Author's Note: Wow, thank you all for your response regarding last chapter. I'm so happy you all enjoyed it!

Grimmnadalind66 - Spoilers!

Guest - "One question though, did Jamie have the seizures before coming back? Is that how he can see sounds? Or are the seizures unrelated and just from the bear attack?"- Those who suffer from Synesthesia (because it is a real condition) usually suffer from seizures. So, yes, Jaime did have the seizures in the time before. They are a result of his injury in the exact same way 'seeing sounds' ability is.

Chapter 31

Aemon VII

Aemon hurried their horses along the King's Road. They were now less than a day away from King's Landing and the excitement was palpable around him. Even Ghost plunged around in delight, yipping, sprinting ahead and then running back to gallop alongside them once more. Olyvar, who rode just behind him, laughed at the wolf's antics, bringing a smile to Aemon's face.

Aemon was particularly keen to reach the encampment outside of King's Landing as he had received welcome news two weeks prior: Jaime was alive!

A messenger on horseback had met them near Harrenhal as they were heading from the Vale to King's Landing and delivered four messages, but his eyes were grabbed by the two Lannister seals among them. It had taken all he could not to immediately tear them open and waited for camp to break.

At his first chance, he pulled the letters from his satchel and dove into his tent. If he was expecting a lengthy explanation for his tardiness, he was marginally disappointed. Jaime had written merely one word on the piece of parchment: Ironborn.

For all of its lacking in substance, it was easy to deduce that the Ironborn must have waylaid Jaime in some manner or another. And now the Ironborn have inserted themselves into this conflict. Did they ally with Renly? But if they had, wouldn't they be raiding our western shores by now? Jaime would undoubtedly have more information, but he had clearly been reluctant to share it through letters. That had to be significant if he was concerned about being intercepted. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration. They needed to retaliate against the Ironborn, but splitting his army at this late stage when it was prepped on King's Landing's doorstep would be foolish. But he would look even more foolish if he sat outside King's Landing for months on end and eventually had to react to the Ironborn raiding their coasts. Even if they didn't ally with Renly, he had no doubt they'd delight in causing any kind of trouble to aggravate him.

With such an overwhelming force at my back, we should be able to flood the Red Keep. Renly is as green as spring grass. I can't see him fighting to the death, he thought.

He picked up the next letter with the Lannister seal and ripped it open. This had barely more than the first letter, but it caused Aemon's heart to soar: The Reach secured. Jaime actually took the time to sign this letter, whereas the last one appeared to have been hastily written.

We did it. We have five of the seven kingdoms, just like that. Now all we need is the throne, he thought, but it produced a bitter smile. Gathering allies to fight on his behalf had hardly been easy, but it was another matter entirely to maintain the throne. He desperately needed to put heads together with Jaime to have a better idea of how they might tackle the problem of Baelish.

As far as he was concerned, their reunion could not come soon enough, especially since he and his uncle were no longer talking.

He was gratified that his uncle had stopped badgering him about Jaime since before Riverrun, but ever since he admitted to the forgery of the Baelish letter to get Lady Lysa to admit her crimes, his uncle had refrained from speaking to him altogether. If he asked his uncle a benign question in public, he would answer, but he kept his answers minimal. In private, his uncle merely acquiesced quietly, never raising another issue.

However, there was no mistaking the disappointment in his eyes when he admitted to the lie. At first, his uncle had been shocked, but then it had transitioned to fear, and in the next instant to disappointment. He had spent so much of his former life - and even part of this life - striving to make his uncle proud and to see otherwise was like an arrow to his heart.

But he did not regret it. This had to be done. He just hoped he hadn't killed them all by making the first move.

"A king must be bold, a king must be decisive. There may come a time where a king must take risks." Those were words his father had written in his letters and it had struck a chord in Aemon. He was so uncertain and, in some ways, terrified of the path he had to take to secure the realm, but reading Rhaegar's letters had fostered a connection to him. Though he pitied Rhaegar for being sucked into a spiral of insanity, his father had done his best to maintain a connection to reality by outlining his reasons, both rational and irrational for the decisions he made. Once more, he lamented not having Maester Aemon's responses so that he could take advantage of his endless wisdom.

"Kill the boy, Jon Snow. Kill the boy and become the man you need to be." In some ways, that was the advice that had gotten him murdered by his fellow Night's Watch members, but he had done the right thing. If they had made it to Hard Home sooner, so many more Free Folk could have been saved and their inevitable downfall curbed, if not completely prevented. He would reach Hard Home long before the Night King this time.

One step at a time, he consoled himself. He still had so much else to do. First he had to secure the Red Keep and then he would find a way to bring Dany over. She need not suffer anymore than she has to. I pray she is not suffering now.

The other two letters the messenger had sent him were from House Stark and House Martell. Lady Catelyn had written back, agreeing to allow into her household and raise Jaime's poor bastard. His heart lurched once more and then he realized he would have to tell Jaime about his sister's pregnancy as soon as he could.

Doran Martell wrote a letter thanking him for his generosity for sending the villains who had wrongly tortured their family their way. Apparently, Oberyn Martell was having a grand time and wished to send a thousand thanks his way and that he - and he alone, Doran Martell pointed out - was ready to serve in whatever capacity he needed him. The oldest Martell was more reserved and offered to host him should he wish to open further negotiations.

It was yet another message to lift his heart and in more ways than one. Was it possible that he could win their alliance without having to offer his cousin to their oldest heir? He would do just about anything to put a smile back on her face and while she had smiled once she started training with the sword, it had still yet to be directed at him.

"My king," Ser Barristan said just loudly enough over the horse's hooves to grab his attention and he focused on ahead of him and gasped.

He thought the encampment at Moat Cailin was vast, but this was like a sea of canvas, as far as the eye could see. The banners he saw on the outer rims here were a combination of Tully and Westerlands. He had a feeling there had been a tussle with Lord Tywin about camp space. No doubt the North, the original home of their king, would want a prominent seat up by King's Landing. He would have been interested to see that fight, but he hoped it hadn't come to physical blows.

To the far south, just barely within his sight, he could see the golden rose of the Tyrells, a clear testament to Jaime's success. Alongside it, there was the red archer of Tarly, the fox shield of Florent, the flaming tower of Hightower, and more.

Where is Jaime? He could only imagine he had been set up in the Lannister encampment.

The soldiers stood at attention as soon as they entered the encampment, most of them kneeling and they followed the red dragon on black canvas behind him as if transfixed. At first there was quiet, as if the sight had taken everyone's breath away, but then like rolling thunder, a cheer began to follow them through the camp.

Even at a quick trot, it still took them better than an hour to reach the walls of King's Landing. The sun beat down on them relentlessly and Aemon sweat through his leathers, finding the heat stifling. It was not helped by the overwhelming stench of shit. He remembered then, from Sansa and Jaime, that King's Landing had a permanent stench of sewage. And the people are expected to live here? Atrocious! There is no excuse for this. He would have to find a way to install sewers for the peasantry at some point. It was unconscionable that his own ancestors had never seen fit to improve the city in such a simple way.

When they brought their horses to a halt, the lords in the immediate area all fell to their knees. Greatjon Umber was the closest, but around him he could see Karstark, Bolton, Lady Maege, Manderly, Tully, and Ser Stevron Frey. He frowned. He hoped he would see more diversity among his lords, but it would appear they needed to make the extra effort to welcome the lords from other regions to the front of the camp.

"Your grace," the Greatjon intoned, giving him a nod as a stable boy took his horse.

He jumped off his horse and said, "Lord Umber. Good to see you. Everything seems to be in order. Where is my Hand?" All the surrounding lords eyed Ghost warily still. The direwolf had now grown enough to come up to the Greatjon's waist. For the moment though, he stood next to his master.

"Taking all comers in the ring, your grace," the Greatjon said, looking disgruntled.

"And winning them all," Robb piped up, giving Aemon a crooked smile. He had a swollen lip with a red scrape and he wondered if Jaime had been the cause of that.

Aemon grinned. "I would expect no less from the best sword of the Seven Kingdoms. Robb, would you bring him here? I needs must spe -"

"Your grace!" Jaime rounded the group of lords practically skidded to a halt, then he dropped his head in acknowledgement and smirked at him. "Welcome to the camp at King's Landing!" Jaime's eyes were glittering with barely contained excitement and he seemed to be shivering with unspent energy. He was wearing a full suit of armor painted in Lannister crimson and gold, with a few pieces left steel gray.

Aemon smiled back though it faltered a little as he looked more closely at him. For all of Jaime's energy, his skin was looking wan and bruised from lack of sleep. The scars leftover from the bear stood out in stark contrast on his skin. The four of them stretched across his face with the lowest crossing his left cheek and disappearing into his hair. They had healed well, but the scar tissue was a maroon and had a dull shine to it. He would undoubtedly carry them for the rest of his days. He noticed the hesitation and it brought a puzzled frown to his face.

"Something the matter?"

"Your scars. I had forgotten about them."

Jaime smirked again. "I don't even see them anymore."

"They're on your face! How often do you look in the mirror?"

"Every chance I get."

Aemon chuckled. "Lannister. Of course, how could I forget? Come! We have much to discuss."

"Indeed we do," Jaime said with a wolfish grin.

"My tent?" Aemon asked.

"Baldur, show his grace to his tent," the Greatjon barked and a young boy who likely wasn't old enough for battle leapt up with the alacrity of a mouse and scurried ahead to show him to his tent. The Northern and Riverland lords were by now familiar with the fact that Aemon cared to freshen up only after his business was conducted.

It did not take long to find a large tent, once more furnished with ridiculously plush furniture with a Targaryen flag hanging over the bed. They sat at a small round table. Ghost remained standing, seeming to stare imploringly.

"Go on, Ghost. I'm sure you're eager to find your brother," Aemon said. The wolf was gone in the next instant, only the swaying of the tent flap to show his departure. Aemon sighed and looked around. "Is this your doing?"

"My father's, actually. This is the closest you'll get to groveling after he failed to follow my orders," Jaime said and he clenched his jaw. Clearly, he still hadn't forgiven his father, but perhaps it was better this way considering the last time Lord Tywin had led his army into King's Landing.

Aemon's own expression darkened. "How has he been?"

Jaime's jaw twitched. "Amenable. For him. I arrived about a week after your Northern-Riverland portion arrived. Tensions were high because my father never plays nice. I did my best to ease tensions and organize the camp in a way that pleased both parties."

Aemon raised an eyebrow. "And did you please both parties?"

"Of course not!" Jaime rolled his eyes. "Your northern lords didn't say anything to my face, but of course they griped about me being biased, but my own father felt that I was placing the Westerlands second to the North. There may have been a few scuffles between soldiers, but no bloodshed. All considering, I think it's a success."

"It sounds like you did as well as you could, considering the circumstances. Thank you for at least attempting to be a pacifying force."

Jaime huffed and Aemon chuckled. He called for refreshments for them and soon there was a plate of cold cuts and wine. Neither one said anything while they were served and it was only once the tent flap fell into place that Jaime began instantly scarfing down the food.

"Hungry?"

"I have been training Pod all day. Besides, you don't care about decorum."

"Fair enough. How is Pod?"

"He is much improved over...the last time. He'll be in much better shape to handle the Long Night," Jaime said. At speaking the 'Long Night,' he dropped his voice to a whisper, gave a furtive glance at the tent walls.

Aemon grimaced. He knew he would have to get used to the Red Keep having walls about as impenetrable as a tent when it came to concealing information as well.

"As much as I love Brienne, her training methods left much to be desired. I don't regret sending Pod with her, but she neglected Pod's training until it was damn near too late."

"She wasn't a knight. She had no obligation to train him."

"But this is Brienne who longed desperately to be a knight. She would have felt the obligation."

They were silent for a moment while they ate and then Aemon asked, "Do you think Brienne's in the Red Keep?"

A shadow passed over Jaime's face and he grew grim. "I'm certain she is. Before I met her, she was besotted with Renly. She would've followed him into Hell."

Aemon felt his insides clench. How would he feel if Daenerys was on the other side and they were on the cusp of battle? At least without her dragons, he could be assured she wouldn't be in the battle. Jaime did not have that luxury. He decided to change the subject. "The North have been informed of the Long Night's threat."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at him. "They believed you?"

"I said the gods had given me a vision."

"And they believed you?" Jaime repeated, growing more skeptical by the minute.

Aemon smiled, but it was hollow. "They had to after I...after I beat the Greatjon Umber. I'm sure there are still skeptics." There was a moment of silence and then Aemon whispered, "The Gods...they possessed me."

Jaime's eyes went wide. "What happened?" He whispered back just as urgently.

So Aemon launched into the story about the fight. He pulled out his sword and laid it on the table. Jaime leaned over and examined it and shook his head in disbelief.

"Passing strange. I commissioned the damn sword in Winterfell. The Blacksmith only had the most common materials available."

"I know."

"Why do you think they did it?"

"If the whole point is to unite the Seven Kingdoms and be prepared for the Long Night, then they needed things to run as smoothly as possible. Convincing the North of the threat, especially this early, was going to be a hurtle. They cleared all doubts with one fell swoop it seems."

"So it seems," Jaime mumbled. "Do you think they really want the Long Night defeated?"

"Why else would we be back?"

Jaime shrugged.

"You met with trouble yourself?"

"Hmm? Oh yes. The, ahem, Ironborn captured me and Pod. I think they wanted to hold us for ransom," Jaime said in a tone that clearly indicated it had more depth than that simple explanation. He fetched a quill and paper and hastily wrote. Then he held up the parchment to Aemon and in scratchy plain letters Baelish was spelled out.

Aemon scowled. Of course. "You're sure?"

Jaime nodded. "I have no proof though, just overheard conversation."

"We'll tackle the Ironborn some other time."

"I agree. We need to focus on taking the Keep." It was here that the excitement returned to Jaime's eyes and he said, "I think I have a way to take it without shedding any blood."

Aemon cocked his head. "I'm all ears."

He smiled avariciously and whispered, "I made contact with Varys. There are hidden tunnels in the Keep that go to all the most important rooms. If I know Renly at all, he's taken one of those rooms. We can grab him and force him to surrender."

"That sounds too good to be true," Aemon whispered. "How do you know about these tunnels?"

Jaime's excitement deflated once more. "It's how I smuggled Tyrion out of King's Landing when...well, when Cersei was going to take his head."

Upon hearing Cersei's name, a shock ran through Aemon and he felt his heart stop. He still had to tell Jaime about his future child!

"I promise, few people know of these tunnels. It was Varys who told me about them."

Aemon was barely paying attention now. "Jaime, I have something important to tell you."

"Does it have to do with our goals?"

"No, but it's important. You have to know."

"No," Jaime said with a terse frown.

"What?"

"Don't tell me. At least not right now. I can see it on your face that it's bad news. Whatever it is will distract me and I can't afford to be distracted."

"But-!"

"Is it urgent?"

"N-no, I suppose not."

"Then it can wait."

"You will want to know this now, I promise you."

"Don't! I don't want to hear it."

"You will get upset if you don't hear it now."

"This is war. I won't suffer any distractions."

Aemon's heart clenched. "I will never forgive myself if you die without knowing this."

Jaime's face became thunderous. "I have no intention of dying. Now, if we can get down to the beach at the bottom of the Keep through Blackwater Bay, I can navigate my way through the tunnels."

He knew he'd already tested Jaime's patience enough and with a quiet sigh he conceded. Should anything happen, I will make sure the child never wants for anything, he vowed to himself, even if Jaime refused to hear it.

"How do you intend to get Renly back out?"

Jaime grimaced. "I have been planning this when I'm not training. I have contingencies but nothing definitive. I have to make contact with my people on the inside to get a better idea of what we're facing."

"How do you intend to do that?"

"By going through with this plan."

"Without having a clear exit strategy?" Aemon hissed.

"Renly's incompetent. He's bleeding soldiers. Since my father has been sitting here, he's been picking up and imprisoning defecting soldiers." A shadow passed over Jaime's face and he grew grim as he continued, "Of course, some of those soldiers were tortured, as if they knew anything. I have a feeling the torturers were holdovers from the Mountain's men. When the North arrived, they tried to put a stop to it, but of course my father doesn't care. So I ended it. I executed every last one of the Mountain's men, another few were lashed. Haven't had any incidents since, but we'd have at least fifty more prisoners if they had been stopped. I made sure the prisoners are never guarded by Westerland soldiers alone now. I'm sorry."

Aemon gritted his teeth. "Damn Lord Tywin. It's like he can't be satisfied unless he is committing some sort of atrocity."

Jaime grimaced. "It didn't used to be that way. My mother would never have stood for torture, but he lost himself after she died, like she took the best part of him with her."

An awkward silence fell as Jaime's eyes stared off in the distance, so Aemon said, "Renly probably has more competent leaders in there now."

"He's not listening to them then. He's too busy sucking Loras' cock," Jaime replied. "But if the defecting men are any indication, he's short on men and therefore the Keep will be largely unguarded. They won't expect someone to sneak in."

"I don't know, Jaime. There are many ways this could go wrong."

Jaime's eyes grew hard as stone and he drew his mouth into a firm, stubborn line. "I must insist."

"I want to spare lives too, but the last thing I want to do is put the enemy in a position where they have you as a prisoner."

"You're not going to talk me out of this."

"Why not?"

"Because I will do damn near anything to make sure Brienne isn't caught on the other side with no escape."

Aemon winced. They had an overwhelming force and if Renly continued to be stubborn, he may very well lead all of his vassals to their doom. He put his face in his hands, took a deep breath, and sat up again, "Fine, but I insist on at least attempting negotiations with Renly one last time before we make any aggressive moves."

Jaime relaxed and nodded. "Fine. Maybe I'm wrong and he'll see the futility of his situation."

"Alright, now tell me what happened on your mission."

Jaime was not the verbose sort, so his explanation was like a damn being released as a flood of information near drowned Aemon. Tywin tried to marry him off, he picked up Pod, his ship was besieged by Ironborn, they in turn were ambushed by another ship that just so happened to be carrying Jaime's long lost uncle who also was carrying the Lannister's lost Valyrian steel sword Brightroar. He undid the sword at his belt and flourished it like a jester making a grand pronouncement, lying it on the table.

Aemon released a breath he didn't realize he had been holding and his fingers twitched to examine the sword. He glanced up at Jaime who was looking up at him expectantly and nodded, his eyes once more glittering in the candlelight of the tent.

It was a smaller sword than Ice. Whereas Ice was a rather large, but simply designed sword, Brightroar screamed Lannister with its lionhead pommel, red-dyed leather, and gold filigree on the crossguard.

"Wow," Aemon whispered and set it back down. "I'm so glad we have yet another Valyrian steel sword to our cause."

"My father damn near had kittens when I showed him Brightroar," Jaime said and Aemon laughed. "I am temporarily forgiven for dismissing the bride he tried to fob off on me."

Then once again he launched into his story, talking about his discovering the harp's survival, then the arrival at the Reach. Jaime's face grew sour at the next part, "We started the negotiations and we barely got anywhere before I had a seizure."

"Are you well?" Aemon asked.

Jaime snorted. "I'm fine. Seizures can't keep me down, but, of course, now the entire camp knows. My father had some more words with me about concealing that from him.

"Does anyone else know about - "

"No. Only you, me, and Pod know that," Jaime said.

Aemon drew his mouth into a line. 'You think it wise to trust, Podrick?' he wanted to say, but it was Jaime's secret to tell. Pod had a heart of gold and was certain that even at his tender age he would never reveal Jaime's secret, even under pain of death, but it was yet one more avenue to that information. What's done is done. "Very well. Continue."

Jaime suddenly became more guarded and he glanced around, looking at the walls of the tent for shadows. The sun was only just beginning to set so it shined through the canvas and the only shadow that could be seen was Ser Barristan's at the entrance.

What has him so suspicious?

Finally, he said in a whisper, "Have you heard of ciphers?"

"No."

"It's a way for us to communicate in our letters without having to worry about anyone getting a hold of it. It's a way to scramble the alphabet, but you have to know the key to unscramble it. Otherwise the letters read like gibberish."

"Where did you learn this?"

"David. The Shepherds."

"They have been rather invaluable to you."

"Yes, well…" Jaime shifted uncomfortably. "I can't say I fully trust them, but...I have to for now."

"We should work out a system for us to use regarding these ciphers," Aemon said, "but now that we're together, that can wait."

Jaime hashed out the negotiations. Aemon huffed at the terms.

"They're already angling for a child of mine that doesn't even exist yet when we've given them two powerful marriages?"

"That's the Tyrells," Jaime muttered.

Aemon sighed. They were yet another potential threat to keep his eyes on. He wouldn't relax around them until both Sansa and Robb were married. "Is this...plan you have another way to keep your promise to the Tyrells?"

"It was a factor, but not the main reason," Jaime replied. "So, how did your side go?"

Aemon launched into his explanation of his, starting with the trip to the Wall. He could see Jaime was intrigued by Prince Rhaegar's letters to Maester Aemon. He could see the struggle on his face to refrain from asking to read them himself. He would have declined. While the Maester had seen them before, it was one of the few untainted, tangible connections to his father he had left. He hoped it didn't show on his face, but his stomach had given an unpleasant lurch when Jaime had described possibly losing the harp on the sunken ship.

The next hurdle had been Lord Frey and Jaime smirked as he relayed those negotiations, but it fell away. "A Frey on a small council position? The Seven help us, at least I managed to keep Mace off the council."

"And I'm grateful for that," Aemon replied. "I had few options and we have to at least mollify Lord Frey."

"That cunt should be satisfied with having the great honor of hosting your party," Jaime snarled. "We need someone else in charge of that bridge."

"Reel it in," Aemon said sternly. "We'll cross that bridge when we get there." Jaime snorted and he smiled, but it fell away just as quickly as it had come. He quickly glossed over Riverrun and where he got the news of Jaime's disappearance, very nearly telling him the secret Jaime didn't want to hear about. His stumble did not go unnoticed when he saw Jaime's eyes narrow. He stalled at the Vale.

"Were you aware that you were made Warden of the East?"

Jaime cocked his head. "What? Why would I be Warden of the East?"

"Robert Baratheon appointed you as Warden of the East after Jon Arryn died. The Vale were pretty upset about it."

Jaime became glaring and simply said, "Fuck Cersei."

"I had a feeling you didn't know."

"So I can expect the Vale to be pissed at me when they arrive?" Jaime said with another tired sigh.

"I smoothed over as best I could. Lord Yohn Royce is interim lord until Robyn Arryn is old enough to assume his role."

He could stall no longer. It was here that he was certain Jaime could see all of the uncertainty and fear. He should not be afraid! He spent years fighting the Long Night, even before the realm knew about it, but it was his move at the Vale that left him feeling vulnerable and in a precarious position. He sucked in a shuddering breath and then explained what he did as quickly as he could, like a child trying to explain away his misbehavior. He was grateful that Jaime did not interrupt and simply listened.

"I came so close to botching it! It was Lord Royce who got the confession in the end and it was by accident. Did I do the right thing if it didn't even work?"

Jaime was quiet for a moment, his eyes looking down at the table as he rubbed at his neck, frowning pensively. Then he said, "You made the only move that you could."

"You really think so?"

"It would have been odd for you to bypass the Vale. A king who is looking to unite the Seven Kingdoms doesn't just ignore certain kingdoms, especially when they're on his way. It would give an impression that you were afraid and once again emphasize that you are but a boy. By going there you could not come back empty-handed. You would have looked weak losing out to a woman. You did right."

"It doesn't feel that way," he whispered. "I'm not like this. I don't know if I'm cut out for this if that's what it takes to keep the throne."

He saw an intensity come into Jaime's eyes and for a moment he looked as fierce as the lion he was supposed to be. "You are the king. You were meant for the throne. You don't have to do this alone. You have me. And soon, you'll have more allies. Tyrion is a decent strategist, but his mind is for the politics. He's not in his area of expertise, but as soon as he settles into King's Landing, he will be the lion among the deer. Keep him close."

"It feels like I'm losing allies. My uncle won't even talk to me anymore."

Jaime grimaced. "You're already aware of my opinion of your uncle. He's out of his depth and you're far more experienced at the game than he is. I'm assuming he thinks you as dishonorable as I am now?"

"Maybe not quite so much, but yes. I lied to him, I lied to Ser Brynden, I lied even to my own Kingsguard. Can a king who relies on deceit really be a good king to lead the realm?"

Jaime was quiet for a moment, then he sighed, and ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stick up in every direction. "I'm not good at this, Aemon. You're still better at politics than I ever could be, but I suppose you should think of it this way: Baelish is a poison. He is seeping into the arteries of this country and it will soon start rotting away. You have to draw the poison out to save the country and drawing poison out can involve some painful methods. But you have to do what you have to do or the country will be lost."

Aemon was still quiet. He understood what Jaime was trying to say, but the underhanded deeds were making him feel filthy.

"You're not Baelish," Jaime said.

"Hmm?"

"You're not Baelish. While you may be resorting to some of his tactics to draw him out, your intentions are different. He wants to bring the realm to chaos and destruction all so he can take the throne for himself. You want to take the throne to unite the country against an overwhelming threat. Remember the true goal of this. It's not so you can attain power, it's so you can reach a position to prepare the country for a long, cold, hard war.

"Things are difficult, Aemon. They won't get easier and I don't envy the position that you're in, but as long as you make your decisions with the overarching goal in mind, then you've done the best that you can," Jaime said with a shrug of his shoulders.

"I wonder if I'll ever get used to this," Aemon whispered, slumping a little.

"You and me both," Jaime muttered.

"Look at us," he said with a chuckle. "All of our experiences and we're still floundering around like boys taking our first swing with a sword."

"We can't do worse than last time."

"The gods willing."

The sun was beginning to set outside and the light cast in the tent turned to an eerie gloom.

"If we're done here, Aemon, I would like to get to work. There is much to do."

"I still have business to conduct as well. Lord Howland Reed is here. I suggest you consult him about your plan."

Jaime raised his eyebrows at him and then nodded. "I will do that." He was gone into the hustle and bustle of the camp.