Author's Note: Welcome back, everyone! I hope you all had a wonderful November. I want to thank you all for being so patient with me! My November was eventful. I wrote the 15K words for TDR that I promised myself I would write and threw in some game time with the new Spyro the Dragon remake and some Civilization VI. I will try not to have Aemon denounce Pentos for having a different form of government.
The usual schedule of an update every two weeks will continue.
I did get a beta! I want to thank everyone who offered. I hope you appreciate the effort the beta for TDR has gone to to make this story even more of a pleasure to read.
I have gone back and added a paragraph to Chapter 37, so I recommend rereading it.
Chapter 38
Aemon X
He flailed in the dark, seemingly wrapped in a thick, black fog, which yielded nothing to his eyes in any direction. But all around him he could hear the broken and unending sobs of a woman. He called out to her but received no answer in reply. Just before the dream ended, he said, "Daenerys?" Though the sound of her sobs never changed, the fog suddenly grew turbulent and smothered him.
Aemon shot awake in a cold sweat, glancing around the room in panic. Ghost was curled up by the balcony and immediately perked up at his activity. Once he had oriented himself, dread filled his stomach. Something horrible had happened to her. Was it the ritual? He tried to think back and count the months, but Dany had mentioned being at the end of her pregnancy and she couldn't be ready to give birth already, could she? He had presupposed so much, but it was quickly becoming clear to him that he could not rely on certain things to be consistent.
He paced the room, running a hand through his hair. She was in danger, she was suffering and there was no immediate action he could take to help her! He didn't even know where she was! He narrowed his eyes as his thoughts turned to the one man who might know her whereabouts: Varys. He would at least have an idea since he was supposed to be monitoring her. Well, he and she had waited long enough. It was damn time she was returned to her rightful place in Westeros.
His eyes settled on the green and bronze egg. Despite the smothering summer heat of King's Landing, he'd ordered a fire to be made in the fireplace where the egg now nestled on a metal grate above it. He knew fire alone couldn't hatch the eggs, but it was something to suggest to others that he was working on methods to hatch it. He stopped his pacing to sit down in front of the egg and glared at it.
It shimmered dully in the hungry flames, unmoved by either the flame's urgency or his. He was of two minds regarding the eggs and if he was being honest, receiving the egg had terrified him more than delighted him. Dany is supposed to have the dragons! Why this change? What else has changed? He didn't like it.
After all was said and done for the day, the ceremonies taken care of and the feast finished, he had retired to his quarters and berated himself quietly for being such a fool. He had coasted on his way to the throne, assured of his victory, assured that everything was going as it was for Daenerys. After all, how could his rather rapid ascension to the throne affect her in anyway? She was married to Khal Drogo on a journey to the middle of the Dothraki Sea, where news from across the Narrow Sea would take months if not years to reach her.
And yet there had been a change right from the very start: the dragon egg that was supposed to be hers was now his. What else had he taken for granted?
Ghost padded over to him and nudged his shoulder. He breathed out his frustration and ruffled the direwolf's ears. "Thank you, Ghost. I just wish I knew how she was faring," he murmured.
Now this dream with the crying woman. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but somehow he knew this involved Dany. He had never had dreams of her before. Was this entirely the gods' doing?
If the gods had really wanted to help me, they would have found a way to spare Dany her marriage to Khal Drogo and brought her over here by now, he thought sourly. The gods had given him a stamp of approval back in Winterfell and been suspiciously silent ever since. Had they been steering things to his advantage, keeping them on track, or was that actually his and Jaime's doing? Jaime had, after all, been attacked by Ironborn and thrown off course for several weeks. Without that, Jaime might have taken King's Landing and been waiting for him by the time he arrived.
He was beginning to understand Jaime's churlish disregard for the gods.
But it couldn't be that easy, could it? He thought and ran his hand through his hair again. He was talking himself into circles. What he wanted more than anything was to haul Varys out of bed and force him to fess up the information he had regarding Daenerys. He was king after all. He could do it, but he wanted Jaime and his uncle there. Not even Jaime would cut him slack if he ousted them in the early hours of the morning over an issue that couldn't be solved in several months.
Aemon sighed and returned to bed, though sleep was illusive. He decided that the only way for him to sleep was to turn his thoughts from Daenerys and think on something else, so he thought about the dragon egg. Daenerys burned her dead husband Khal Drogo on a pyre. She tied the witch to it and burned her alive. Then she stepped into the fire. Were all three crucial to the dragons' births? How does her stillborn child Rhaego fit into all of this? She claimed that she felt the eggs had new life in them after the sacrifice of her babe. Was that truth?
While he had paid attention to her story in their previous life, he had not thought to ask questions. Why would he? When would he ever hatch a dragon? Perhaps Daenerys just got fortunate. She had a hunch they would hatch, but couldn't know or say for sure. Was there an art to hatching dragon eggs?
I bet Maester Aemon would know, he thought. He dearly wished he was Grandmaester and not Pycelle. He had met Pycelle the first day and was instantly struck by the fact that Pycelle seemed to pretend to be a stoddering old fool more than actually being one. Jaime had told him that he was bought and paid for by Cersei. I can't even trust my own Maester in the Keep! Truly, he and his uncle had been spoiled in the North knowing the people around them could be trusted.
I shall write the Maester tomorrow. Perhaps he has long lost knowledge that no one ever thought to ask about. Then again, his father had asked Maester Aemon about prophecies, however the Maester's answer back to his father were undoubtedly lost to time.
I have to write Commander Mormont tomorrow anyway. They must know we've taken the Keep. He had still yet to hear back about his Uncle Benjen and whether or not he had been successful capturing a wight. Perhaps there was a letter that had gone elsewhere, like to Riverrun, and he simply hadn't received it yet. No matter, he would know in a few weeks time whether or not his uncle was successful or still missing.
He fell once again into a restless sleep and struggled valiantly against the dense fog of his dreams.
He broke his fast alone in his bedroom and felt the sharp ache of that loneliness. He had called for the servants early, however, and didn't wish to disturb anyone else. It has been six months and I am still not used to this, he thought, sighing wistfully and grew ever more anxious for Dany to join him. He felt alienated as king, even from his own family. I just have to be patient. With luck, I will not have to wait for years on end for Dany.
Aemon wrote the two letters after breakfast to the Night's Watch. When he delivered them to Pycelle, he hesitated to hand them over but decided to in the end. He would have to grow used to the idea of Pycelle reading his mail, but since nothing that he wrote was unexpected, he allowed the information to leave his hands freely. It was probably already working its way through the camp that he had visited the Wall as his first stop after all. He unfortunately had no idea what the rumor mill was among the soldiers and wondered how southron lords like Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell would react to hearing that their new king thought the Long Night was imminent.
Undoubtedly, they could consider me as crazy as my grandfather, he thought with great sigh. He had a feeling that everyone in his bloodline from here on out would be closely inspected for madness. Even showing the slightest amount of frustration might make people consider it a warning sign. He would have to have unparalleled control of his emotions, something that he was not good at.
He finally summoned his uncle, Jaime, Barristan and Varys. Torrhen Karstark was doing his first round of guard duty as a true Kingsguard and much to Aemon's amusement, he strutted like a prized rooster. Despite his irritation, he couldn't keep from chuckling when he looked at him.
It astonished him at how prompt every person was at showing up. Jaime was the last to arrive, but although he still looked troubled, he was better rested than the day before. "Your grace," they all intoned and bowed as they entered.
"Lord Varys, let's get to it. What do you know about Princess Daenerys?"
"And Prince Viserys," Jaime interjected, shooting a warning look at Aemon.
He winced. Just because he expected Viserys to die didn't mean they had to advertise that fact by deliberately ignoring his presence. He would have to do better.
Varys seemed more perturbed by Jaime and stared at him for far longer than might be appropriate. "Very well," he began, "As far as I can tell, about seven months past, Princess Daenerys was married to Khal Drogo and became Khaleesi of his Khalasar. Upon their marriage, they left Pentos - with Prince Viserys - and traveled inward to the Dothraki Sea. The last I heard, they had reached Qohor. Civilization ends there, I'm afraid."
"I assume she and her brother were well?" Aemon asked.
"As well as can be expected. I heard from my little bird that Prince Viserys threw a tantrum when he heard about your campaign. Should you ever meet, he would challenge you for your throne."
Aemon grimaced. I was afraid of that, he thought and he frowned at Varys. "Why would he challenge me? I am Prince Rhaegar's son. My claim to the throne is stronger than his."
"He might not see it that way," Jaime said. "Your Targaryen characteristics aren't obvious."
Aemon's frown deepened. It wouldn't do to fight with his uncle over the throne, especially since he could easily be painted as an imposter. Then again, he had the egg, and if he could figure out how to hatch it then that would be enough to silence the naysayers. That's assuming that Viserys doesn't get himself killed between now and when they come home.
"And the egg, Lord Varys? Where did that come from? While we're talking about true Targaryens, I would think any dragon eggs would go to them."
"We know your 'little bird' embedded in the Khalasar is Jorah Mormont," Jaime said, fixing Varys an unforgiving stare. "I suggest you choose your next words wisely."
This did seem to startle Varys, though he was quite good at hiding it. "Yes, eggs were given to Princess Daenerys for her wedding."
"Why not this egg? If I'm right, she married while I was still at Winterfell, having only just declared myself. Surely you didn't know about me," Aemon said.
"N-no, we were not aware of you, your grace. The egg being left out was..incidental. A careless servant forgot to place it with the rest of the eggs."
"That's it? That's the reason?"
Varys' eyes flickered over to Jaime and said, "It would make Magister Illyrio appear most incompetent to try and give the egg to Princes Daenerys after the wedding."
"What about Prince Viserys? Does he have eggs then?"
"He does not."
"Why not?"
"The Prince Viserys has had a difficult upbringing. Moving from safe haven to safe haven has rather taken a...toll on his sanity. He is hardly the ideal Targaryen to return to power," Varys said. "It was such a blessing when I received word of your existence."
Aemon shifted uneasily. It sounded like Viserys was just as unhinged as he had been in the past life. I pray that he leaves you unharmed, Dany, he thought, bowing his head for it. When he fixed his eyes upon Varys again, he said, "And what would a return to Targaryen rule do for you?"
"I seek only the prosperity of the kingdom and its people. When you see the books, you'll have a better understanding about how the kingdom was teetering, even before you add to the fact that Cersei failed to produce a trueborn heir."
He nodded and bowed his head once more, but in thought this time. Does Baelish have the books or was he kind enough to leave them behind? That didn't really sound like him. They'd have to conduct a search for them later. One step at a time, he cautioned himself. "Thank you, Lord Varys, your information was most illuminating. You may leave us."
Once the Master of Whispers had made his exit, Aemon turned to the rest of the room. Ser Barristan was impassive, Jaime seemed pensive, and his uncle agitated. "You seem displeased, uncle. What is it?"
"Jorah Mormont is Lord Varys' informant. I sought his head for selling slaves and he fled to the Free Cities. No doubt, his price for escorting Princess Daenerys and Prince Viserys will be his freedom," his uncle said, grimacing. "It is not right."
"If a pardon comes to it, then that's what will be granted. It will take months as it is to reach Daenerys and that's assuming she'll even accept. I can't wait any longer. Ser Barristan, I wish for you to depart on one of our ships in three days' time. Take a hundred men with you," Aemon ordered.
He actually managed to startle him. "Your grace? But I am your Lord Commander. You've only just arrived. Surely…" He hesitated with his next sentence, glancing around. He was remembering his and Jaime's words about the walls having ears. "Surely you still need my assistance. I did know your grandfather and father after all."
Aemon shook his head. "You're the only one I trust. My uncle can't go. He's the usurper's friend; she would never trust him. Jaime killed her father. I can't go. I have to stay here and rule, hopefully righting the ship of this foundering kingdom. You are the only one I trust with this task."
Barristan gaped at him and he seemed to search the room for the words necessary to counteract this order. "But, your grace, there are still two empty positions for the Kingsguard. At least allow me to wait until those are filled. I would feel better."
"Aemon is right, Barristan. We can't wait," Jaime growled at him. "You are the only one who can do this, as you well know. As for the empty Kingsguard positions, I have a suggestion for one. I wish to ask you about it, Aemon, when we are done here."
Aemon nodded at Jaime, but his words were for Ser Barristan. "If you have suggestions for whom might take the last position on the Kingsguard, please offer them. But you are leaving in three days' time, as I said before."
Barristan sighed in defeat, likely one of the few battles he has ever lost. "Very well, your grace. It shall be done."
"Thank you, Ser Barristan. Now, what about this other Kingsguard?"
There was a cunning twinkle in Jaime's eye as he smiled.
