Edited for a smoother read: 7/20/2020

Chapter 18

Aemon III

The Wall loomed majestically and eerily over their heads, causing more than a few necks to strain at trying to see the top. Aemon was entranced by it. Even after having lived on it for several years, it still awed him to see the structure tower over his view. He had not seen the hole that the Night King had torn into the Wall with Viserion's corpse, so despite its height it still gave him a false sense of security. It would hold for the time being.

"You don't see man building anything like that these days," Tyrion said, sighing in lamentation. "It's almost a pity."

Aemon felt more than saw his uncle shift uneasily behind him. Tyrion Lannister insisted on joining them for every leg of the journey. Few were more vehemently against this than his uncle, but he at least refrained from lecturing his nephew publically.

Ghost huffed. He never left Aemon's side, but he also refused to stray far from his brother, Grey Wind. They were nearly half grown at this point, looking like small adult wolves, but there was no mistaking the size they would reach at the large paw prints they left in their wake. Lady and Nymeria, the girls' wolves, had stayed back in Winterfell with their mistresses.

The party to Castle Black included all of the Lords of the North, Lady Maege, Theon, Robb, and Tyrion. Former King Robert had been left at Winterfell, his usual supply of wine and food cut in half. This had caused Robert great consternation and he had torn apart his room with a fury equal to that of a hurricane, but Aemon put his foot down and eventually his tantrums bled away like his will.

At the same time they were reinforcing Robert's prison sentence, Aemon made arrangements to do away with Cersei Lannister. She was already trying to sweet talk her guards into extra privileges. Not all of them were disgusted enough to remember she slept with her own brother to turn down her beautiful body and those guards had been punished with time in the stocks. She needed to be in a place where her body as a currency could be curbed. It had taken some time, but Aemon found the perfect place for her.

A knock sounded at his uncle's solar, now essentially turned his solar. "Come in," Aemon called. He was rifling through correspondence while his uncle sat nearby. They had just received a letter from the Martells who had indeed expressed interest in their alliance, though they were skeptical about his claim. He could hardly blame them, but the fact that they were still interested bespoke either of their ire for Robert and his delight in their loved ones' slaughter or the word of Eddard Stark.

Or neither. Intent was impossible to tell on a piece of parchment. He'd have to mull over the letter later.

"You sent for me, Your Grace," Lady Maege Mormont swept into a deep bow. It forcefully reminded him of Brienne. A feeling of both appreciation and heartbreak swept through him and he had to struggle to keep it off his face. Brienne is alive. She's not dead anymore. No one is.

"Yes, Lady Maege. Please stand. My uncle Lord Stark speaks very highly of you and your brother Lord Jeor Mormont. Throughout the Stark's and the Mormont's long history together you have remained steadfast allies. I intend to honor that loyalty with a grave responsibility."

"I am yours to command, Your Grace," Lady Maege replied with another dip of her head. He had always admired and respected Lyanna Mormont for her fierce loyalty to his woe begotten cause and it pained him that he had never been able to reward her the way she had deserved before her house had unfortunately perished. He would do right by them this time and not just by consigning them an important prisoner.

"Lady Cersei Lannister is currently a hostage in Winterfell. As you are aware, she committed a most egregious crime against her brother, my Hand, Lord Jaime Lannister. She is to be imprisoned for the rest of her life, but we must imprison her in comfort and luxury as befits a lady. For all her beauty, she is very manipulative and poses a constant threat to men who think with only one of their heads rather than both."

Maege smirked.

"Therefore, I ask that House Mormont bear the burden of imprisoning Lady Cersei. I have no doubt the women of Bear Island will be able to handle all of her tricks. Do you accept?"

"Yes, Your Grace. I accept. My Lyanna will be more than a match for her," Maege said with a proud smile.

"I'm sure she will be," Aemon replied, no longer able to keep the smile from his face. He had long thought that if he'd just sent young Lyanna to deal with Cersei, they would've ended her reign in a much more timely fashion and they would've won the war.

And so it had been the next day that Cersei had been chained up and loaded into a carriage, kicking and screaming. She begged for Jaime, she begged for her children, she begged for Lord Tywin, but not once did she beg for Tyrion. Everyone, from the lowest servants to the soldiers had cheered when the carriage had finally left, her screams slowly fading into the distance. Maege had charged her other daughter, Dacey, with ensuring the prisoner arrived with explicit instructions to meet at Moat Cailin afterwards.

Before he and the lords had departed Winterfell, he sent the entire army, including the Lannister men brought by the king, to Moat Cailin headed up by Smalljon Umber and Harrion Karstark. Just as he had with the faces of familiar friends, he hesitated upon seeing Smalljon Umber. He was the one who had turned traitor to House Stark and delivered Rickon and Shaggydog to their undeserved fates. He soothed himself that the circumstances had initially forced his hand, but he made a note in the back of his mind to never forget a traitor.

He had also hesitated upon seeing Roose Bolton, but it had been tempered upon seeing his son. His real son, Domeric Bolton, and not the bastard Ramsay. He hadn't even met Domeric in the time before and if he remembered correctly, he had died before the ensuing fiasco began. I wonder what changed this time? Perhaps it was the timing of his claim. Domeric Bolton took after his father in the cold, calculating look, but he had long black hair and was much more lithe.

Although he wasn't sure if informing his uncle and Ser Barristan about his other life had been the best idea, he was grateful for their support. They had discussed how they would handle the potentiality for traitors. Ned had insisted that he keep Roose Bolton close and to never send him out with a part of the army for any reason. That had been easy enough to agree to. Where they had split, was on what to do with Ramsay. For all that Aemon touted justice and insisted on due process, he wanted Ramsay dead. Ramsay was simply too dangerous to keep around. However, even after hearing of Sansa's rapes and abuse at his hands and the fact that he had murdered his youngest son Rickon in a game of hunter and hunted, his uncle still insisted that they shouldn't do anything, that he was young and could still change. Aemon had very nearly called him a fool, but Ser Barristan stepped in and reluctantly agreed with Ned. Aemon agreed to a compromise that they would do nothing for now, but he insisted on keeping ears to the ground in the North and if they heard of any particularly disturbing murders then he was to be brought in.

"It's so cold here," Robb muttered, rubbing his hands for warmth and looking around at the ankle deep snow.

"It's the Wall," Aemon said, almost inaudibly. "It chills the air around here, making it perpetually winter."

And yet it stillwasn't as cold as it had been in the dead of winter, when the Night King had blotted out the sun as his power and his army grew. That was a cold that could freeze the breath inside the lungs, the wind could scrape the skin off the face, and leave fingers blue in a matter of minutes. Aemon shuddered just thinking about it.

They were a mere hundred feet away when the doors to Castle Black began to open. A lump frozen solid with dread lodged itself in his throat. As eager as he was to see the Old Bear and Maester Aemon, he'd have to encounter the handful of men who betrayed and murdered him, chiefly Ser Alliser Thorne. He was a Targaryen sympathizer once upon a time and might now sing a different tune, but that was one man that Aemon had no intention of giving the benefit of the doubt. He certainly had no authority to kill him, but he would avoid him as best he could.

Robb let out a gasp and couldn't keep his mouth from hanging open as they passed through the gate and got a better view of the Wall and the ascending mechanism that sent men to the top.

With the exception of a few men on guard, the entire garrison of the Night's Watch stood in formation in the yard, awaiting his arrival. Jeor Mormont stood to one side between Maester Aemon and Ser Alliser Thorne. Aemon's blood ran cold upon seeing the normally sour face of Thorne, but today he was peering up at him with an expression akin to awe. Sam had told him that Thorne refused to give up his allegiance to the Targaryen family and was sent to the Wall for it. It would be odd from having his hate in one life to possible admiration in this one. He just hoped no one caught him looking at Alliser with undisguised loathing.

"Your Grace," Jeor said, as soon as he dismounted from his horse. "It is an honor to have you at Castle Black. I must say, I was surprised when I received your letter, and even more surprised when I heard from your uncle Benjen."

"It's true then?" Ser Alliser Thorne blurted out.

"Ser Alliser! Control yourself," the Lord Commander growled.

"Yes, it's true," Aemon replied. He might as well address the question. He needed their loyalty and it was important to get ahead of these types of questions. "Or I would not be openly baring the Targaryen banner." He gestured to a flagbearer that had the Targaryen seal waving in the wind.

"I can vouch for his claim," Ned said, stepping forward. "My sister Lady Lyanna Stark herself handed him to me after she gave birth." He seemed to become grimmer and Aemon wondered if he was thinking back to that day.

"If you say so, it must be true," Jeor intoned. Then he raised his voice so that it carried over the yard to the rest of his men. "I know Lord Stark to be a true and honorable man."

A bitter anger swept through Aemon. Jaime was right. My uncle lied to the whole kingdom and everyone's still accepting his word like he was the Father himself. He was glad that Jaime wasn't here.

"Come! Warm yourselves by the fire. We have created a feast for you to enjoy and have ale aplenty to drink."

Aemon wondered briefly for a moment if it was the Night's Watch's own ale and he struggled to suppress a smile at the thought of the northern lords choking on it. It wasn't even good enough to feed to the pigs. "We would be delighted by your hospitality, Lord Commander."

He walked into the Hall with Ser Barristan just behind him. His uncle Ned followed and behind him came Robb, Theon, Tyrion, Greatjon Umber, Maege Mormont, and all the rest of the northern lords. He couldn't keep his eyes from falling on Longclaw that rested at Lord Mormont's side and his own fingers twitched. What he would give to have the Valyrian steel sword back in his hands, but he couldn't very well demand Lord Mormont part from his family's ancestral sword.

Patience, he cautioned himself. There's still some time before the Long Night. No telling what might happen between now and then.

For such a large company, the feast was a buffet and everyone had to serve themselves. Once he had his food, Jeor waved him and his uncle over to sit at the high table.

"So, I read your letter, but no other king has showed much interest in the Night's Watch, Your Grace. What is your true purpose here, King Aemon?"

"Please, Lord Commander, you may refer to me as Aemon. I would also prefer to speak in a more private location on that particular matter. However, if you don't mind, I would like to discuss how the Night's Watch is doing. We brought two dozen recruits, six wagon loads of food, weapons, and skins for clothing. Is the Night's Watch in desperate need of anything in particular?"

"Men. Always men. As helpful as the supplies you brought, new recruits are even better. As I'm sure ole Ned has informed you, only Castle Black, Shadow Tower, and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea currently have enough men to operate them. All of the rest of the castles are unfortunately empty."

Aemon nodded thoughtfully. "I would ask for more volunteers, but as you might imagine, I need all the men I can get since the realm is likely to be at war."

The Old Bear sighed. "It's a shame, but it must be done. The little I've heard about King's Landing was not promising. I wish you luck in your war."

"Thank you, Jeor. I wish the same to you here at the Wall. Two of the newest recruits are a pair of Robert's former Kingsguard. I pray they will be powerful assets."

"Former Kingsguard you say? Volunteers?"

"In a sense. All of these recruits refused to bend the knee to me."

"Ah, more dissidents."

"I wish it could be avoided, but I much prefer them come here than simply become more bodies in the ground."

After lunch, the Old Bear led him, his uncle, and Ser Barristan up to his solar. They summoned Maester Aemon and Ser Rodrik. It took some time for the old maester to appear and when he did, Aemon felt his heart throb in his chest. His last living relative on his father's side, that was still in Westeros at least. His namesake. He wished for nothing more than to envelope the old maester in a hug, but he had plans to talk to the maester later. Even so, he knelt in front of the maester first and said, "Maester Aemon, I am so pleased to meet you. I am also Aemon Targaryen."

The maester smiled and his milky eyes crinkled as he put a wrinkled hand to his face to trace his features. "Ah, it's so good to finally meet another family member after so long. You have much of the Starks in you, however you remind me of Rhaegar. He was always driven and earnest, wanting to do right by others."

"I wish I could have known both of my parents," he whispered softly.

"Come visit me in my quarters. We have much to talk about," the maester said.

Aemon grinned, squeezed his great great uncle's hand once more and then stood tall. "Thank you, Lord Commander and Maester Aemon for this meeting. What I must tell you is of grave importance."

"Certainly, Your Grace. Wine?" The Lord Commander asked.

"That is most kind of you." Once wine was served and they were supping - even Ser Barristan was taking delicate sips from his goblet - Aemon decided this was an issue that he could only be straightforward about. "I have received a vision from the gods, a vision of the future, and I must admit it was not a pleasant sight."

The Old Bear blinked. "The gods?"

"The Old Gods. I was praying in front of the weirwood at Winterfell when I received the vision," Aemon said. He, Ned, Ser Barristan, and Jaime had all agreed that receiving messages from the gods would be less farfetched than the idea that they were thrown back in time. As it was, there were no future plans to tell anyone else of their special circumstances. "I was shown a world of chaos. With the exception of myself, everyone in this room was dead, killed by an ensuing war that's supposed to break out over the control of the Seven Kingdoms."

"A war you weren't involved in?" The Lord Commander stated. There was no mistaking the dry tone.

"Indeed, I didn't know of my heritage then. I learned about it in this vision. No, this war was started when King Joffrey murdered my uncle Ned because he was discovered to be a bastard."

Jeor sighed. "That would do it. The North would go to war over that."

"And they did. There was fault on both sides, but the point is that the world was in chaos. Thousands, if not millions, of soldiers died for this fruitless war. None of the kings who fought in it lived to see its end. At the time, there was an even greater threat mounting up north, beyond the wall," Aemon said, fixating both the Lord Commander and his great, great uncle with an intense stare. "The Night King lives, even now. He stirs in the north and he prepares his undead army to march south."

This pronouncement was greeted with silence. Jeor was looking at him incredulously, but Aemon appeared unsurprised.

"In this vision, I watched myself face the Night King. There was a blizzard and the day hadn't dawned for several months at that point. Ser Jamie Lannister grabbed the Night King from behind and left him vulnerable to an attack. I was able to kill him, but not before I was mortally wounded. While the Night King was destroyed, only a handful of humans remained to celebrate the end. Everyone else...was dead. Everyone need not die this time. We can prevent that from happening, but I will need the Night's Watch's cooperation."

"Forgive me, Your Grace, but a man in my position can't afford to take action on unproven truths. As you are aware, we don't have the resources to guess at this sort of thing."

"A long winter is coming, Jeor," Maester Aemon suddenly spoke up. "It has been an unusually long summer and old sayings go that 'long summers are followed by equally long winters.' Regardless of whether you believe in this threat, we need to start taking new measures if we wish for the Night's Watch to survive."

"I have no proof other than my word, I'm afraid. But there is no harm in being prepared. When you send out rangers, make sure they know to exercise extreme caution. You also must henceforth burn your dead, immediately. Fire is one of the few weapons available to fight against the Night King and his army of undead," Aemon said. He felt a staggering disappointment. He knew it was a shot in the dark, but he had to try and convince the Night's Watch that there was a threat unlike any other they had ever faced biding its time. "I wish to get ahead of this as quickly as possible. Ser Rodrik, step forward please."

The grizzled old knight looked bewildered. This was undoubtedly a meeting for people with prominent positions and he hadn't been anything more than a master-at-arms for the majority of his life. Still, he stepped forward, and gave a small bow. "Your Grace?"

"I understand the precarious position the Night's Watch is in. It must remain separate and distinct from the ills of the South. Which is why I would ask that you allow Ser Rodrik to stay at Castle Black as an ambassador of my sovereignty."

"Your Grace?" Ser Rodrik gasped. "This is a high honor, Your Grace!" This time he knelt in front of Aemon.

"Come, Ser Rodrik, no need for such formalities," he replied with a small smile. Then he turned to Jeor, "This way I will have direct information from a trusted source and no one will be able to accuse you of favoring one king over another."

Jeor's eyebrows raised and he stroked his chin. "That is a most welcome solution. I will be happy to play host to Ser Rodrik."

"He's an excellent master-at-arms, so feel free to take advantage of his knowledge to help train your many recruits that I hope to send you in the coming months. Ser Rodrik, I'm counting on you to send me detailed reports of the events here at Castle Black. Leave no detail out, no matter how absurd or small it is."

"As you command, Your Grace."

"There is one other matter that I must insist upon," Aemon began again and regarded Jeor coolly. "I require that you must make inroads with the Free Folk."

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but the wildlings will not suffer the brothers of the Night's Watch."

"This is of vital importance! You have half a million Free Folk beyond the Wall. Now imagine they all join the army of the dead because they were unable to cross the Wall," Aemon said.

Only the wind could be heard rattling the windows after that proclamation.

The Old Bear suddenly looked older than his years. "I cannot deny your logic. If what you say is true -" and his eyes still showed his skepticism "- then they must be moved beyond the Wall."

Aemon nodded. "We cannot leave them to suffer that horrendous fate. I will allow them to settle the Gift. I have already made such a proposal to the other Northern lords and we all agreed."

Jeor heaved a great sigh. "I will make the effort to seek a peace with Mance Rayder. He's the self-proclaimed King-Beyond-the-Wall. The Wildlings hate structure and yet they flock to him."

"Because they already know the Long Night is coming. The Night King has already taken some of their kin as undead soldiers for his army. They seek to cross the wall."

"Your uncle is uncommonly good with the wildlings. Perhaps I'll send him out to deliver a message when he returns."

"Where is he now, if I may be so bold?"

"He went out on a ranging, but he took a few men with him. He said you ordered him to find a creature."

"Yes, a wight. I anticipate the south will be even more skeptical than you. I need an undead wight to prove my words."

Jeor stared at him helplessly, suddenly looking as old as Maester Aemon. "Never did I ever expect creatures from old legends to come back to life."

They spent a little more time talking about the needs of the Night's Watch and what it would take to open and refurbish the other castles on the Wall. Since his uncle was more familiar with the workings of the North, he took over much of the conversation and before long they had a plan of what needed to happen and how best for materials to be shipped north.

Aemon wished he could see his great great uncle soon after, but duty required him to freshen up for the feast. It took three days for him to finally meet the maester. King Aemon would try to find his way to his great great uncle, only to run into a myriad of issues: he was needed to rally the troops of the Night's Watch, Maester Aemon was napping, he had to go to yet another feast, Maester Aemon was dealing with a handful of sword cuts after Ser Alliser got too rough with the new recruits.

During one of the feasts, Maester Aemon said to him in a low voice, "Come to my study afterwards. We have much to talk about."

It was late in the night before Aemon was able to extricate himself from the feast. He practically loped to Maester Aemon's office causing Ser Barristan to almost run to keep up with him. Ghost trotted next to him. The wolf had been uncommonly restless, but he likely just missed the freedom the forest allowed him. He very rarely was ever guarded by Ser Arys Oakheart or Ser Preston Greenfield. When he was guarded by Ser Meryn Trant, it was always with at least one other guard present. They were still short three Kingsguard. Torrhen Karstark was in training to be a knight of the Kingsguard, but he wouldn't be ready for another few months. He intended to honor other knights of the realm in his Kingsguard once he'd won some more allies.

He reached the door and was dismayed to find it dark. Please let him not be asleep yet, Aemon quietly pleaded the gods and then knocked on the door.

He waited for a moment and then heard quiet shuffling before the door was open.

"Your Grace, come in, come in," Maester Aemon said, peering at him as best he could through his milky eyes.

"Please, maester, you can call me Aemon. We're family after all," he replied. "I must admit, I figured you were asleep since you had no candles lit."

"The blind have no need of lights," the maester replied with a crooked grin.

"True enough," Aemon replied. "Do you mind if I light some?"

"Not at all, though you'll have to blow them out when we're done here."

He and Ser Barristan quickly lit a handful of candles and placed them around the room. "Great uncle, I have Ser Barristan here with me. He's my Kingsguard, but he also knew Rhaegar quite well. I thought perhaps he might offer some useful insights."

Despite being blind, the maester seemed to have an uncanny knack for finding people and he gazed thoughtfully in Ser Barristan's direction. He nodded and said, "Mmhmm...he very well might. I imagine he knew your father better than even I knew him. But he didn't know everything."

"Pray tell, Uncle," Aemon asked. He couldn't quite keep the excited tremble from his voice. He and Ser Barristan both leaned in a little to not miss a word.

"I was one of Rhaegar's more faithful correspondents. As a maester, he sought my council often."

Ser Barristan frowned. "About politics?"

"No. It would have been against my duties as maester of Castle Black to counsel a family member in politics. No, he asked me about legends and myths regarding our Targaryen ancestry. You see...your father suspected the Long Night would come in his lifetime."

Aemon raised his eyebrows at the maester. "Truly?"

"Yes, there is a prophecy about the three-headed dragon. His research led him to believe he needed three children. Poor Elia Martell was too sick and too weak to birth a third child," Maester Aemon said with a weight to his tone that sounded not unlike regret.

"So he married my mother…"

"I told him not to be so rash. Prophecies are fickle things. It was also not random happenstance that he chose your mother. He was under the impression that the child had to be of ice and fire."

"An icy Stark with the fiery Targaryen," Aemon whispered.

The maester nodded. "My correspondence with him stopped shortly before he married your mother. The next news I heard of him, he'd been killed by Robert Baratheon on the Trident.

Barristan sighed. "I knew your father was obsessed with prophecy, but I had no inkling that it caused him to go down this road of taking another wife. He frequently retired to his study and to give our charges privacy, we only guard their doors on the outside, not the inside. I'm sorry, Your Grace."

"You wouldn't have been able to stop him, Ser Barristan. He had authority over you," Maester Aemon replied, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. This would explain why so many at the time felt that Rhaegar had lost his mind. Prophecies were enough to drive a rational man to do irrational things.

The maester suddenly stood and ambled over to his desk.

"Do you need assistance?"

"You stay there. I know my way around this office," Aemon replied. He pulled out a drawer and emptied it of its documents and then they watched him pull out a false bottom. He pulled another handful of documents and walked back. "These are the letters your father sent me. I feel they belong to you. Perhaps you can make sense of them."

Aemon was near breathless as he accepted the stack of parchment with trembling fingers. Though it was only written word, this was the closest Aemon felt he would ever get to knowing his father. Dany probably knew even less about her brother. Maybe she would enjoy reading them too. Once again her gentle smile appeared in his mind and he felt himself shiver in excitement. "Thank you, Uncle."

"I will do my best to convince the Lord Commander to heed your warning. There are a number of strange stories that have come back to us from the rangers who return. I suggest you focus on uniting the country. We have everything north of the Wall covered."

"Thank you, Uncle. I truly appreciate your help. I shall read these carefully."

"May the Gods, new and old, watch over you," the maester said gravely.

Aemon bowed. They blew out the candles and left.