Updated 4/9/2019: Edited for a smoother read.

Chapter 17

Aemon II

Aemon sat at the head of the great table, his eyes slowly roving over the lords and ladies gathered in Winterfell's Great Hall. Everyone was seated and a low rumble filled the hall as they spoke to one another. He saw Robb speaking to a group of all the lords' heirs prominently featuring Harrion Karstark, Smalljon Umber, and Domeric Bolton, no doubt advocating for him.

He gripped the hilt of the sword at his side to hide the tremble in his hand. His heart pounded and blood roared in his ears. It had been easy, by contrast, to knock Robert off his throne. Winning the Kingdoms to his side as opposed to taking it by brute force like his ancestors had long ago was another matter entirely. The goal was to keep as many people alive as possible in preparation for the Long Night, but sparing lives was too often seen as a weakness. He had to prove he was tough without everyone trying to spot signs of the Targaryen Madness. It was a fine line to walk. Tonight would show whether he could walk it or not.

Over the last week, the northern lords had slowly made their way to Winterfell. He had been there to greet every single one of them. Some like Lady Maege had frowned at him in their evaluation and nodded hesitantly, glancing to Ned for direction. Tentative support in some was at least a good start. Others, like Lord Jon Umber had snorted at him and called him a 'pup.'

"I would ask, Lord Umber, that you refrain from insulting your future king in front of your liege lord. I would hate for you to embarrass yourself," Aemon replied, his voice as cold as winter. Lord Umber's face had turned a ruddy red and he glared at Aemon. Despite his girth and his height, Aemon remained as solid as the Wall, his own eyes cutting like a winter wind.

Roose Bolton had been the least scrutable of them all. His eyes stayed on Aemon's for a hair longer than normal before he muttered a quiet, "Your Grace," and then headed off into Winterfell. His son, Domeric, peered at him curiously as he passed, but his face was just as passive. As a long begrudging ally, he could at least be certain none of the thoughts going through Bolton's head were good. He was also fairly certain he could never win the leech lord over to his side either. He could be counted on to follow because there were even fewer he could win to his side.

Instead of secluding himself away, he spent the week testing the waters with the Lords and Ladies of the North. As was natural, all of them were skeptical of his claim, but most of them were curious as to why he had decided to claim the throne at all. He knew that in the eyes of the Lords of the North, saving the knight who'd made him squire wouldn't be good enough, especially since it was Ser Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.

The time between the letters going out and the arrival of the lords had allowed him time to think of a much more plausible excuse. He was already growing weary of manipulating so many people to his ends, but he knew a farfetched explanation like being brought back from the dead by the gods would land him on a ship out to Essos, never to be seen again. Every time he felt sick in his soul for what he was about to do, he simply repeated the mantra, It's for the Long Night, to himself. He was trying to save every single person here from a fate worse than death.

Thanks to his uncle, everyone seemed to accept that he was the long lost son of Lyanna Stark by Rhaegar Targaryen without too much trouble. Of course he claimed you were otherwise. The king would have killed you, they all said to him and he had agreed. The respect garnered for him as a result of his uncle would only go so far. He had to win them over on his own.

Before the meeting, he had gathered his uncle, Robb, and Theon into a room and said, "This is my fight. And while I know I have your support, I must do this alone."

"But...Aemon -" Robb began, but his father put a hand on his shoulder.

"He's right, Robb. He is a man grown and a king. He has to prove on his own that he is worth following," Ned said.

"Good luck," Theon said, appearing nervous.

"Thank you," Aemon said. Greyjoy had been remarkably supportive thus far which made Aemon cautiously optimistic that he could be relied on. He wasn't about to send Theon back to his father to broker an alliance though.

Now, Aemon waited patiently. He needed to be deliberate with every move. He had to restrain himself from glancing at either his uncle or Ser Barristan for support. He stood up at the high table, grabbed a wooden tankard and pounded it on the table. The hollow sound it made echoed through the hall and only stopped when everyone fell silent.

"I thank you for answering Lord Stark's summons. You have been called here because a war is brewing."

"For your foolish bid to take the throne?" Lord Umber said with a snort, and there was a muttering of agreement.

"War was brewing, whether I began it or not. Robert Baratheon unlawfully sentenced Jaime Lannister to death for a crime he did not commit."

"Word around here says he was caught fucking his sister," Lord Umber replied with a nasty chuckle. "You would trust the Kingslayer's account of this?"

Aemon could feel his anger building and there was a warmth in his cheeks. Ghost, who was settled next to him, seemed to sense the change in his mood and let out a low growl that somehow seemed to reverberate through Aemon.

When next he spoke, his voice seemed to take on the quality of his wolf, "I don't need Jaime Lannister's account. I caught her in the act myself."

There was a moment of silence and then the Greatjon laughed uproariously, which caused many of the other lords to chuckle in a painful way. The ladies in the room, however, did not chuckle and glared coldly at their male counterparts.

"You would laugh at a man's suffering?" Aemon asked, sweeping the entire room with a terse frown.

"He's an Oathbreaker and a Kingslayer. If true, it's probably no less than he deserves," Rickard Karstark said with a glower. There were more nods and persistence of chuckles.

Aemon drew a deep breath to snap at the lords once more when his uncle stood up and said to the gathered crowd, "That is enough!" The silence was near complete as the lords all stared at him in disbelief. "I was there. I saw what Lord Jaime Lannister suffered. He was indeed raped. No matter what my thoughts are on him, no man, woman or child deserves to suffer in such a way."

Lord Karstark looked appropriately chastised. The Greatjon still had the expression of a raging bull getting ready to charge, but he nodded at Lord Stark respectfully.

Aemon turned and nodded at his uncle who nodded back and took his seat once more.

"I will not speak anymore of the matter, but you will no longer refer to my Hand as Kingslayer. I have pardoned him for his transgression. You will refer to him as Lord Jaime Lannister as is his due."

The pronouncement was followed with more stunned silence.

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but you would trust a Lannister in a position of such importance?" Roose Bolton asked. Still, his face betrayed none of his thoughts.

"I do. Lord Jaime is in my debt since I saved his life. Now his lord father is in my debt now that I have released his heir from his vows as a result of the injuries he sustained on behalf of my cousin, Robb Stark. I have already sent him back to Lannisport to seal the alliance between ourselves and the Westerlands. Instead of fighting against the Lannisters, as Robert would have commanded you, we'll be united with them."

"Again, you trust Lord Tywin to honor such an alliance?" Roose continued.

This time Aemon allowed a small smile on his face as he evaluated the reactions in the room. "No," he replied simply and that caused another rumbling of voices. "However, I trust Jaime Lannister to honor this alliance and Lord Tywin would not dare counteract his heir. To overrule his son would diminish Jaime's power in the future when he finally does take over Casterly Rock. As someone who is so intent about the legacy of his family's name, Lord Tywin must comply."

Aemon actually saw Roose Bolton's eyes widened even just a moment and he nodded. Many of the other lords also seemed to think on it and nodded a bit more.

"If you can trust Jaime Lannister," Greatjon barked. He turned to Lord Stark. "Ned?"

There was a moment as Ned evaluated him and then he said aloud, "Jaime Lannister is a changed man from the one I found in the throne room in King's Landing. He was prepared to squire Aemon to knighthood when he initially came to Winterfell, and he put himself between a mammoth bear and my son and heir, Robb, without hesitation. I would trust him to cement the alliance between ourselves and the Westerlands."

But not the Reach, uncle? Aemon mused. He filed that away for later, but turned his attention back to the present.

Greatjon huffed once more. "Your words are fancy. There is still nothing to suggest that we're better off under you than we were with Baratheon."

"You don't think Lord Tywin wouldn't have taken umbrage for the execution of his golden son, whether lawful or not?" Aemon asked, but it was a statement. He continued without letting him talk. "Let us not forget that Robert Baratheon has run the kingdom into debt with Tywin Lannister for luxury. Lord Tywin would have immediately cut off funding to the kingdom and declared war. The crown would not be able to pay its soldiers and it would be forced to raise taxes on the remaining lands. Neither Dorne nor the Reach would have complied. Dorne would likely stay neutral, but the Reach might very well ally with the Westerlands. Both of those kingdoms have more than enough resources to hire a formidable mercenary company to fight on their behalf. Their armies alone would already outnumber and outweigh what the Crown, the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale could raise combined. That war would have torn the realm apart. And the last thing we need is for the realm to be in shambles."

"And why not? What do we care about limp-dicked southrons?" Greatjon growled.

"Because this is not the only war brewing. There is another war. And it's coming for us all, whether northern or southron."

"And what war is that?"

"The Long Night," Aemon said, but though his voice was low, it seemed to echo through the hall. The hush that fell over the hall was complete. It pleased him that not a single person laughed, though he did see skepticism on more than one face.

"How do you know this?" Roose Bolton asked.

"I was granted a vision by the Old Gods. The next winter will be the world's last if we do not band together to stop the Night King."

There was no laughing now and if he wasn't mistaken he could see several eyes darting to his uncle as if seeking confirmation.

"What proof do you have that these...visions are from the Gods and not mere dreams?" Roose Bolton continued.

"I currently have naught but my words. However, Lord Stark had to execute a deserter not three months ago. He spoke of the White Walkers."

Lord Umber actually shifted uneasily. "I had to execute some wildlings a ways back. They talked about dead things wandering the woods. They crossed the Wall to flee them. Didn't pay much attention to it at the time."

"We too have had our share of wildlings finding themselves on Bear Island. They asked me to burn their bodies so that they don't come back to life," Lady Maege said.

"I've had similar encounters at Deepwood Motte," Robett Glover reported, a troubled look on his face.

"I've heard similar, but that hardly suggests that the Long Night is coming," Roose Bolton snapped at them and earned the glare of every lord there.

"Perhaps not, but it is a disturbing trend. Our houses are quite sprawling and yet wildlings are reporting the same disturbing news," Aemon replied. "I have requested Ranger Benjen Stark to speak with Lord Commander Mormont about capturing one of these wights and bringing it back across the Wall. Lord Bolton is the first skeptic, but by far he won't be the last. It is for this reason that I have called on you to help claim the throne in the south."

"What in the name of the Old Gods do you need the Iron Throne for?" Greatjon bellowed.

"Because in one of my visions, I saw myself sitting on the throne," Aemon replied matter-of-factly. He knew playing up the Old God's influence could go well or ill. It did help that his uncle was a firm believer, but even he would not be enough.

"Forgive me, Your Grace," Greatjon replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "but you're barely a man grown. We should be putting someone older that can better assess the situation. Why not Ned?"

It was a struggle to keep from laughing. Because the game of thrones would eat Lord Stark alive, he wanted to retort, but it was hardly a laughing matter. He replied, "I am Aemon Targaryen, the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and the Gods want me on the throne."

"You're a boy. A boy who hasn't even cut his teeth in his first real battle. Who's to say you won't piss yourself in your first fight?"

"By all means, Lord Umber, let's have that fight then," Aemon replied, bringing his hand up to rest once more on the hilt of his sword.

Greatjon leapt to his feet, pulling out his sword.

"Not here. Outside. I'd hate to leave a mess," Aemon replied, taking the initiative to head outdoors. As it was summer, the light was still fading from the sky, but torches were called for to light the dim training grounds. Aemon inhaled and smelled burning wood and the fresh cool air of the night; it invigorated him and he felt his blood stir.

"Are you sure about this, Your Grace?" Ser Barristan leaned in to whisper into his ear.

"He won't kill me," he said.

Greatjon Umber seemed to tower over him as they entered the ring. The sword he pulled forth was huge and he peered down at Aemon with smug satisfaction. Aemon drew his own sword and squared himself, unable to stop the smile from growing on his face. Greatjon seemed a little taken aback, but he drew his mouth into a firm line of resolution and charged.

Aemon jumped out of the way. He didn't have enough power to meet such a blow and swiped at the Greatjon's back. For such a large man, he was nimble and turned, swiping his blade at head height that Aemon ducked, landing a blow at the back of the Greatjon's knees. His opponent staggered, but he waited. He was the predator, circling, and he could feel his wolfsblood - or was it dragonsblood? - roaring through his veins as he stalked his opponent.

Greatjon was undeterred and instead of taking huge swings began doing more focused attacks that Aemon met and almost crumpled under the power behind them. He adjusted his movements to redirect the power away from him, which only seemed to frustrate the Greatjon. He brought his sword down square on Aemon and he was forced to hold his sword by bracing himself. Greatjon leaned on him, putting all of his power behind it and Aemon felt his knees trying to give. But Aemon flashed him a wolfish smile and with a great burst of energy, threw the Greatjon off, causing him to reel and fall back. He raised his sword up in a feeble gesture to protect himself.

Suddenly Aemon felt like he was looking on from outside his body. He could see himself moving, but he seemed unable to control it. He raised the sword up and brought it down on the Greatjon's with as much strength as he could muster. There was a flash like lightning. When he could see again, he gaped. His sword had cut the Greatjon's sword clean in two. He stepped back and examined his own blade. It was a little scuffed from normal wear and tear, but there wasn't even a chip on its side to suggest it did anything worse than deflect a few sword thrusts.

Greatjon was staring at him in astonishment, still holding his sword up to protect himself. The other half of his blade had just missed falling on his face and lay on the ground.

The lords gathered around them recoiled when he looked at them all.

He let out a great shuddering breath and slowly sheathed his sword, disturbed by what had transpired. He drew himself up and said to the crowd, "The Gods have spoken."

There was a moment of silence as the lords looked at him with a combination of shock and awe. Then Lady Maege Mormont pulled out her sword and knelt to the ground, "I, Lady Maege of House Mormont, do hereby swear my loyalty to the true king of the Seven Kingdoms, Aemon Targaryen, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."

Dacey followed next. One by one the northern lords pulled out their swords and knelt to pledge their allegiance. Even Roose Bolton and his son Domeric did not hesitate.

He hoped no one noticed the way his hand trembled. "And I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth, and meat and mead at my table. And I pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you dishonor. I swear it by the Old Gods and the New. Arise." He headed back once more to the godswood, Ser Barristan following just behind him. He stared up into the weeping eyes of the weirwood as though he expected to see something different. He peered deeply at it and then said, "Wh-what happened Ser Barristan. I...I feel like I lost myself."

"Something not of this world happened," Ser Barristan replied. "I have seen naught like it. You were playing with him, I could tell. Jaime's training gave you the confidence to do that. But when you pushed him off, your eyes came alight like an orange fire was burning in them. You clearly curry the favor of the Gods."

"I almost killed him! Th-that was not my intention! I was just trying to prove that I am no greenboy with notions of grandeur," Aemon cried, struggling to get his emotions under control. "I don't want them to fear me!"

"You didn't kill him, Your Grace. He has perhaps a few bruises, but you left him untouched. You said the Gods gave you a vision and now they believe you."

"I suppose, but the Gods have never connected with me directly until now. They connected with Jaime a long time ago as well to...to keep him on the right path," Aemon said. "I have been pleading with them for a sign, a direction. Are we not merely the Gods' playthings?"

Ser Barristan had no response and remained silent.