Author's Note: Game of Thrones is back on TV! How about that first episode? It was gratifying to see it finally. I anticipate the remaining episodes to up the ante.
Duesal Bladesinger - Thank you for pointing out I accidentally replaced a chapter with the wrong chapter! Rest assured, this story is both in the cloud and on my hard drive. It's being posted on and AO3. The story is about as safe as possible.
I appreciate you, loyal readers, for sticking with me through the ups and downs of this story and my hiatuses! Ideally, I would make this story a fulltime job, but alas, I need my real fulltime job. Thank you! I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Chapter 46
Aemon XIV
Aemon stared up at Dragonstone from the safety of the flagship Prince Rhaegar. He had to repeatedly glance around him to reassure himself that he was not King Jon Snow, first arriving to treat with Daenerys Targaryen in the other life. Instead of the solid and reassuring presence of Ser Davos, he had the solid but decidedly aggressive presence of Jaime Lannister. He did not like the dark look Jaime had as he was eying the castle, but he knew Jaime well enough to know that he was not bloodthirsty for its own sake.
They had a plan. Among the many things that had been drawn up in the two weeks since the vassals of Dragonstone had pledged their allegiance to him, it was the terms of surrender. Just as with King's Landing, the object was to take it without bloodshed. Stannis didn't have anymore forces besides his personal soldiers of the Keep. They had part of the Westerlands, part of the Vale, and the vassals of Dragonstone.
Bronze Yohn had finally arrived a week prior and was promptly asked to join them in the event Stannis decided to hole up in Dragonstone like he did Storm's End. His uncle Ned was left temporarily in charge of the Seven Kingdoms with the majority of the Northern and Riverland armies to keep the peace. Tywin Lannister was still a rogue element to Aemon, though he hadn't done anything to warrant suspicion so far. He was left in King's Landing.
It had been a point of contention as to whether Jaime or Ned would accompany Aemon.
"Lord Jaime is Hand of the King. He is meant to step in to rule when the king cannot. I am but a lord," his uncle had argued.
"You're right, Uncle, but you don't know Stannis. I want someone with me who knows what to expect from Stannis and who may even get under his skin a little. Jaime is perfect for that," Aemon replied. Not to mention he and I are on the same page for once.
It seems in matters of military, he and Jaime rarely differed and only had small disagreements regarding which part of which army was going to load up onto the ships. Robert Baratheon had left them with a depleted fleet, with little more than ten ships left to their name. Their maintenance was suspect, especially since Stannis - who had been Robert's Master of Ships - had fled some months ago when he realized the danger of poking the lioness.
His new Master of Ships, Lord Velaryon had coordinated the inspection of the remaining ships and declared them serviceable for their purposes, but he had insisted that Aemon and Jaime be on his personal ship. Now they were heading into the bay where a retinue of Stannis Baratheon's awaited.
Aemon had written a letter to put to bed any further thoughts of rebellion, outlining the possibilities that ended with the outright extinction of his house. A few days later, Aemon had received a reply that was as gruff and as pointed as Stannis himself: "I will hear your terms."
In no time at all, he and Jaime were aboard the ship's tender being ferried to shore. Aemon stared up at Dragonstone and expected Drogon to swoop behind the castle, tearing through the sky with a ferocious cry that chilled the blood of all but the bravest. He hadn't been certain then that he wasn't walking to his death, but they had needed the dragonglass.
And back here to negotiate for it again, not that Stannis needs to know that, he thought. Indeed, Dragonstone meant nothing to him. He had read that in the time of Targaryens, the crown prince was first lord of Dragonstone, suggesting it was the seat of the waiting heir. He certainly had no heir yet. Perhaps his first gift to Dany would be this castle.
Encountering her in this dark domain on the hall's dark throne was a study in contrast. She shone like a star with her ivory skin and silver hair, lighting up the darkness around her. And yet, Dragonstone had seemed complete with her there. She hadn't been there for long when he visited and yet he could not picture anyone else sitting on that throne. It suited her fierce demeanor.
He was shaken from his reverie by a nudge.
"Quit daydreaming," Jaime whispered into his ear. "You need to focus."
"We haven't reached shore yet," Aemon sniped back.
"You know very well they'll be studying you, looking for the boy. You need to be the king."
While Aemon didn't bother looking back at Jaime, he glowered at the air in front of him. Jaime did have a tendency to treat him like he was a novice at etiquette. He had learned his formalities in Winterfell, but then things were more relaxed in the North. The South was so formal by comparison, rooted in rituals and routine. He chafed at the constraints. Give it time, he soothed himself. There was nothing wrong with bringing some Northern informality to the uptight pricks in the South, but as with many things, the South had to be eased into it.
Ser Davos was standing on the beach with a retinue of guards, just as stolid as he remembered. He struggled to keep the longing of having such a steadfast and loyal man by his side as Hand once more. Jaime was his friend, but he was moodier than ever. He tried to reel in his temper, but his responses to anything had a tendency to be clipped and abrasive. It seemed clear to Aemon that he was struggling with the pressure and expectations that came with being Hand to the King.
When the tender finally scraped the sandy shore, Aemon leapt out and splashed into the surf towards Ser Davos trying to ignore the icy water that seeped in through his boot. Jaime was right on his heels, and Ser Arys Oakheart and Ser Preston Greenfield were just behind him.
"Your Grace," Ser Davos greeted him with a curt bob of his head.
"Ser Davos Seaworth," Aemon replied. He heard Jaime take a breath and he stopped in his tracks, trying to keep from wincing at his misstep.
The old smuggler raised his eyebrows. "You've heard of me?"
"Lord Velaryon mentioned you were the last lord by his side. From what I've heard, Lord Stannis is a man of protocol. He wouldn't dare insult a potential enemy by sending anyone less than the next lord of high rank," Aemon quickly said.
Ser Davos continued to give him a peculiar look. "Fair enough, I 'spose." They turned to head up the long staircase to Dragonstone.
Jaime's right, you need to focus, he berated himself, his heart pounding. They couldn't afford for him to be careless and show flashes of knowledge he shouldn't have. It would only serve to cause suspicion to grow. The stairs gave him a mercifully lengthy period of time to gather his thoughts and composure once more. It would not do for Stannis to have him on his back foot by happy coincidence
Aemon still found it difficult to concentrate as old memories surfaced like whales for breath. He expected to turn the corner and see a row of Unsullied guarding their queen. He held his breath when the door to the throne room opened, expecting to see the silvery hair of Daenerys. She had sat in the throne like a cat, soft and regal and with a superior demeanor. She had claimed her throne and acted like it.
He exhaled in disappointment as soon as he saw the dour, gray face of Stannis Baratheon. He was so gray, in fact, that he nearly blended into the stone, looking stiff and uncomfortable. Thankfully, it was just what he needed to center himself back in this world, banishing the thoughts of Daenerys from his mind. There would be time enough to think on her after the negotiations.
The red priestess Melisandre stood on Stannis' left side, a small smile on her face. She remained unreadable, but Aemon wished nothing more than to recoil in disgust. As far as I'm aware, she hasn't murdered anyone yet. Hopefully it will stay that way.
He approached the throne with quick steps, hoping to project his confidence and superiority. Was it his imagination or did he see Stannis' face twist into a snarl for a moment? A muscle definitely worked in his jaw as they studied each other, then his eyes flicked over to Jaime Lannister and he couldn't suppress the snarl of disgust there.
Ser Davos announced to the room, "King Aemon I Targaryen and Hand to the King, Lord Jaime Lannister." With the pronouncements made, he joined Stannis on his right side and watched them closely.
"Who is she?" Aemon said, gesturing at the red priestess.
Before anyone could answer, she stepped forward and curtsied. "I am Melisandre, Your Grace. I serve as a red priestess for the Lord of Light, R'hllor."
"What is your purpose here? As I understood it, our negotiations are to be with Lord Stannis Baratheon."
"I am Lord Baratheon's confidant," she replied with another bow of her head.
"And he wants you here?" Aemon asked.
"She stays," Stannis replied with a curl of his lips. "Your Grace."
"A priestess from the red temple? I never took you for a man of faith," Jaime sneered.
"What would you know about faith, Lord Jaime?" Stannis replied.
"Enough! Are you certain, Lord Baratheon, that you want to start off these negotiations with snide remarks?"
A tense silence stretched until Aemon nodded and said, "Lord Stannis Baratheon, my Lord Hand and I are here to negotiate your surrender. I am prepared to be lenient, but I recommend you not take that for weakness. Your brother Renly already made that mistake and he shall pay for it for the rest of his life. Understood?"
Stannis bristled from where he sat. "And what shall Renly's fate be? Death?"
"The Wall."
Stannis jerked in response, though remained as stern and forbidding as always. He nodded and said, "You don't look much like your father."
"So I'm told," Aemon replied, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice. It seemed doubt in his heritage would hang over his head until he was able to marry Daenerys to secure his legacy.
Stannis huffed. "You claim the throne off the back of one man's word that Rhaegar Targaryen is your father when you don't even look like him."
"I know you're familiar with my uncle's sterling reputation regarding his honor," Aemon replied.
Stannis' eyes flashed at that and he leaned forward, his voice striking at them like a whip, "The same man who stole my brother from me and then stuck a knife in his back?"
Aemon nodded. "The very same."
"Ned Stark's word is worth less than the worm's in the dirt," Stannis barked.
If he was trying to needle Aemon into reaction, he received a shrug for his efforts. "In your opinion. Most can understand blood trumping friendship."
"My brother didn't," Stannis said, becoming stonier still in his anger.
"We're not here to discuss the relationship between you and your brother," Aemon barked. "We're here to discuss the terms of your surrender."
Instead of acknowledging Aemon, Stannis instead turned his gaze to Jaime. "And you...committing such an unholy act before the Seven, fathering your sister's bastards."
Aemon expected Jaime to bite back and was surprised when he remained silent, merely glaring back in equal measure. "Enough of this! If you continue to stall, Lord Stannis, then I will have no choice but to bring my army to bear on Dragonstone. I suggest you consider your next move wisely."
Stannis' eyes sparked with renewed anger, but unlike his older brother, he was able to reign in his temper and growled. "Fine. I want Storm's End."
"No," Aemon replied.
Stannis drew his mouth into a firm line. "Now that both of my brothers have forfeited it, it's my birthright."
"I would have considered giving it to you if you had surrendered and made your pledges to me voluntarily. Instead, I had to sail out here with my army to ensure your cooperation."
"If I had abandoned Dragonstone, I would have no bargaining power."
"You may as well have no bargaining power. My men outnumber yours six to one. I do not have to tolerate your insolence or your presence."
"You expect me to trust your word that you would grant me Storm's End?"
"I think you'll find those houses that made alliances to me early were rewarded for their commitment. It wouldn't do to foster alliances with broken promises and empty words. But enough of what could be. You had your chance. You failed to act in the proper time given, now you have to face the consequences. Stannis Baratheon, you will be my guarded guest henceforth."
"What of my daughter? She is but a child - "
"Storm's End shall be granted to your daughter, Shireen Baratheon."
Stannis appeared surprised if the widening of his eyes was anything to go by. He frowned, staring down Aemon as though he expected a sinister ulterior motive.
"She's no threat to me," Aemon said. "You however…"
Stannis drew himself up. "I remained neutral in the face of you stealing my brother's throne..."
"As I am the victor here, allow me to set one thing straight: your brother stole his throne from me. It was mine by rite of birth."
Jaime spoke up for the first time and said, "It was never your brother's. What I wouldn't give to strike him from the annals of history for the mess he left the kingdom in." He smirked at Stannis' increased fury.
"How dare you of all people malign my brother. I knew you were too treacherous to retain your position as Kingsguard! First begetting bastards upon my brother's wife and then contributing to the uprising!"
"Your brother brought about his own downfall when he tried to have me, an innocent man, beheaded for those crimes. I am not responsible for my sister's ill conduct," Jaime spat.
"Enough," Aemon shouted. "What's done is done! And you live at my leisure, Lord Baratheon. I suggest you control yourself." He turned to Jaime to glare at him, but then winked at him. Knocking Stannis off-kilter was Jaime's job after all.
"Let's not mince words: I am a threat. You want to dispose of me, then so be it. Let's not waste time."
Aemon cocked his head. "So eager to die, are you? I have a better use for you."
"What could I possibly do that you would trust me with?"
Aemon smiled. "I'll let you know when the ball gets rolling on that front. For now, you will be a guest under guard in King's Landing. In time, you and your household will leave with my uncle to the North. You will be set up with a keep and land in the Gift. However, you nor any future sons you might have, will have claim to Storm's End."
"The Gift? What in blazes could I possibly do in the Gift?"
"You'll see in due time."
"Of course I don't have Storm's End. You've already said it will be Shireen's."
"I am covering my bases, Lord Stannis. You see, though enemy you may have been, your bloodline and name still command a lot of respect. In these perilous times, it would be unwise to uproot such a foundational family. Now, who is Robert's bastard at Storm's End?"
It dawned on Stannis the direction he was taking this. "No…"
"Edric Storm, I believe it was, Your Grace," Jaime replied.
"Right, Edric Storm. His only nobly born bastard. I think he deserves an elevation in his status. I remember how important it was to me to be given the family name," Aemon said wistfully. He had wanted to be a Stark for so long that being a Targaryen was hardly better. It's a name, he chastised himself, but it wasn't the name he had been longing for his whole life.
It had taken a while to adjust to his new first name, Aemon, in the previous life. Then he'd switched back to being Jon Snow because he hadn't felt enough like a king to deserve his real name, no matter what anyone said. And now Jon Snow described an entirely different person, one raised to adulthood on the Wall, knowing only cold and death.
Stannis did not appreciate the sentiment. "And yet you would sully the Baratheon name?"
"Your brothers already sullied your name. Giving it to a bastard can only improve it," Aemon said. "Shireen Baratheon shall be betrothed to Edric Baratheon so that they might rebuild the once great and noble house of Baratheon."
"My daughter doesn't deserve this."
"Then you should have pledged yourself to the king when you had the chance," Jaime said.
It's still a better fate for her than what you did, Aemon thought and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from blurting it out.
"What of my brother?"
Aemon raised his eyebrows and Jaime glared.
"Your Grace," Stannis replied through gritted teeth. "What is to happen to...Robert?"
"Robert Baratheon is to be executed for his crimes against the crown and inciting rebellion. You shall be close to Renly at least if you care to make amends."
Stannis growled. "My brother's crimes? What about Lord Tywin's?"
"I gave you the courtesy of learning your brothers' fates. I do not need to give you the courtesy regarding others.'" His voice cracked with the force of a whip. The silence that followed seemed to hang in the air until Aemon turned. "Ser Davos Seaworth, since Lord Stannis surrendered peacefully, I will allow you the opportunity to pledge yourself to me and walk away from Dragonstone a free man, with your House and titles in tact. If you fail to pledge to me, I will be left with no choice but to strip you of your lands and titles. Do you accept?"
Ser Davos looked staggered and he glanced at Stannis, but Stannis kept his eyes straight ahead and did not acknowledge him. The old smuggler unconsciously clutched at the pouch at his neck that kept his finger bones and allowed the silence to stretch. Aemon waited with baited breath. His sons are all alive in this time. They did not all perish in the Battle of Blackwater Bay. He has others to live for and not just Stannis.
"Beggin' your pardon, Your Grace, but it's Lord Stannis Baratheon who elevated me. It is not in my nature to abandon those who are loyal to me."
"Lord Stannis, when I am through with him, will not have the status to command all but the lowest. You will be ranked higher than him. Where you go after you pledge, I care not, but your allegiance is to me and to me alone since I am your Lord Paramount and King," Aemon replied. Please, Ser Davos, see reason!
Ser Davos swallowed and then a light came to his eyes and he said, "After I pledge my loyalty to you, Your Grace, would it be possible to pledge myself to the Lady Shireen? With her lord father cast down, she will lack for company. It may please her to have a familiar face nearby."
"As I said, I care not where you go once you pledge," Aemon said, though his heart soared at Ser Davos' response. The plan was to have Shireen in King's Landing for the time being then foster her elsewhere. Tyrion had suggested appointing her to be Sansa's lady-in-waiting when she wed Lord Willas. Sansa was polite and sweet and would take no notice of Shireen's flaws. It meant that Ser Davos would be accessible for the time being and since he was a vassal of Dragonstone, he hoped it wouldn't look too strange to see him conversing with the old smuggler.
"What of my lady wife, Your Grace?" Stannis asked.
"She will follow you to the Gift. A lady must stay with her husband after all.
Stannis lingered for a moment and then said, "Very well. Dragonstone is yours, Your Grace." He slowly rose from the seat and kneeled stiffly at Aemon's feet. Then Stannis walked out, followed by Ser Davos and Melisandre, the latter of whom couldn't resist a glance back in curiosity.
"Congratulations, Your Grace. Your ancestral home is yours and the final Baratheon has been removed," Jaime said dully.
"You sound disappointed."
Jaime sighed. "I know the goal is to unite the Seven Kingdoms bloodlessly, but this seems almost too easy. Too simple."
"Just because it wasn't exciting doesn't mean it was easy," Aemon replied, staring at the seat of Dragonstone. The iron throne was his, he didn't need the dragon's seat. "The vassals of Dragonstone abandoned Stannis Baratheon. He had fewer than five thousand men left. You said yourself he wasn't suicidal. He wouldn't dare lead his men to slaughter."
"Let's not forget that's exactly what he did before," Jaime whispered with a troubled look.
"He's not so far gone this time. Perhaps I can send the red priestess away before we can get her hooks into him," he muttered.
"What purpose would that serve, turning Stannis into a rebel? He can't get her anywhere."
"She's looking for Azor Ahai, the Prince Who Was Promised," Aemon replied wistfully. "He's supposed to appear before the War for the Dawn. She suspected I might be the one."
Jaime gave him a sharp look. "You're wondering if she's right."
"You were dead, Jaime. I had just killed you. And at your death, my sword came alight with flame. The Night King was set ablaze."
"Why didn't you say something before?!" Jaime hissed.
"There have been far more important things going on. I was alone at Winterfell when I woke up in this world. It slipped my mind before you showed up," Aemon whispered back.
Jaime shook his head, looking agitated and nervous. Aemon had never seen him like this and just as he was about to ask, he said, "Swords don't just light on fire."
"Beric Dondarrion's did."
"That was a trick! It's clear now he was not a Prince Who Was Promised either. I don't like this," Jaime replied, stepping away from him. "We don't need these delusions of grandeur."
"Are they delusions? What if she's right about the prophecy?"
"Is it not enough that the Gods brought you back? Now you must be a hero straight from a prophecy?" Jaime said tersely. "If you'll excuse me, Your Grace, I think I will get some fresh air."
Aemon watched him go with trepidation. What have we gotten ourselves into?
|-The Dragon's Roar-|
Aemon looked around the stony room in disdain. Even Winterfell is warmer than this, he thought. There was a fur throw beneath the bed and a fire stoked in the fireplace, but a chilly dampness seeped through the stone into his very bones. It was not as cold as the Wall - was anything? - but there was a distinct difference to this chill, like he had just stepped in from a drenching rain.
He paced his room restlessly, the absence of company a sharp pang in his breast. Ghost was back in King's Landing because he wanted his wolf free to run around, Jaime was stewing in his own room, and Daenerys was across the Narrow Sea in the middle of the Dothraki Sea.
"We'll be together soon, Dany. This room suits you better than I," he said as he glanced around. If he closed his eyes, he could see her stretched luxuriously across the pillows on a sofa, languidly reaching for a glass of wine with a smile on her lips. He could just imagine a sleep gown hiding her figure from view. He bit his lower lip to stifle a groan. He abruptly turned away and stepped through a door out onto the balcony, into the blowing wind. The ocean roared beneath him as he peered out over the darkened sea. He could see lights seemingly floating in the air as the ships bobbed atop the crashing waves.
It was a clear sky and he gazed at the expanse of stars in wonder. His eyes sought the patterns of constellations that he had long learned. It's too far south to see the Wolf's Head, he mused. But just as he was seeking the less familiar constellations of the south, his eyes fell on a red smudge and he froze.
"My dragon's births were heralded by the red comet in the sky." Her voice came to his mind so clearly that he started for a moment to see where she was. He sighed, but then stared. Does this mean that the dragons are born? He pondered. Is my dragon hatched or does it still need to undergo the ritual? Just as with his sword coming alight, the detail of the red comet had completely slipped his mind. Gods, Dany, I hope you're safe. He sent a prayer on the wind.
A knock startled him out of his thoughts. "Yes?"
"Your Grace, the red priestess wishes to speak with you," Ser Preston Greenfield relayed through the door.
He frowned. Now that Stannis is disgraced, is she trying to cozy up to me? He was of a mind to send her away, but a burning curiosity persuaded him to say, "Let her in." All the same, his hand rested by the knife in his belt.
She glided in and dipped into a curtsey. "Your Grace, most impressive. There are few who can resist shedding blood when given the opportunity and yet you've taken none."
"Speak your piece, priestess. I have little patience for the devilry of your religion," Aemon snapped.
Her smile faltered momentarily, but then it returned. "I beseech you not dismiss me in haste. For I believe we have much in common." She drifted further into the room, closer to the balcony. He follow her movements and itched to level his sword at her breast.
"The only thing we have in common is that we are both breathing. The similarities end there."
"Oh? Are you not also seeking to conquer the Long Night?"
Aemon froze. When his throat worked once more, he said, "I beg your pardon. It's just a myth."
She chuckled. "You're a seasoned liar, Your Grace, but only when you're ready." Her mirth dissipated and her expression became the most serious he had seen since she had resurrected him. "The Lord of Light grants me visions. It's not just the Army of the Dead, I see. I have also seen you. And Lord Jaime Lannister. There is something different about the two of you."
"You speak nonsense," Aemon hissed, but his hand trembled and he grabbed the hilt of his sword to steady it. "I was foolish to take this conversation."
"This is not your first life on this world," she whispered.
Aemon did draw his sword and held it against her neck. "Utter those words again and it will be your death."
While he hadn't expected to see terror on her face, the newly steeled resolve was not it. Then he cursed himself; Fool! You just confirmed it for her.
"You move, you speak, your very eyes show you to be not a boy of seven and ten, but a man of much greater experience that few others can possibly speak to."
"I was well-educated, well-raised. Nothing more," he said.
"You lack the fiery impulse that accompanies the boys of your age. You are tempered, disciplined from your past experience. With Stannis' surrenders, it becomes clear you bear the favor of the gods. The men of Dragonstone have listened to and are spreading the word of the Bloodless King."
"And which gods might those be?" Aemon asked guardedly.
She smiled. "The Lord of Light doesn't have to be the only god, merely the one I follow. The one whom granted me my gift. I have looked into the fire and I have seen your likeness and that of Lord Jaime Lannister's leading the people. The Long Night will soon be upon us. The people of Westeros will need you in this dark time."
Aemon opened his mouth, but the words never left his throat. He then cleared his throat and he asked, "Are you familiar with any legends surrounding a sword alight with flame."
She stiffened and gave him a sharp look. "Only the Prince Who Was Promised wields a sword of flame. In order to defeat the Long Night, Lightbringer must alight and that in turn heralds the Prince Who Was Promised."
Aemon felt a shiver run through his body. The sword came alight when I skewered the Night King. Am I this Prince Who Was Promised? Is that the reason why I, of all people, was chosen to be returned to a time before. But then what of Jaime? Why was he chosen?
"I see that you still seek guidance. I may be of service to you, Your Grace," she said, with a smile and a slight bow of her head.
He glared at her. "I follow the Old Gods. The southron's follow the New Gods. There is no room for your god. I will not allow you to pollute my court."
She started back. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but you'll need me. I have valuable information."
"No."
"Then where shall I go?"
"I care not where you go. However, if I hear even a rumor that a red woman is burning people in the name of her God, I will have you killed."
She shrank back, but there was a longing on her face. "I have only the purest intentions."
"There is nothing pure about burning people alive. It is murder and you will be beheaded for it."
"Yes, Your Grace. Understood," she replied quietly. With that, she curtsied and waited with her hands clasped like she was a Septa of the Seven.
"You may leave," Aemon said. He turned back to the balcony, hearing the door shut with a soft click, and once more stared up into the sky at the sight of the red comet. The Long Night will be upon us before we know it. I shall start mining at the earliest convenience.
