky ground. It had been why he'd been so eager for them to come here after the tourney, and why he'd actually welcomed his brother's words and actions for once.

His son had killed a man. He'd done so at far too young an age and while it was much different from Daemon's own first kill, the feelings it brought up were very much not. You needed time to comprehend the magnitude of what you'd done after you'd taken a life. Even the life of a man who wished you ill or dead. The thoughts that you'd taken everything from that man, every hope, dream, his future now forever unrealized, all of it was much to bear. Aemon, much to Daemon's relief, bore it well. Better since they'd come here and after Daemon had spoken to him much on how he'd felt when he too had taken a life for the first time.

"For it not to bother you, it would make you a madman, Son. A cruel and hateful man whose heart was as black as his soul."

"Yet to feel this….to know this…."

"It'll get better in time, Aemon. Know that you did no wrong and had Ser Arthor not challenged you, he'd live still."

"Is that enough?" Aemon asked.

"Only time will tell," Daemon replied.

That was the truth of it too. Only time would tell if Aemon would accept that he was not at fault. Not the words that Daemon, the Grandmaester, Ser Harrold, or Ser Daeron, nor those that Corlys or Viserys, uttered would be enough. Not even those spoken to his son by Rhaenyra in those first few nights after the joust would prove enough in the end. His son would, and had shown enough here to prove that soon he'd recover and put it all behind him. Should Aemon take another life, then he may feel differently and were he to take the life of a man who sought his own end, then he very much would.

"A truly wonderful show, my prince." Laena Velaryon called out as they were joined by Corlys, Rhaenys, and their children.

"Indeed. 'Tis good to see you brought down a peg or too, Daemon." Rhaenys added, a smirk on her face as she spoke.

"These two work too well together, cousin, I am but one man." he sighed, over elaborately though it may have been.

Daemon had no need to turn to look at his niece or son to know they wore half-smiles on their faces. Nor did he have long to wait before they, their guards, and the Velaryon children hurried off to do whatever it was they did during the day. Looking to Corlys, he could see the frown on the Sea Snake's face and he knew then that his time on Dragonstone and in Westeros was coming to an end. He only hoped he'd get a little more time with Aemon before it did so.

Three Weeks Later.

They sparred away from prying eyes. Just him and Aemon. Lessons first and a true spar to follow. Daemon corrected his son's stance and dissuaded him from some of the lessons that Criston Cole had given him. He taught him things that no knight would teach and ways to fight that were far from honorable. Each lesson was one that would serve Aemon well in the future and his words were ones that he hoped his son took note of.

"The only thing you need to take from a fight is your life, Aemon, nothing else matters."

"The tombs are filled with many men who fought honorably. Yet in the taverns those who did not, sing not songs of the dead."

"Do you think the Crab Feeder cared for my name, my sword, or whether or not I'd been taught how to fight by a man at arms? Or do you think he feared me because he knew I came but with one goal in mind, his death?"

"When you decide a man needs to die, he dies, Aemon. Never question your decision or second guess yourself, for the man who seeks your death never will."

"Know your enemy as well as you know yourself, Aemon. For only by doing both can you be assured of your victory."

The lessons like the words were eaten up by his son as if they were the most delicious of meals. Though none were welcomed quite as much as when he spoke on Aemon's mother. Their talks on Lyanna were frequent and often and when Aemon told him that he was traveling to Winterfell, Daemon felt a small bit jealous of his son. It had been far too long since he'd paid his own respects to the only woman he'd ever loved.

"For your mother," Daemon said as they sat and drank down their water. The sapphire was shaped like a rose and worth a fair amount of coin and yet Daemon had no fear that it would ever disappear from the Stark family crypt.

"A blue winter rose." Aemon smiled. "Long have I wished to look upon them for true."

"They are a most wondrous sight, son," Daemon said, eyes closed as he pictured Lyanna wearing one in her hair on the first day they'd met and when she'd captured his heart so completely.

Shaking the image from his mind, for now, Daemon spoke on the crypts and why he'd allowed her to be buried so far from them both. Aemon listened eagerly as he explained his reasoning.

"It wasn't because her family wished it so, though they very much did. Nor was it because I couldn't bear her loss, though that too was true," he said, taking a moment before continuing. "She was of the North, Aemon. Wild and free. Your mother was of the North, and the North is where she always belonged."

"I…I wish you were coming with me." Aemon said, his voice full of emotion.

"As do I, son. But my duties lie elsewhere and 'tis for the best you meet your mother's family and see her lands without my presence."

"Mayhap one day we could go together?" Aemon asked and Daemon reached out and placed a hand on his son's shoulder, looking into eyes that were as much his mother's as Aemon's dark hair was.

"I would much welcome that, son, very much so."

Three days later they said their goodbyes. Daemon had taught Aemon almost all he could and only life could teach him the rest. They promised to keep in touch, as they always had, and Daemon once again reiterated that Aemon was not at fault for Arthor Oakheart's death. His son seemed to accept it more so this time than any of the others. Then after one last flight, this time with only Vermithor and Caraxes flying together, they parted for only the gods knew how long.

The Stepstones needed their king, Westeros its prince and princess. A Royal Procession was soon to take place and Daemon looked forward to hearing how Aemon and Rhaenyra were greeted by one and all. As he did to the fulfillment of the promise that Aemon whispered in his ear as they embraced and said their goodbyes.

"I will come to you, Father, be it in a time of need or simply because I will it so. I will come to you, on that you have my oath and vow."

Oldtown 111 AC.

Otto Hightower.

Though he'd not been officially exiled from the capital, enough had been said to let Otto know that his presence was no longer welcomed. So despite wishing to be there to witness it himself, he instead had to wait for news to arrive of Aemon Targaryen's injury or death at the hands of Ser Arthor Oakheart. Not that the news of such ever arrived and Otto cursed the gods themselves when it was Ser Arthor and not Aemon who fell.

It had seemed so easy. A full-grown man against a boy in a joust. One who'd try to win and the other who'd seek to deliberately cause harm. In his wildest dreams and imaginings, Otto could almost see the rage and despair that would befall Daemon Targaryen when he found out what had happened to his son. He relished the thoughts that the Rogue Prince would shed tears and even that he'd unleash his wrath. Otto, however, knew full well that Ser Arthor would fall at someone other than Daemon Targaryen's hands. In this, he'd at least been proved right. For despite his own plans for the man, Ser Arthor Oakheart had indeed fallen.

It left him in a quandary. Once he'd gotten over his disappointment that was. So rather than celebrate the maiming or death of a prince, Otto instead joined in the mourning for a fallen knight. He stoked the flames of resentment amongst House Oakheart and hoped that one of Ser Arthor's brothers would seek to avenge their lost kin. All the while, he, his nephew, and other members of his House spoke up about how Aemon was much like his father and how this proved just that. Then all he had to do was sit back and wait, or so he believed. The Gods once again laughing at the plans Otto made.

"What do you mean they're coming to the Reach?" Otto asked his nephew, Ormund.

"A Royal Procession, Uncle. Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aemon are to visit the lands they one day intend to rule over." his nephew's words raised Otto's ire even more. Those lands were not to be ruled by any other than those who bore his blood.

"Where to and for how long?" he asked, eager to see if plans could be brought to bear for some sort of accident to befall one or the other of the thorns in his side. The joint obstacles to his family's rise.

"They are to leave within the moon, to travel to as many of the Seven Kingdoms as they can, though which route they are to take and where they plan to travel to first, I know not."

"They will come to the Reach, though, will they not?"

"They will."

For the next few weeks and moons, Otto made and discarded plans. An attack by bandits on the road. A Catspaw sneaking into the camp to slit their throats while they slept. Even an outright confrontation between one of Ser Arthor's brothers and Prince Aemon, all were looked at and all were rejected by him the more he thought about them. Bandits, even those paid, wouldn't attack a caravan as large as the one carrying the prince and princess. No catspaw other than one of the Faceless Men, would be good enough to sneak through such a heavily guarded camp. While the risk to their House was too much for House Oakheart to ever dare directly confront Prince Aemon.

The best he could hope for was a drunken brawl at a feast, where words and actions could conceivably get out of hand. Yet, for Otto's plans to work it would require level heads and clear-minded thinking. Something he feared would fall more in Prince Aemon's favor than in those of a drunken brother seeking vengeance. It left him annoyed and frustrated, as did the letters that came from Alicent in the capital. His daughter's words on how the Royal Procession was being welcomed were not ones that Otto enjoyed reading.

As for the procession itself, his spies told him just how right he was in his assessment of the size of Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Aemon's escort. The king taking no chances with the safety of his daughter and nephew. Close to two hundred men at arms traveled with them, along with another nearly a hundred servants and baggage handlers. Was that not enough to dissuade even the largest of forces, then the two dragons that were rarely out of sight certainly would be.

'What am I to do?' Otto pondered as he sat at his desk. A desk that was in one of his nephew's rooms, allocated to but not belonging to him.

Daemon's words about him would oft come to mind at times like this. His naming him as a second son who stood to inherit nothing that he didn't seize for himself had somewhat lit a fire in Otto's heart. If that was how he was thought of, then that's how he'd be, and when he was done seizing what he deserved, his blood would inherit all Seven Kingdoms. Though it was not what truly drove him, much though Daemon Targaryen and his son were wont to believe. No, it was not ambition that truly stoked the fires in Otto's heart, but a search for justice. The righting of a wrong. Payment for a debt that had not been given or even offered.

"A daughter's maidenhead deserves to be paid for, after all," he mumbled.

Plans put on hold for now, Otto made his way to his chambers and dressed for the night's feast. If his spies were right, which they always were, then the Royal Procession would have left the Stormlands by now. They would mayhap have even passed Summerhall already. Down the Cockleswhent to Ashford, from there along the Mander to Cider Hall and on to Highgarden. Otto trying not to think too much about how the Tyrells would preen at having a Princess and Prince in their halls. After Highgarden, the route the Royal Procession would take was unknown to anyone other than Prince Aemon and Princess Rhaenyra. Logic and politics would demand they travel onto Oldtown and yet they could just as easily take the Ocean Road and travel through the Westerlands and to Casterly Rock.

Would he be so fortunate?

Would the Gods smile down upon him and make it so?

Could he turn the Faith against them fully?

They were questions that only time would give him the answers to, and time was something he had much of, as there was little to do when you were a former Hand to a King and you held no holdings of your own. One thing had become clear to Otto, however, the idea of a Royal Procession was one he himself should have considered. It was one he'd now do his utmost to get Alicent to agree to. For the realm couldn't be swayed completely to Princess Rhaenyra's side, and especially not to the side of her future husband.

Two Moons Later.

Otto, his nephew, his nephew's wife, and Otto's sons, all stood in the greeting party at the gates of Oldtown. They were not alone in doing so, as the Most Devout had come out in force as too had the men of the Citadel. Yet it was the people who gave Otto the most pause. Rarely if ever had he seen a crowd so excited and so happy to welcome visitors to Oldtown. Their joy at the thought of seeing the Princess who would one day be their Queen and her future King Consort, was palpable and disturbing.

Eyes that looked from his nephew and his sons to the others there were soon turned to the large caravan that now came into view. Even Otto, despite his hatred of who was in that caravan, couldn't but help to be impressed. He'd heard it was two hundred men at arms with another hundred servants and followers on, that number had swelled it seemed. Looking as closely as he could, without making it obvious that was what he was doing, Otto soon noticed the banners and sigils that had added their own to the Royal Procession's numbers.

House Tyrell, House Ashford, House Fossoway, and to Otto's surprise, House Redwyne, were all represented, and had he a looking glass to hand, then he'd have seen the sneer he wore on his face. There were other sigils too, other men of the Reach and later as he pondered more on things, they annoyed him greatly too. For now, he schooled his expression and made ready to greet a princess and a prince. Secure in the knowledge that if he had his way, neither would ever wear a crown. It changed his sneer into a smile, though that was soon gone. The sight of the two dragons as they flew overhead and the sound of the loud roars they made, as well as the cheers of the crowd behind him, was more than enough to do so.

Riverrun 112 AC.

Ser Daeron Waters.

For six moons they'd travelled as much of the lands of Westeros as they could manage to fit in. From the Stormlands where Rhaenyra charmed every man and woman who spent any time in her company, while Aemon proved his prowess with a sword to any who challenged him. To the Reach where his prince spoke comfortably of trade and future plans with men who should know more about either than he.

Along the way they'd made friends, changed some perceptions of both Aemon and Rhaenyra, and secured promises of support for when they both sat on the Iron Throne. Yet it was not until Oldtown that Daeron actually saw the need for anything they were doing. Other than to allow Aemon to clear the memory of Arthor Oakheart's death from his mind that was. Which, thanks be to the gods, Daeron now believed was at least close to being done.

In Storm's End, it had been Aemon and not Rhaenyra that had truly made inroads with their hosts. More so their host's son, if truth be told. Old Lord Boremund seemed to simply put up with having them there, while his son Borros, welcomed having someone new to test his skills against. Their spars brought out the crowds to the yards at Storm's End and while at times his prince struggled against the strength of the older man, Aemon won more than he lost. Something that endeared him a little to Lord Borros.

"The man is as fierce as the waves that crash against the rocks below." Aemon said as they stood looking down over the cliffs."

"Yet skill wins out more oft than not."

"As my father rightly taught me, Ser Daeron."

During their time in the Reach, they sparred little and danced much. House Tyrell especially loved their feasts and balls and having their future queen under their roof gave them much reason to throw many of both. Their days there were spent hawking, hunting, and in Aemon's case, locked in negotiations regarding trading opportunities.

The Stepstones needed much and the tolls they demanded were expensive. Those who held Prince Daemon's favor or who were allied to his cause, benefited greatly or so Aemon once again confirmed to Lord Tyrell. Listening as Aemon more often than not brought up House Hightower's growing prominence and almost suggested that one day they may look to become Wardens themselves, Ser Daeron did his best not to chuckle.

His prince laid out future scenarios that benefited House Tyrell not, as well as those that very much did. The latter of those two things, as always, was only being achieved through close relationships and good favor with the future King Consort and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By the time they left Highgarden, House Tyrell had added to their escort. It's Lord more than eager to show the Hightowers that he too had friends in high places.

"Make them see the benefits and show them that rewards come to those who deserve them," Aemon said, another lesson that his prince had picked up from someone. Though this one was not one of his father's, Daeron would wager.

One of those favors had come in the shape of Lord Tyrell's daughter, Lady Olene, who had been absolutely thrilled and delighted to be named as one of Princess Rhaenyra's ladies in waiting. Excited too to find that she'd be traveling along with the Royal Procession to Oldtown, the West, Riverlands, and even the harsh and savage North, as her father put it.

In Oldtown, Daeron had watched as Aemon and Otto Hightower engaged in a silent war of wills. He'd listened as words were shared between them that said much and little at the same time. Then he'd walked in the Starry Sept with Rhaenyra and Aemon, sat by as they spoke to the Most Devout, and discussed their future wedding. With Aemon and the Young Wolves, they'd gone and visited the Citadel. A letter from Grandmaester Runciter allowing Aemon access to some books that he otherwise wouldn't have been allowed to see.

From there it had been to the Westerlands and Casterly Rock. Aemon stopping off first at Old Oak and offering his respects to House Oakheart, even against both Daeron and Rhaenyra's wishes. The words were accepted, if not welcomed, and Daeron felt that Aemon had achieved much and little in the speaking of them.

"Yet speak them I must." Aemon declared.

At night when they set up camp or first thing in the morning, it was to the dragons that Aemon and Rhaenyra made their way. The words shared between them were spoken in High Valyrian and though Daeron had learned some, he knew little of the language in truth. After a brief amount of time just speaking to the dragons, both Aemon and Rhaenyra would take to the sky and it could be an hour, two, or even longer before they'd be seen again.

Then, they'd eat, ride on if it was the morning, or settle in for the night if it was not. Their nights were spent laughing, japing, telling tall tales, and ending with Aemon leaving his betrothed to her tent and her ladies, before then doing his rounds. His prince making sure that their men were ever vigilant and alert and not even having both Vermithor and Syrax close by would ever allow Aemon to forgive a man who was not.

In Casterly Rock, they had their first true and somewhat unexpected awkwardness. The Lannisters' arrogance was not something that fit in well with a Prince or Princess of the Blood. Though Aemon kept his temper and didn't even cut short their stay. Only leaving when they'd spent as much time there as he and Rhaenyra had said they would. Lannisport was then visited under much different circumstances than it may have been otherwise. Aemon took to the sky on Vermithor as Rhaenyra slept and Daeron watched on as the Bronze Fury flew from the city to the mountain keep.

"For why, my prince?" he asked after the dragon had landed close to where he awaited Aemon's return.

"If you want peace, prepare for war, Ser," Aemon replied. No further words needed to be spoken and yet, Daeron couldn't truly believe that his prince felt there would ever be a need for war.

In the Riverlands, Aemon's mood improved and his excitement rose. Raventree Hall, Stone Hedge and Riverrun all being visited by their party and though they stayed a while in the latter, Aemon and Rhaenyra weren't idle when they did so. A flight over Harrenhal, where those below were happier to see the dragons than Harren had been when the Black Dread had been the great keep's visitor. Some time was spent near the God's Eye, with Aemon and Rhaenyra bathing in the cool crisp waters while their guards made sure they weren't disturbed. Even a brief visit to the Isle of Faces, though only Aemon seemed not to find the place discomfiting for some reason.

They had more guests join them as they left Riverrun and said goodbye to their hosts. Lord Grover Tully may have been a belligerent old man who liked women not, yet he'd been respectful and courteous. Although it was clear there was some disappointment that Rhaenyra was already betrothed, or so Aemon suggested. His sons on the other hand were far more friendly and his grandson Elmo asked and though he was not immediately accepted, was told he'd be considered to become Aemon's squire when his prince was knighted.

Ser Daeron would wager it would be someone else that Aemon would take to squire, however, mayhap even a Northman or Kinsman, depending on who made the actual choice. For was it to fall to the King, then there was a decent chance that it would be one or other of Aemon's cousins that Viserys would see next to his nephew. Those were thoughts for another day, and so after saying their goodbyes to the Tullys they traveled along the River Road to the Crossroads and camped near the Trident. There to bear witness to a fight between the sons of two Houses that bore a grudge against each other and who sought favor at the other's expense.

"What is this madness?" Aemon shouted as the two lads readied to face each other in a fight for favor that none of them were earning with their actions.

"The one lad insulted the other, my prince." Mychel Waters said, chuckling as he spoke. Though not for long as the prince's expression showed he was not amused.

"The Lady Tyrell looked their way more than once, my prince." Rickard Snow added, explaining the fight a little more.

"You should put an end to this foolishness, Aems," Rhaenyra said, the Princess looking less amused than even Aemon was.

"Would that I could." Aemon sighed and Daeron knew full well that he could not. The two lads' blood was up and while an order from a prince would be enough to stop the fight, it would only lead to a much truer one later.

The honor of victory and bragging rights went to Amos Bracken in the end. Aemon stood and watched as both boys showed little skill and much anger in their fight. A nod from his prince had the Young Wolves step in before more than pride could be hurt and a day later, Amos Bracken was politely asked to leave their party, with Samwell Blackwood being asked to stay. Though it was not through any favor that he earned that was the reason for his being allowed to travel with them for a few more days. Yet in the end it turned out to be some that the young lad received in doing so. Daeron looking on keenly as Aemon sparred and taught some lessons to Samwell before he too parted from their party.

"Is this the Neck, Aems?" Rhaenyra asked as they passed the Green Fork after spending a day or two with House Mallister in Seagard.

"I believe so, though Rickard would know better than me," Aemon answered, looking to the man in question for confirmation.

"Aye, 'Tis the Neck alright, my princess. Some days beyond this path will take us to the North Itself and the Moat." Rickard Snow said fondly.

"The Moat?"

"Moat Cailin, Nyra. The Fortress of the North." Aemon said. His tone was wistful as it had been ever since they'd truly begun to head northward.

"And Winterfell?" Rhaenyra asked.

"A few short weeks away," Aemon said, his excitement clear and Daeron found his own rising as they left the Riverlands behind and traveled ever onward.

Winterfell 112 AC.

Rickon Stark.

Practically the entire nobility of the North had made their way to Winterfell to welcome the future Queen and King Consort to the North. Other than Lord Cerwyn who traveled with the royal party along with Lord Reed, almost every single Lord and Lady of note was now lined up in Winterfell's courtyard. Rickon himself stood beside his wife and son, Gillane holding Cregan's hand and speaking to him softly as they awaited his nephew and his betrothed's arrival. A little further down the line, Bennard and Margaret stood. The swollen belly of his Goodsister was somewhat unseen due to the warm clothing she wore. Summer it may still be, but the days were growing colder and the nights now had a chill to them.

Atop the parapet, one of his guardsmen gave the signal and Rickon looked to Bennard and nodded. Then, less than a moment later, the first of the royal guards rode in. They were quickly followed by the Young Wolves. Rickon more than happy to see just how many Northmen his nephew had surrounded himself with. Lastly, Aemon and Rhaenyra themselves rode atop their contrasting steeds. The princess's horse was a silver mare, while Aemon rode atop a black stallion, one with a name that meant much to both Rickon and his brother.

"Zokla," Rickon whispered. The Valyrian word for wolf.

As much as he wished to look at his nephew, it was the Princess that drew his eye first. The Realm's Delight she'd been named and it was clear to any with eyes to see why that was. Never had he seen a truer beauty and yet it was the excitement in her eyes and the way she looked at his nephew that truly warmed Rickon's heart. Turning to look at Aemon, he felt his heart still and had to look to Bennard to see if he was feeling as Rickon was.

The long dark brown hair, the grey eyes, as well as the soft smile on Aemon's face, it was all her, and Rickon was soon lost in memories of his fierce little sister. So much so that he missed it when Aemon dismounted and then helped Rhaenyra to do likewise and only a small cough from his wife brought him back to the present. A nod of his head and as one, all those in the courtyard dropped to a knee or a curtsy as they properly welcomed their future Queen and King.

"Winterfell is yours, your grace," Rickon said, his voice firmer than his thoughts may have allowed it to be.

"Arise, uncle, My Lords, and Ladies." "Aemon said, his voice breaking the spell Rickon had been under. For while he may be the very image of his mother, Aemon's voice was that of a Southern not a Northman.

"Lord Stark, an honor truly to be welcomed so." Princess Rhaenyra said, a beaming smile on her face as Rickon kissed her hand.

Then as the princess spoke to his wife, Rickon looked into his nephew's eyes and then took in even more of the young man in front of him. Aemon was tall, more muscled than a lad of his age should be, though given his reports of him, that was not truly a surprise. There was excitement and happiness in his expression, wonder too as he looked around at Winterfell and took it in even as he spoke to Gillane, Bennard, and most especially Cregan.

"Cousin, it brings me great joy to finally meet you," Aemon said, kneeling down so he could look Cregan in the eye. "As it does to be here in this keep and to walk these lands," he added, looking to Rickon and Bennard.

"Where's your dragon?" Cregan asked, getting his hair mussed in return.

"I'll take you to him later, cousin. He and Syrax are filling their bellies off the coast."

To Rickon's surprise, it wasn't his rooms that Aemon wished to be taken to first, but the crypts. His nephew's words were spoken softly as he asked to be taken to where his mother rested. So it was Gillane who escorted the princess to her chambers, while Bennard and he walked with Aemon to the crypts. Aemon's steps were slow and purposeful, yet nervous all the same. More so when they reached the doors to the crypts themselves and Rickon made it clear that only Aemon would be allowed inside.

"Your guards, my prince," Rickon said, motioning to the Young Wolves and the knight who followed after Aemon. "They'll need to remain here. Only Starks are allowed entry to the crypts."

"I'm not a Stark, uncle," Aemon said shamefully.

"You are in blood, nephew," Bennard replied.

A nod of his nephew's head was enough to get his guards to wait outside and then, Rickon, Bennard, and Aemon walked in through the large wooden doors. His eyes were on Aemon all the way and Rickon noticed how he shivered just briefly as the cold crispness of the crypts began to envelop them. He noticed too how Aemon's eyes looked in wonder at the statues of the Kings of Winter. An unasked question on his nephew's lips as he stared at the swords that most bore in their hands.

A few moment's walk took them to his sister's tomb. Lyanna had not been given a statue as that right only extended to those who sat on the Winter Throne or ruled the North as Wardens. Instead, Rickon had ordered a large sarcophagus to be designed and it was decorated with depictions of things that his sister had loved in life. Wolves, Horses, the Wolfswood, and the Blue Winter Rose, had all been incorporated into its design. Looking at how Aemon looked at it and brushed his hand softly over each of the raised stone images, how the lone stray tear fell down his nephew's cheek, Rickon again felt he'd done right by Lyanna.

Unlike the rest of the crypts or near any of the statues themselves, Lyanna's tomb had more than one torch nearby. It almost made it look as if her final resting place was bathed in light, or at least it did when compared to the rest of the much darker areas of the crypts. For the first time that he could remember, Rickon almost wished it had not been something he'd demanded, as the sad look on his nephew's face was one that was perhaps best left to the dark. While the words that Aemon spoke were ones that both Rickon and he wagered, Bennard too, felt they should not be privy to.

"Long have I wished to meet you, Mother. To walk the lands of your birth and follow in your footsteps as best I could. I pray you forgive me that it's taken me this long to finally do so and hope you understand that it was not mine own choice that kept me away." Aemon said, as Rickon looked to Bennard and they both moved to give his nephew some privacy.

Time seemed to almost stand still as Aemon spoke more and more words over his mother's final resting place. Rickon heard his nephew speak of his future wife and how he was happy and content in his life. The torches showed the warm look that came over Aemon's face as he spoke to his mother about Rhaenyra. When he then spoke of his father, Rickon listened more keenly and though he liked Daemon Targaryen not, he'd not lie and say hearing the Rogue Prince be spoken of by his son, was not enough to at least make the man sound tolerable.

Eventually, Aemon finished speaking the words he'd come to say and Rickon looked on as his nephew reached into his cloak and took out something small, and placed it on the sarcophagus. He heard Aemon say that he'd return and then his nephew moved to join him and Bennard, asking them both if it was agreeable for him to do so.

"Of course, nephew," Bennard answered when Rickon could not.

His own attention was too focused and intrigued by whatever it was that Aemon had left on the sarcophagus. So much so that he needed to take a step closer to it before they left the crypts. A true smile came to his face when he saw the piece of jewelry and realized what it represented. Though it was smaller than a true crown, it was a crown all the same, a crown of Winter Roses wrought in gold and sapphires. Later when he came back and looked at it for true, Rickon could see just how immaculate the work truly was.

As he took to his bed after the welcoming feast that night, Rickon smiled both at the rightness of the offering and the fact that Aemon had not asked whether or not the gift would be safely left out in the open so. His nephew understood that by their word alone, the crypts remained off limits to any without Stark blood in their veins. Aemon knew too without the need to be told, that no Stark would ever desecrate the memory of those entombed in the crypts by stealing their treasures, of which there were many. His nephew may not be a man of the North, but he had Northern and more importantly Stark blood in his veins. A Dragon who was just as much a Wolf and Rickon looked forward to getting to know Aemon and Rhaenyra much better during their stay in Winterfell.

The North 112 AC.

Rhaenyra.

Being out of the city had been freeing. Away from court, from prying eyes and ears. Knowing that those with you were people you could trust implicitly, all of it had been so very enjoyable. As too had the travelling, much to Rhaenyra's surprise. Seeing the kingdoms that she and Aemon would one day rule over, meeting the Lords, Ladies, and even the Smallfolk of those kingdoms, all of it she'd welcomed greatly. Though nothing could compare to the time she and Aemon spent together.

'Or some of the things that they did during that time' Rhaenyra thought wickedly.

Now that they were finally in the North, Aemon was enjoying himself just as much as she had during their travels. Not that her betrothed hadn't enjoyed himself before they'd reached the North, but Rhaenyra could tell that even while doing so, Aemon longed for them to move on. Her cousin wished to see the lands of his mother and to pay his respects finally at her tomb. So despite somewhat making a friend in Borros Baratheon, the talks he held with Lord Redywne's heir and with Lord Tyrell, or even the silent war both she and Aemon had engaged in with the Hightowers, that need was always present in Aemon's mind. Now finally, Aemon's heart was as free as her own was and they could truly enjoy their time amongst his kin.

Rhaenyra too much welcomed the more practical nature of how the Northern ladies talked and did things. There was propriety of course, but not at the cost of everything else. The food was a harder thing for her to get used to, and Aemon had made fun of her more than once because of her delicate appetite. Though after Lady Gillane and Lady Margaret had taught her how to make a snowball, even Aemon had learned his lesson. Her giggling remembrance of his face when she'd thrown it and struck him right on his forehead, now drawing looks from her ladies.

"Princess?" Lady Olene asked. The Tyrell girl had taken well to the role of a lady in waiting and Rhaenyra found her to be good with and true company.

"I was thinking of the snowball, Olene," Rhaenyra said, garnering a giggle from Lady Olene and from Mara her maid.

"A true and good shot, Princess. Mayhap they should put such events in the lists"

Rhaenyra laughed even more fully as they spoke of her being named the winner of the snowball firing competition. An image of her crowning Aemon with a garland soon came to her mind and ensured the laughter continued for some time. After what felt like an age, they stopped their japing and continued with readying her for the day ahead. Soon enough she was dressed and her hair was done in one of the less elaborate northern styles and though she needed not the warmth of her cloak, Mara took it in hand all the same.

They walked through the keep, each of them enjoying the comfort of being inside. Lady Gillane had explained to them that there were pipes in the wall which moved hot water through the keep, keeping it warm even when outside was enveloped in winter's biting chill. Something that thankfully it was not at the moment. As Rhaenyra wasn't sure she could manage where the days to get colder than they already were. Aemon on the other hand, almost seemed to have been born for the weather of the North and had shown no signs of discomfort since arriving here.

"My princess." Ser Daeron said to her as she entered the large Great Hall that the Starks, the Lords, and Ladies of the North who'd come to meet them, and their retainers and servants all ate in.

"My betrothed is elsewhere?" she asked, not seeing Aemon in the Great Hall.

"In the crypts, my princess."

She nodded at that and took her seat next to some of the ladies she'd become friendly with since their arrival almost a week ago. The ladies Dustin, Manderly, Karstark, and Mormont had all welcomed her happily and along with Aemon's aunts, they were ladies whose company Rhaenyra enjoyed. No sooner had she sat down than Aemon arrived. His time spent with his mother had become something he did first thing of a morn and last thing at night, or so Rhaenyra had found out and she begrudged him it not.

"Good Morrow, Nyra," Aemon said as he kissed her cheek. "My ladies." he then bowed his head.

"Join us, my prince." Lady Dustin offered and Aemon shook his head and apologised for not being able to do so.

"I promised your husband I'd join him in breaking my fast, my lady. Much though I'd welcome the chance to sit with my betrothed and you all." Aemon kissed her cheek again and whispered in her ear that the dragons awaited them, a smile appearing on her face at the thoughts of the flight they'd take and some relief that Mara had her cloak with her. The keep may be nice and warm, but the skies were very much not, even atop a dragon's back.

Aemon left and sat down beside some fierce-looking Northern men. Lady Dustin's husband, William, and his father Roderick, among them. Her cousin had almost singled out the Dustins for special praise and certainly for much of his time while here. Bloody Roddy as the older man was known had fought for her nuncle Daemon in the Stepstones and to Rhaenyra's mind he deserved all the praise that Aemon showered on him and the other men of the North who'd done so.

With the thoughts of a dragon ride, and what may occur when they landed, now fuelling Rhaenyra's imagination, she was poorer company this morn than she usually was. Pleasant, polite, but not as engaged or enthused by their conversation, had she but looked to some of the older women at her table, then Rhaenyra would have seen that none blamed her for her inattention. If anything, some wore smiles as they caught her looking at Aemon more than once or twice. Her betrothed doing likewise and smiling when he caught her eye.

"If you'll forgive me, ladies. The Dragons await and patience is not one of their virtues." Aemon said as he rejoined them, his own meal eaten or left behind, it mattered not. "Nyra," Aemon said offering her his arm to help her rise and after she said her own goodbyes, they left the Great Hall arm in arm.

They had not far to walk to where they'd meet the dragons and as they left the keep behind, Rhaenyra caught sight of Vermithor and Syrax as they landed in front of them. Aemon's words proved true and brought a smile to her face as they quickened their steps and hurried to where the dragons awaited. An hour, or two, it changed daily during their flights, but usually, they ended the same way. They'd enjoy themselves in the sky, then land where they were alone and where the dragons could rest. Once they'd done so, they'd drink and eat if needed and then she and Aemon would sate their growing hunger for each other.

"Soves Syrax," Rhaenyra said a moment after taking her position on her dragon's back, and then their fun and games began anew.

A chase, a race, then a more leisurely pleasure flight over the lands of the North. Today it was the Wolfswood and the coastline, the Barrows of the First Men, and the Stony Shore before they landed near Sea Dragon Point. The name again made her chuckle, just as it had when she'd first heard it. After they'd praised the dragons and Aemon had checked to make sure that the small huntsman's hut was as empty as it had been on their only other visit here, they then made their way inside.

A warm fire was soon burning in the small hearth and Aemon placed what looked to be food and something to drink on the small half-broken table. Then his eyes met her own and before she knew it, they were kissing passionately. Both their tongues fighting for dominance over the other's and to her delight, her own winning out today. From kissing it was to touching. Cold fingers that yet felt ever so warm brushed over nipples that were fully erect while her own hands slipped down into Aemon's britches and felt the firmness of the arse that those britches dared to deny her the sight of.

When Aemon's hands began their descent down her body, Rhaenyra felt her breath hitch in her throat. Moving far too slowly and yet she hurried them not to their destination. The anticipation of what was to come was almost as pleasurable as what would happen when they reached the end of their ever-so-slow journey. This was as far as they ever went. Touches and caresses. Aemon's fingers then bringing her to a shattering release. Her own denied leave to do the same. For now at least.

Calling out his name, eyes closed as she lay atop Aemon's cloak on the ramshackle bed, Rhaenyra felt truly a princess. More than that, however, she felt a woman grown, and as always one thought fought all others away.

'When we're wed, things won't stop here. Oh what pleasures we'll soon share'

The North 112 AC.

Aemon.

He'd enjoyed his time on Dragonstone with his father and had promised that should they ever be needed, both he and Vermithor stood at the ready. Aemon had promised himself then that he'd do as much as he could to ensure that he was never needed in any other way than simply as his father's son. That when he did travel to the Stepstones, another thing he'd promised himself, it would not be to fight but to visit. Something he'd done his best to ensure during the Royal Procession.

In the Stormlands with the Baratheons, the Riverlands with the Tullys, Mallisters, Blackwoods, and Brackens. As they stayed in the Reach and he spent time with the Tyrells and the Redwynes. Though he had other motivations there too, which their visit to Oldtown only showed were just as pressing. When they left the North, it would be to the Vale they'd go before heading back to King's Landing. Time to be spent with House Royce, House Arryn, and the Graftons while there.

All his efforts thus far had been spent both in securing support for his father and the Stepstones, while at the same time judging and firming up the loyalty of those who'd already sworn to Rhaenyra. As they would be doing again sometime in the future. The North, however, was different. True Aemon had used his time here to do as he had and would elsewhere, but there had been far more personal reasons why he'd wished to travel to the North. One of them rested no more than a foot or two in front of where Aemon now stood. The small crown he had made for her seemed to be too little a gift and yet one that both his uncles named as good and true. There beside it lay his father's own gift. Aemon having placed it there on one of his more private visits, due to the ill feeling that still remained between his father and his mother's family. The Starks may have seen Northmen fight for his father in the Stepstones, but that had been because of their feelings for him and not out of any love for his father.

"We leave soon, Mother. A day, two mayhaps. When next I visit I'll be wed and possibly even a father. I swear to you if I am then I shall bring your grandchild with me. I give you my oath that I'll tell them much about you, that they will know of you. On that, I swear." Aemon said as he knelt down and placed a kiss against the hard stone.

It was one of many conversations he'd had with his mother since they'd arrived. Each morning and every night, he would visit and speak to her about his day or share his hopes and fears with her. Amongst the many things in the North, this would be one that he'd miss the most when they left. Though it would not be alone in that, Aemon thought fondly as he said his goodbyes for the morning and made his way out of the crypts and into the cool crisp air of the morning.

The cold bothered Ser Daeron, Ser Steffon, and some of Rhaenyra's servants, while Rhaenyra herself liked it not but had gotten used to it. For Aemon it made him feel alive like few other things had ever managed to do. Be it riding in the Wolfswood as they hunted or simply enjoyed a day in the saddle or as he and Rhaenyra flew in the sky atop their dragons' backs. Something they did almost every day since they'd arrived in Winterfell. He enjoyed too the difference in how people acted in the North compared to court. There was a straightforwardness about people that Aemon wasn't used to and which he greatly welcomed.

Games were still played, of course, but they were more honest games. Once a man or a woman had judged you to be friend or foe, little effort was made to not show you as one or the other. Here if you were misliked, you knew about it. There was no pretence and both he and his betrothed much appreciated that. As they did the welcome they received from the Starks. His mother's family had treated them both as kin, not just Aemon. A small smile came to his face as he remembered overhearing the words that his aunt had spoken to Rhaenyra at their welcoming feast.

"You are family too, Princess. Not only do you share blood with my nephew, but soon you're to be wed and so that's how we see you."

Simple and true words and none of them were spoken to gain favor. It was just how it was and his aunts, uncles, his young cousin, and those who named Winterfell their home had gone out of their way to prove those words true. It was why he'd asked and Rhaenyra had agreed to extend their stay a week or more longer. Why today he'd be joining his uncles in a true Northern Hunt and Rhaenyra would be spending her day split between the Glass Gardens and the Hot Springs. A delight only known by the Starks or those they named as either kin or true friends.

Walking across the busy courtyard, Aemon caught sight of another man he'd named as good and true. Roderick Dustin had fought for his father in the Stepstones and though he was not alone in doing so, Bloody Roddy's presence had brought even more swords to his father's side. Aemon had thanked the man both publicly and privately and had laughed as Roderick simply said that he much enjoyed the fight. He'd then been soundly beaten by the man in a spar, though only the once. The lesson that had been imparted to him by the older man was one that Aemon had taken much note of.

"A fight is a fight, my prince. The whole reason for it is to beat the man in front of you. To kill him if that's the nature of the fight. Who cares how you manage to do so as long as you do so."

They were wise words spoken by a man who knew far more about true fights than Aemon or even those who guarded his and Rhaenyra's backs. Not even Ser Steffon had fought in as many true fights as Roderick Dustin had and while the Young Wolves had seen action in the Stepstones, Bloody Roddy had been fighting for nigh on twenty years already. Even amongst the fierce and bloodied men of the North, the Lord of Barrowtown was hugely respected and feared.

"A good man to learn from," Aemon whispered before moving to greet the man himself and invite him to break his fast with him.

For once, Roderick begged his pardon and Aemon was informed that he and his family were leaving today. So he again thanked him for all he'd done for his father and offered his own sword and his dragon should they ever be needed. Then with a nod to Ser Daeron and to Rickard Snow, they continued on their way to the Great Hall. Aemon hoping to break his fast with Rhaenyra this morning, especially since he'd not see much of her for the rest of the day. In this, he had the gods' own favor, as when he entered the keep it was to find that his betrothed was making her way to break her fast.

"Morning, Nyra," Aemon said warmly as he kissed Rhaenyra's cheek.

"Morning, Aems."

Offering her his arm, they walked together and spoke of the day ahead. Aemon promised that he'd be back long before dark and they could take a flight then if she wished. Something that was most agreeable to Rhaenyra given just how large the smile on her face was. The small blush she wore when he looked at her, was another sign of just how eager she was for their nighttime flight.

Things had progressed much with them and their affections during the Royal Procession. From long lingering kisses to touches and explorations of each other. They'd brought each other much pleasure and yet had somehow managed to not cross the line, or at least not to do so fully. Rhaenyra was still a maiden true, while Aemon had no desire for his first time to be with anyone other than his betrothed.

'Despite father's advice'

"Aems?" Rhaenyra asked, seeing the frown appear on his face.

"It's nothing, Nyra. Just thinking about the hunt."

A snort, a shake of her head, and a small brief worried look, all earned her another kiss on her cheek. It was not the last one he gave her before they entered the Great Hall or even after they did so.

All too soon their morning meal was finished and his uncles looked his way. Aemon rose to his feet, kissed Rhaenyra's cheek one more time, and found himself wishing they were already wed so their kisses could be truer ones in public. For now, however, those truer kisses would be shared when they were alone and far from prying eyes. So disappointedly, on both their parts, he said his goodbyes for the morning and moved to where his uncles awaited.

"Shall we then?" he asked, happy to see his Uncle Rickon smirk and to hear his Uncle Bennard's chuckle. Both men had teased him much about how affectionate he and Rhaenyra were. Though they had not done so with any malice.

A few hours later.

The hairs on the back of his neck rose up and he held the bow tightly. Aemon crept quietly and looked around to see how far he'd moved away from those with him, relieved to find he could still see them even if he was practically alone. Hearing the sound of a twig breaking, Aemon scowled in the direction of whoever had been so careless and then continued stalking his prey. Not that he knew what that prey was or had caught more than a sight of whatever he was hunting.

A low growl was followed by a shriek and then the arrow in his bow flew and hit the target right where its heart lay. The stag fell dead to the ground and yet it was beyond it that Aemon was looking. He moved even more carefully as he stepped over the stag's carcass, happy to see that it was truly dead and eager to find out what it was that was driving him forward.

When he eventually reached it, Aemon stood open-mouthed. The wolf was thrice the size of the largest wolf he'd ever seen. Grey fur that looked softer than the softest featherbed covered its body. Pristine except for the dark red stain that showed where the stag's antlers had pierced its side. Death was not far away and the wolf, it seemed, knew this. Yet there was no sound, no growl or warning and despite knowing he should not, Aemon moved even closer.

"I'm not here to hurt you," Aemon whispered. "I wish I could do more," he said a moment later when he saw the wound for true.

Other than with Vermithor, never had Aemon seen such expressive eyes as the two golden orbs that stared back at him. The sadness that he saw in those eyes was almost enough to break his heart in two and mayhap would have, was it not tinged with something akin to hope too. A movement from the wolf's head was enough to direct Aemon's gaze to where it wished it to be and as he looked, he saw the two small bundles of fur. One was as white as the driven snow, while the other was as black as coal. Both were doomed to die as they were now motherless and Aemon felt their loss and the loss of his own mother even more truly.

"I….I'll protect them both," he said, as the wolf breathed out her last breath.

Moving to the two small wolves, Aemon picked them up and looked them over. The black one had piercing green eyes, yet it was the white one that Aemon found himself drawn to. Its red eyes looked as deeply into Aemon's grey ones as Vermithor had the day they'd bonded and almost as quickly as the thought came to mind, Aemon felt another bond be formed.

He was still standing there holding the two Direwolf pups when his uncles and his guards caught up with him. Bennard asked him if he'd killed the stag they'd passed while Rickon stared past his brother and looked to the body of the Direwolf mother as it lay a few feet from where Aemon stood. Neither of them had noticed the two pups in his hand and it was Ser Daeron checking to make sure that Aemon was unharmed who first did so.

"Are they its pups?" Ser Daeron asked as Aemon's uncles moved to see what he held.

"No," Aemon said, his uncles looking at him as he turned and the pups were revealed to them and to the rest of the hunting party. "The white one belongs to me," Aemon stated firmly. "His brother is for my cousin," he added and then the names came out his mouth almost in an instant. "Cregan will name this one when he is old enough to do so," Aemon said holding up the black pup. "As for this one." he said holding up the white one "His name is Ghost."

A/N: Thanks to all who've read and reviewed. Up Next, Two Deaths in King's Landing changes things for Aemon as he's offered a new role serving the crown. Preparations are begun for Aemon and Rhaenyra's wedding as the happy couple almost will it to come sooner. In the Stepstones, Daemon prepares the defenses in case of an attack while in Essos, Corlys finds the Triarchy to be in full preparation for an invasion. Rhaenys makes one last attempt to change the betrothal between Aemon and Rhaenyra. While Alicent reluctantly allows her children and Rhaenyra and Aemon to grow closer. Aemon dreams of a life not lived and forms a connection with his wolf that sends him seeking answers in the Red Keep's library and from a dwarf who knows more than he should. Before then being forced to take action and earning his spurs all in one very eventful night.

For those following my other fics, Dragonverse and Live as a Wolf are up next, at least one next week, hopefully, both.

Prapann: So, the main reason was that Aemon wasn't competing for himself, but for Rhaenyra, he wished to both crown her the Queen of Love and Beauty and to deny Alicent her victory. His focus was entirely on that and so he forwent the melee, to ensure it. Next time, he'll do both.

The Last Northumbrian: I get what you mean, it can be a bit repetitive to read the same events over and over and there is only so much of the WOTFK that you can take, let alone the White Walkers.

Nyx028: Alicent is far from the innocent bystander they tried to make her out in the show, she was just as involved in the plotting IMO.

CEW: We'll see more of Aemon dealing with the death in the chapter to come, this one I wanted to focus more on the Royal Procession. But yes, he very much needed to be out of the city and to have people telling him that he did nothing wrong. As you see, yes, Lyanna is buried in Winterfell's Crypts, but she has no statue. I wished to do more with Cregan but he's only 3 here, so it's more a hint of things to come with him. We will be seeing a lot more of him as he gets older. So Aemon actually has plans to deal with the Triarchy and he won't not be involved should they make a move, as for Dorne, we'll see. But all I'll say is that Aemon is more political and less abrasive than his father, so he can do some things that Daemon can't. He does also have the trump card that Rhaenyra will be queen to play with too.

Rhatch: So very glad you enjoyed it.

Gourvasilentreader: Thanks so much for saying so.

TehStorm: Really glad you liked it.

Irish Hermit: We'll see another version or more precisely story being told regarding Ser Arthor, but yes, what you say is spot on. On Aemon's part, it was an accident, but people will try and use it against him, Viserys though actually stepped up here. In regards to his regrets, he does feel them and they are true, but he also feels he was right to do it too. Aemon has grown up under his eyes, so Viserys feels he's been raised better, he'll not admit it, but that's how he feels. Very much so in regards to Vermithor, the mere fact that Aemon rides the Concilliator's dragon is huge. He and Rhaenyra actually taking the time to do a Royal Procession is huge too, and Aemon really played it up politically, as did Rhaenyra. Here, because of Aemon, she's less arrogant and playing the game more, which will stand in her favor later. Winterfell is a big moment for Aemon, as you can see, it won't be the last time he visits either.

Dunk: Thanks so much, I had a different version of the brothel scene planned out at one point. But I've actually surprised myself with Aemon/Rhaenyra and it's changed my plans as they're even closer than I'd expected by this point. Glad you liked the time jump, we'll be having a couple of more in a few chapters. With Viserys I think he at times had a temper, but he usually relented after a while. I mean Daemon was exiled more than once, then welcomed back and with Otto, he fired him, then took him back later. So he almost seems to rage, then simmer, then forgive. He wants a good relationship with Daemon too, and having had more children is more easily able to forget the words Daemon supposedly spoke. The gift almost seemed to perfect for me, a dowry that only makes Aemon even more the only possible match. I've not decided whether to go with Daemon/Alicent's history to be revealed or not, what I have decided is that they will have a big scene together at some point. You're right on Aemon not really facing consequences for what was an accident, it won't stop it being spoken of in some corners as not, however. As for Mushroom, I did think of him being brought North, but no, he stayed in King's Landing and well, we'll be seeing him play a more active part soon enough.

SidRyuu14: Your wish is my command.

Xan Merrick: Thanks my friend, glad you liked it.

Anarra: Glad you enjoyed it.

Lord of the East: I'm so glad to hear that, hope you continue to enjoy it.

: Thanks so much, really happy you're liking it.

Celexys: Thank you, we'll see truer Daemon/Aemon interactions to come, some true father/son bonding moments.

Knighthunter: Ha, funny enough I sort of had the same feeling when writing it, as I thought it might come across as too foreboding when it was meant to be more intriguing than anything else. In regard to the changes from canon, given their age, Aemon/Rhaenyra can only change so much, and so, for now, it's more little ripples, rather than the big ones to come. So it's more that Aemon exists which has changed some aspects, and of course, will change more to come, but as they age, as they get more and more involved, things will change even more.

Guest: So glad to hear that.

Lady Octarina: I'm kind of with you, though I have to admit that Daemon was always my fave Targ, not that I agree with even half what he did mind. And you're spot on regarding him and Rhaenyra, which was mainly why I wanted to insert Aemon in here. I also feel that Daemon is never given the respect he deserves as a father, because by Targ Standards, the man puts Ned Stark to shame Lol. Seriously, some of the very best and worst Targ kings are the same when it comes to just how bad they are as fathers. Jaehaerys being one of the worst fathers ever IMO. So I wanted to show a lot of that side of Daemon, to give him a son that he could basically live his dreams through. You're right too on Aegon and Aemond, who in the latter's case the show sort of whitewashed. Here we'll see them in all their horrible glory and yet we'll see different sides too.

I won't spoil anything on the Long Night, other than to say, I have a cunning plan LOL. Well not so much a cunning plan, but more a plan all the same. Anyway, I'm glad you're liking it so far and hope you like what's to come, we'll see Aemon have more and more glimpses of things, next chapter, as for how that plays into things, hmm, we'll see.