Updated 4/13/19: Edited for a smoother read.
Chapter 22
Aemon IV
"Ayra, look, it's Moat Cailin," Aemon exclaimed to the young girl by his side.
Under normal circumstances, Arya would be bouncing up and down in her saddle with unbridled joy. Now, however, she sat silent as the grave and generated a cold anger on par with that of the White Walkers. She deliberately halted her horse and fell back to mingle with her father instead of him. Although Uncle Ned had lectured her about acting like a proper lady in front of the king, she still maintained a frosty glare and had no compunctions about directing it toward her cousin when he tried to talk to her.
Aemon sighed. He'd really hoped that regifting her a sword would ease her anger, but she maintained her fury.
It wasn't difficult to see why. I knew she would hate the idea of marriage, he thought to himself. He'd hoped by possibly sending her to Dorne, a place that would embrace her wild and free spirit would soften the blow, but if anything it had made her even angrier.
Uncle Ned had talked to her of course, telling her that as a lady of an important house, she was expected to marry, but that had only turned her anger from a wildfire to cold enough to cause frostbite.
Aemon honestly wished his uncle hadn't said anything. He knew it would only make his relationship with Arya worse because it looked like he'd sent his uncle to deal with his problems.
Will she fall in love with Gendry just as she did last time? For a girl who insisted she would never fall in love, it had been one of the most shocking and warmest moments of the Long Night. Arya, of course, had vehemently denied her love, but to virtually everyone it was as clear as the icicles that formed on the eves. Eventually, Brienne had talked to her about how there was nothing wrong with being in love. She, of course, loved Jaime which no one could understand. She was the only one who could make Jaime smile, though, and all she had to do was be in the same room.
The advice Brienne gave her seemed to do the trick. The next time she saw Gendry she didn't hesitate to plant a kiss on his cheek, but in true Arya fashion, she had punched his shoulder afterward and yelled at him for causing her to fall in love. Gendry had just given her a crooked grin, but then it fell away and he said they could never be because she was a lady, far too important for the likes of him. Then Ser Davos had to set him straight.
It had been messy, but it eventually led to Aemon legitimizing Gendry as a Baratheon. In a matter of weeks, they were married beneath the weirwood of Winterfell. It had been a blistering cold day, so the audience had only stayed outside long enough for the vows to be said and then everyone hurried back inside. A modest feast was prepared and the happy couple were congratulated. Circumstances as they were, wedding gifts were expected to come after the Long Night had lifted.
But as with everything in that other timeline, the new couple's happiness hadn't lasted long. Sansa had to be sent to the Eyrie for protection. Gendry insisted Arya go with her. That had been a huge fight, but eventually Gendry's stubbornness somehow won out over Arya's. They parted.
A year hadn't quite passed before Gendry was dead. Aemon had felt like his heart had been torn in two. He'd sent a messenger to Sansa with the news, but had never heard back. He hoped that if Arya were dead that they met and enjoyed their happiness in the after life.
He wasn't sure how he'd feel if Arya met Gendry and started a budding romance. On the one hand, it would give him hope that he and Daenerys could be rejoined and still find love. On the other hand, he could not fathom how torturous it would be to fall in love with Dany and have his feelings dashed by a pending betrothal for either of them. He imagined it would be years before they truly fell in love. Their romance had certainly not been love at first sight, but it had grown as Arya matured and aged into a formidable young woman.
If it had been at all possible, he would've left Arya at Winterfell, but she was here as well as Sansa. The former king Robert was also in the party, being hauled in a wheelhouse clapped in irons. The Hound too had bent the knee and traveled among the other northern lords. Aemon considered appointing him as a guard to Sansa, since the Hound had a strange fondness for her in the former life, but felt that might be a tad presumptuous and decided not to meddle.
He glanced up at the clear blue sky and almost expected to find Drogon cruising the skies with a telltale dab of silver hair trailing behind him. His heart soared as he recalled Dany crouched behind Drogon's neck, her eyes intent, full of fire. She never failed to impress him when she rode her dragon. They were so closely matched, it was as if Drogon was her heart pumping the air into her lungs to breathe.
She had allowed him onto the back of Drogon once. It was after Rhaegal had accepted him as his rider. She had sat in front of him and he had held onto her waist, bemoaning the fact that it was too cold for her to have anything but the warmest and thickest furs adorning her. It had been a trial to sit behind her and not think of how he wanted nothing more than to kiss her senseless and then ravish her in the snow the moment they touched ground again. She seemed to know of his frustrations and had turned back to grin at him wickedly.
"May I ask, Your Grace, what's so fascinating about the clouds?" Robb interrupted.
Aemon gave a huff of frustration and sincerely hoped the heat he felt in his face was not an actual blush. "I'm enjoying the weather, cousin. It's a beautiful day out."
"If you say so, your grace," Robb replied, but he had a mischievous grin on his face, clearly pleased that he'd caught him daydreaming. Again.
Since there was nowhere to have secret meetings, Aemon didn't hold any and that left very little to do other than daydream and contemplate. Lately he'd been turning more to daydreaming. It was so very tempting to take a contingent of soldiers and order his uncle to win his throne for him while he traveled to Pentos to intercept Daenerys and prevent her from marrying her Khal, but in his heart of hearts, he knew he couldn't. He merely assuaged his conscious that she was safe. While she had not spoken much of her 'Sun and Stars' as she'd like to call the Khal, he did see that she was happy. He would just have to deal with the fact that she would be loving another.
He was further at a loss about how to hatch her dragons. Dany had told him about how they came into the world and of course it was only now that he wished he'd pressed her for more details. Did hatching the dragons require her to lose her Khal and unborn child? He wished desperately to spare her of that pain, but they needed the dragons. The world would be lost without them. If he managed to convince her to come back before the dragons had hatched, could they still repeat the ritual in some way? As far as he knew, they didn't have any natives who used the wild magics from the East, except perhaps Thoros of Myr and he was most likely in King's Landing at this very moment. He gritted his teeth once more at the bullheadedness of Tywin Lannister.
He received a message from Jaime that his father had ignored his orders and preferred to arrange a wedding for him instead of marching on King's Landing. When Aemon had finished the letter he'd balled the letter up and thrown it into the fire pretending it was Tywin Lannister's head. He'd had the perfect opportunity to get ahead of Renly and he had deliberately ignored it.
His Uncle Ned had used this opportunity to campaign against Jaime's trustworthiness yet again and it took all Aemon had not to throw him out of his own Solar.
However, not all the news was bad. Aemon couldn't help but internally chuckle at Jaime's declaration that he'd taken Podrick Payne on as a squire as recompense for the death of his cousin. At least, that was the official reason. You are such a sentimental fool sometimes, he'd thought as he imagined Pod and Jaime together. The poor boy was probably in far over his head, but Jaime was not one to take no for an answer. It was part of his Lannister lineage.
It did make him think of the other people they had collected over the years to fight against the Long Night. He wondered briefly about Bronn and grimaced at the thought of him atop the wall at King's Landing. Considering he was a sellsword, that's undoubtedly where he'd be since Renly was now looking for soldiers, but he hoped the sellsword ducked out once he saw Aemon's might. He knew Bronn didn't like a losing battle. He and Bronn hadn't been especially close since the sellsword whined continually about his pay, but Jaime and Tyrion had liked and trusted him, so he reluctantly accepted him. In the end, he had gone down in a rather violent blaze of glory and he couldn't deny the man's courage.
Beric Dondarrion was a Stormlord. He was undoubtedly in King's Landing with his lord paramount and he prayed once more that the old knight would see reason and bend the knee when asked. He had been peculiar and at the time preferred not to follow any kings, but he at least understood the threat of the Long Night and had been faithful to the end.
What I wouldn't give to have Ser Davos counseling me instead of my uncle, Aemon thought. But he's with Stannis. Again, he grimaced at the thought. From what little Tyrion, Jaime, and his uncle had been able to tell him about Stannis, the only chance of surrender would be to bring a nigh insurmountable force. However, when he'd read up on the lineage of the Houses of Westeros, he took note that the Lords of the Narrow Sea, the Celtigars, and the Velaryons were once strong Targaryen supporters and those were Stannis' only vassals. He wondered if he could rely on them to come to his aid. Would they need proof of his heritage first? He wasn't yet quite sure how he was going to provide that. If he stayed on Dragonstone, they'd be forced to take it much like King's Landing, spilling over the walls through sheer numbers. It pained Aemon to think he might be forced into killing Ser Davos' sons. He at least had every intention of avoiding using wildfire. Jaime would not allow it.
He was brought from his thoughts by a mighty horn blast. They had finally reached the edge of the encampment. The grasslands north of Moat Cailin were quite flat and was now brimming with tents as far as the eye could see. His army. He felt his heart swell and he straightened up in pride. As they began riding through camp, soldiers were crawling out of their tents and stopping what they were doing to gape and cheer at their approach.
It took some time, but they finally reached the high walls of Moat Cailin. The doors of the old fort were thrown wide open, but inside they could see fallen stonework and rotted wooden structures. Some of it had been cleared away to form a secure gathering place for wartime councils, complete with tent and table, but he wouldn't trust these walls for sleeping in. Moat Cailin would need to be assigned a lord and renovated. It had been a crucial outpost in the Long Night, even in its rundown state. At full operating capacity it would be a gauntlet for the White Walkers. He filed that to the back of his mind; that was something they'd have to address down the road.
"Your Grace, we are honored by your presence," SmallJon Umber replied, bowing, looking somber and uneasy at the same time. He kept glancing at a group of small men, dressed in green clothing, with pouches and spears. One among them stood in front of the others and followed his every movement. His bow was the deepest of them all. This must be Howland Reed, Aemon thought.
He'd never been able to meet him in the other life. The Night King had sent his wights into the bog to rout them and with the waterways frozen, the crannogmen had been completely and utterly overrun. Meera Reed reported that her father had proudly led their forces into battle to little avail. To slow the oncoming tide of wights, Howland had set his beloved swamp on fire. It had consumed crannogmen and wights alike, but their sacrifice had not been in vain. Aemon and Jaime had been able to withdraw their forces to a more defensible position once Moat Cailin had fallen.
"Your Grace, it is a great honor to meet you. I apologize for not traveling to Winterfell to pledge my allegiance to you. If you will allow it, I shall make my pledges now," Howland Reed stated, falling to one knee.
Aemon dismounted his horse. "I will accept your pledge, Lord Reed. Please do me the honor of sharing my table this evening. My uncle tells me I have you to thank for ensuring my protection as a babe."
When Howland stood back up, his eyes were shining. "Your mother was a singularly brave and courageous woman. She assisted me in an hour of need. It was the least I could do."
"Thank you, My Lord. Let's convene inside Moat Cailin. We have much to discuss," Aemon said, sweeping past them all; Ghost followed closely behind him. His direwolf was still in the midst of puppyhood, but in the last two months he had grown substantially and now stood just below his waist. The northern lords, though hard and fearless, gave the wolf a wide berth as they filed into the tent behind Aemon. Ghost immediately slid under the table and curled up.
"Surely, Your Grace, you would prefer to freshen up and rest after your travels," SmallJon began but trailed away when Aemon looked at him.
Aemon shook his head. "I've been too long already. I expect the army to be ready to move in two days' time." He made a beeline for the map spread across the map and started adding figurines to it. The lords gathered around him. "I have received reports that Renly Baratheon has managed to gather his Stormlands army and is occupying King's Landing. Tywin Lannister is marching on King's Landing, but it will be a month before he reaches it. The Reach and Dorne are, as of yet undeclared, though I have received a report that Loras Tyrell is trying to persuade his family to align with Lord Renly."
There was a general, disgruntled muttering among the lords.
"It would behoove the Tyrells to not follow their son on this," Domeric Bolton said. "It wouldn't seem wise."
"Mace Tyrell is a lackwit. He might be ridiculous enough to do it," GreatJon bellowed.
"Perhaps. I have received a message from the Tyrells that they are still willing to listen to my proposal. Lord Jaime should have reached them by now. With any luck, I'll receive news in Riverrun about whether the negotiations went well or ill."
You really trust a Lannister to have your back on this? The question practically hovered in the air, but no one dared speak it. Their king had already lectured them more than once about doubting the person he chose to be his Hand.
"Have there been any other reports?" Aemon looked towards SmallJon Umber.
"No, your grace. It has been quiet."
"Good," Aemon replied. It had been two months since he sent out letters to all the major houses and it was likely that most lords were still considering their moves. He hoped gathering proved to be easy. Being decisive would help other lords determine where to throw their support.
There was little else he could do regarding allies, so he turned to the next pressing issue: "I wish to discuss the taking of King's Landing. Where's Lord Tyrion Lannister?"
A deafening silence fell around them as the Northern Lords frowned at him. His uncle finally stepped forward and said, "Is the young Lannister's council truly necessary?"
"Please, tell me, uncle, out of your own extensive knowledge of King's Landing, how we might go about taking it," Aemon replied. He knew it was a childish reply, but his uncle had been doing little else but try his patience in regards to any of the Lannisters. It was damn near enough to accuse him of treason for questioning his king, constantly, but as the North was currently his only allies, he had to bite his tongue on numerous occasions. One slicing comment wouldn't hurt.
Ned reddened in chastisement and then muttered to Robb about fetching the young lord.
Tyrion came strolling in, ignoring all the lords who frowned down on him and bowed, "Your Grace?"
"Tyrion, I would like to hear more information in regards to King's Landing. I want to start planning our strategy to take it. Anything useful about the people, the structure, routine, anything would be useful."
"Well, I'm not sure what help I can be. I've never been in King's Landing when it's been under siege. However, I can tell you about some of the lords behind the siege. Is Stannis still on Dragonstone?"
"Yes, there have been no messages to suggest he intends to join his brother. For now."
"I can't imagine taking King's Landing will be too difficult. Renly has been neglected by both of his brothers. He's pretty and charming enough, but has the intellectual depth of a creek. He has no military instinct and since Robert scorned Stannis, Stannis has not bothered to share any of his military knowledge. He has to rely on his friend Ser Loras Tyrell. Now, Ser Loras is by all accounts a formidable fighter, but he has never been in a battle before. He's green to the gills. I doubt either of those fools knows what they're doing. Will it be a full siege complete with a oceanside blockade?"
"Not yet...since the North lacks a fleet, they will have access to trade by sea."
Tyrion rubbed his chin. "Then their situation won't be dire for some time. If my father sent ships, it'll be almost half a year before they're in place. Starving them out is your best bet."
"Let's say we don't have the time to starve them out. Is there anything else?"
Tyrion stood there for a moment, staring at the map. "If you're getting the Reach and Dorne, which is what I suspect my brother is doing, then it won't be long before you have the largest force that Westeros has seen since Aegon the Conqueror. Intimidation alone might be enough. The Reach, of course, could always side with the son Loras. You want to make sure they don't try to break your back."
"Yes, yes, I'm aware of all that. Is there any way to breach the walls quickly?"
"Build siege machines and rush them. Your force would overwhelm them easily enough. I foresee Renly folding like a deck of cards."
Aemon sighed privately. He was hoping for fresh ideas, but crawling the walls and crushing Renly through sheer force was currently their only viable option. He had to hope Stannis didn't suddenly develop familial feelings for his brother Renly and also try to break their backs with the Tyrells.
It all hinged on the negotiations going his way. He silently made a prayer for Jaime's success and then glanced at Robb.
Of the three children who had been informed of their pending nuptials, Robb had surprisingly taken it the best. He had been terse because he had wanted to pick his own bride, but had told his uncle that he knew his place. Sansa hadn't been caught up on who she was marrying, but where she was going. It was one thing to head south and marry the crown prince - the power was enticing. For a brief instant, Aemon saw Cersei in her and shuddered - but to now go south without hopes of ruling anything other than a large household appeared to wilt her. It also seemed to dawn on her that she would likely never see the North and her mother ever again. Even so, she kept a pleasant facade.
He declared messengers be sent to Lord Frey to expect his approach and one also to Lord Tywin to refrain from harming innocents and to merely block anyone from entering or exiting King's Landing. Then he broke the council meeting and headed to his tent to clean up. Like a shadow, Ghost followed him.
A bowl of clean water had been laid out on a table and he happily washed his face, his hands running over the scruff that was growing on his neck. He'd hoped by growing a beard, the boyish fat still clinging to his face might be hidden. He looked around the tent and grimaced at the mirror, bed, lavish trunk, and a beautiful grey and black rug meant to represent his Stark and Targaryen heritage. He knew that in times of plenty even the North was bound to act a little ostentatiously, but the excess made him cringe. For too long he had slept on dirt floors and ate the same camp gruel as everyone else.
Now he frequently ate just amongst his lords and never mingled with his common soldiers. It made him feel isolated and the uncomfortable truth itched at him like a fur skin. He knew it would be impossible to meet every soldier beneath him, but he would have to find a way to show the common folk that he could hear their concerns as well as the lords'.
His father had similar ideas about governing. Not only had Rhaegar written to Maester Aemon about prophecies, but also about his frustrations regarding his own father. The people of King's Landing lived in utter terror of the Mad King and had frequently been thrown into fires to burn at the King's delight. Nobles and peasants had suffered alike under King Aerys. Aemon had only wished that his father had lived to see the realm with the influence of the Mad King removed.
When he talked about the prophecies however, he seemed fixated on the Targaryen bloodline. He was certain that The Prince Who Was Promised would be someone of his blood, but was having difficulty pinpointing who the mother might be, if that was at all important. Rhaegar also seemed convinced that he needed to have three children to follow the Three-headed Dragon part of the prophecy. His half sister and brother were supposed to be two heads and...he was supposed to be another, but to what purpose was elusive. Rhaegar just seemed to be convinced that certain parts had to be forced in order for the prophecy to start.
He detailed many conflicting reports and over the course of several letters, Aemon desperately wished he'd had his great uncle's half of the correspondence. It would have been useful to get the old Maester's take, but he had been forced to leave without having another conversation with his great great uncle. Perhaps he could restart the correspondence once he'd won his throne. Sam should be assisting Maester Aemon by then, he mused.
Aemon had prayed the entire way to Moat Cailin that he would meet Samwell Tarly heading to the Wall. That had never come to pass. Sam had never told him about the specific steps he took on his journey to the wall, so Aemon suspected that instead of taking the long way, he booked passage on a ship to White Harbor. In all probability, they had just missed each other.
He went to the opening of his tent and ordered, "Ser Meryn, would you please escort Lady Dacey Mormont to me. I wish to speak with her."
The knight bowed and said, "Your Grace" and then walked off.
Aemon watched him closely. So far he had yet to see either treasonous or cruel behavior from the man. The few times he had been in his company, he had been polite and deferential at all times. There was nothing there to suggest that a cruel monster lurked beneath those dour features. Even so, Aemon wasn't quite ready to trust him with anything more serious than guard duty.
Ghost whined from where he was laying on the rug, peering up at Aemon pleadingly. "I can't believe you're still here. Go on! I'm sure your brother and sisters are waiting for you," he said, waving an arm towards the entrance. Ghost was instantly on his feet and dashed out the door. He had no idea what the wolves got up to, but he had a feeling they spent much of the night smelling out prey and hunting it down.
A few minutes later, Ser Meryn entered. "Lady Dacey, Your Grace."
"Thank you. Now I would ask that you send for Lord Howland Reed." He bowed and left.
"Thank you for coming, Lady Dacey. I would like a report on your escort mission of Cersei Lannister."
"Your Grace, I do not envy my little sister. She wailed night and day for the first week or so, mostly issuing threats. We had to force her to eat after a few days. She was a misery. And then she got sick and could barely keep her food down, but apparently her hunger won out and she started eating again. She was quieter, but had a tendency to say cutting things to the people delivering her meals and escorting her to relieve herself. Nothing untoward happened though. The road was quiet. We have her locked up in a small portion of the castle. Only women are allowed to serve her and guard her doors. No one she comes in contact with will be willing to accept anything from her."
Aemon smiled and nodded, "Good. Thank you for your service. You are a credit to your house."
"Of course, Your Grace," Dacey replied, tipping her head.
"You're dismissed."
He had barely turned after she left than Ser Meryn's voice spoke through the tent again, "Howland Reed, Your Grace." Aemon could see a muscle twitching in the Kingsguard's jaw.
"Thank you, Ser. You are dismissed for the night. Lord Reed, thanking you for joining me ahead of dinner. I hope you don't mind, but my uncle will be joining us as well. I know what good friends you are."
"Thank you, Your Grace. I look forward to it," the shorter man replied with a bow, his face alight in happiness.
"Before that, however, I wanted to ask you about your son. Jojen Reed was his name, wasn't it?"
Howland hesitated for just a moment. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Does he still plan on journeying to Winterfell to speak with Bran?"
There was no mistaking the silence after that question. Aemon turned to see Howland staring at him like his life was on the line. His breathing had quickened, but he held his ground. "H-he is. How do you know that?"
"The old Gods have graced me with visions not unlike how they grace your son. Bran must become the Three-Eyed Raven."
Howland slowly nodded and swallowed. "Y-yes, my son has foreseen it. The Long Night is coming and Bran learning to control his powers is a crucial element. He must be prepared to learn."
"Good to know. I think you'll have a difficult time tearing him away from Lady Catelyn, but if it's necessary, I will order that he and Jojen Reed be escorted to the lair of the Three-Eyed Raven."
"That would be most kind, Your Grace," Howland replied in a whisper. He then said, "So then, do you know that Jojen will have to force Bran's powers to reveal itself to him?"
Aemon snapped his head to him. "What will that entail?"
"I'm afraid I don't know, but his inner eye must be opened."
He winced. "He will not be forced to be a cripple, will he?"
"I am unsure. From the way Jojen has spoken about it, a traumatic event must occur."
Oh please, Gods, don't take Bran's legs away again. This will be so much easier if he can walk, fend for himself, he silently prayed. From there, he steered Howland into a conversation about his forces. Naturally, they were best used to defend the pathway North, but as there was unlikely to be forces heading north, Aemon insisted that a squad of them join the regular forces.
"It's hardly fair that all the other lords have to gather their forces and march to war. I understand your people have a very important purpose, but I think you could be equally useful elsewhere."
"Perhaps, Your Grace, but my people aren't meant for open grounds."
"Have no fear, they will not be on the battlefield. I want to manage these battles with great care. We'll need every man we can get for the Long Night. I had an idea that we might be able to use some of your men to open the doors for us at King's Landing. I'd prefer not to throw bodies carelessly against the walls."
Howland considered it for a moment and nodded. "Very well, Your Grace. I shall bring two score of my men with me south. I'd rather not risk anymore than that."
"That should be more than enough. Ah, uncle, thank you for joining us! Dinner should be arriving shortly."
After that, Aemon fell mostly out of the conversation as Ned and Howland talked. For the first time, the crannogman's harsh exterior fell away with an easy smile. They were served roasted quail with cobs of corn and chopped vegetables on the side. He winced a little thinking about how the rest of his men would be forced to eat endless stew.
Ned and Howland decided to recount some of their stories from the Rebellion. Thankfully, none of those included the Battle on the Trident where his father died, however they did decide to regale him with the story of when they found him. He internally winced as they talked about their battle with the Kingsguard, including how Ser Arthur Dayne was ready to skewer his uncle when Howland had stabbed him from behind. Aemon felt his heart quiver. He knew he was grateful for his uncle to be alive, but to hear Jaime's hero and mentor stabbed in the back in a most dishonorable fashion did not sit right with him. He hoped his uncle had enough tact to never bring up how Ser Arthur Dayne really died in Jaime's presence.
As soon as Ned began talking about going up the Tower of Joy, he hung on to every word.
"I saw your mother in bed. She was pale and shaky, but though she was weak, she insisted on holding you close. The fever was taking her. She could only whisper, so I knelt down beside her. I could see the grief on her face when she handed you over to me, but she never tried to draw you back. She simply said, 'His name is Aemon. Please, Ned, protect him.' Those were her last words to me."
Aemon had to work to keep his eyes dry, but his throat was overwhelmed with emotion and he couldn't speak a word. His uncle could only stare at him with sympathy. "She loved you, Aemon. Every single gesture she made from the time you were born until she died, was a gesture of love to you. Now, you know why I kept your identity from you, don't you?"
"Of course I do, uncle. That was never the issue. I didn't understand why you insisted on keeping it from me, even after I reached age of majority. I deserved to know," Aemon replied, finally reeling in his emotions enough to speak.
"I only ever wanted what was best for you."
Then why did you let your wife treat me so terribly, he wanted to say, but there was no point in bringing up past grudges. His entire campaign to be king was about moving forward and preparing the country for the Long Night. He had to be the responsible one and let old aches and pains fall by the wayside.
When Howland and Ned left him for the evening, he laid in bed and felt the ache of missing Jaime and Dany. What he wouldn't do for his friend's presence, even if Jaime wasn't always the best at offering advice.
He missed Dany for her warmth and softness, but she also frequently had her own opinions about ruling and had never been afraid to voice her thoughts. Every night before he fell asleep, he prayed for Dany's safety.
As soon as I have the throne, Dany, I will come for you. Please, old Gods and the new, watch over her. She is far more important than she realizes.
