Author's Notes: Good day, everyone! Thank you so much for reading this story. You're unbelievably helpful in keeping this spark fire alive! I don't think I'd be this are along with you. You're truly amazing!

Unfortunately, I do have some bad news. I will be switching posting on a monthly basis. I've been having a great deal of trouble staying ahead ya'll. It is my hope that I'll be able to either rebuild TDR's chapters sufficiently or finish it entirely and return to a more normal posting schedule. I'm sorry this has to happen. Next chapter update will be 8/13/2022.

On a happier note, TDR has both surpassed 500K Hits iand/i 500K words! I never thought this story would reach such lengths. I do not think it will hit 600K words, but I will write as much as the story calls for. We're gettin' there!

Catzrko0l remains a freakin' rockstar! Your help has been invaluable. I am very grateful for all of your work!

Facebook: The Dragon's Roar (Fanfic)

Twitter: GroovyPriestess

Chapter 120

Aemon XLV

The day was bright and sunny in King's Landing. There was a crisp chill to the wind that continued to herald the coming of autumn. The servants were in high spirits, the noble ladies were all smiles, and a general air of peace hovered over the Red Keep. A peace he could no longer enjoy.

I am sorry to be the one to inform you of this, but during negotiations for Winterfell, Roose Bolton shot Lord Stark in the chest. He yet lives, but the maester has deemed it fatal. It's only a matter of time.

Roose Bolton was shot and killed in retaliation. Domeric took command of the Bolton soldiers and relinquished Winterfell. No further bloodshed necessary.

Jaime's words were crisp and, much to his surprise, full of regret. Aemon was grateful Jaime was not so callous to throw in a final dig. He hoped he was keeping to his courtesies or that Brienne was at least handling him.

How can this be? Aemon thought. He had thrown his balcony doors open to let in the cool breeze, but he shivered as it entered the room. He had never been cold. I thought … I thought we had more time. Uncle—no! Father. Fuck propriety, he was always and will always be my father.

They'd had their disagreements. While he and his father hadn't parted on the most pleasant of terms, he thought there was an understanding between them. With the threat of the Long Night made real before all their eyes, he thought his father had come to terms with the way he ruled, that he didn't always have room for mercy and honor. When Ned left, it was with Aemon's confidence that they'd be fighting side-by-side through the Long Night.

But he was dead. He would never get to see his father again. Neither would Sansa or Arya. There would be no letters of comfort for the girls. Aemon remembered their excitement when he personally delivered the letter their father had sent from Riverrun. He now had to deliver this.

With a great sigh, he stood and opened the door. "Ser Daemon, would you send for a page, please?"

When the boy arrived, Aemon handed him a note. "Please tell Sansa Stark and Arya Stark that I will be having dinner with them in their quarters tonight," he said.

Once the boy left, he slumped against the door to close it and dropped his head. He felt a burning in his throat, but he held it back. He was king. No matter the death, he had to remain strong, at least for the girls' sakes.

He went back to his desk and slumped into the chair, already feeling the first tendrils of anger. It was not fair! His father had never done anything to deserve a fate like this! A man like him was meant to live to a ripe old age, passing in his sleep, surrounded by his children and grandchildren. The Gods are cruel, Aemon thought bitterly. Such a good man, an honest man, deserved to live out his days in peace. He was taken far too soon. Again.

Aemon didn't even want to think about how this put their plans for the Long Night in jeopardy. It felt too soon to consider, but he was king. He didn't have the luxury of time. Robb would now be expected to lead the war effort in preparation for the Long Night.

He's capable. If he can even temporarily outwit Tywin Lannister and capture Jaime Lannister, then he has the makings for a great commander. But he's just a boy, Aemon thought with a derisive snort. They were the same age, but Aemon's experience put him years ahead of Robb.

His anger went cold again when he realized he had to write back. What would he even say? There were no words for such a loss and he was afraid what he wrote would ring hollow to Robb's ears. More than anything, though, he wished he could be in attendance at the funeral, but he was thousands of miles away. None of the dragons were large enough to carry him. It simply wasn't feasible.

He wanted to hit something. The white pillows on the sofa, with their gold tassels and embroidery, drew his attention. Without a second thought, he stood, unsheathed his sword, and began stabbing the pillows through like they were the training yard dummies. He hacked and sliced. Though he hadn't intended to damage the sofa, he could see slices opening up like wounds, revealing the goose down feathers looking like bone.

Aemon lost himself in the destruction until he heard a gasp.

"What are you doing?" Daenerys screamed.

He stopped, suddenly realizing he was breathing hard like he had been sparring. He took a moment to collect himself so that she would not see his anger. Lady Forlorn fell to his side and hung loosely in his hand. His head was bowed. "Jaime sent a letter. Winterfell has been taken, but my father is dead," he whispered.

"Your father …?" He saw her narrow her eyes, then they widened in understanding. She walked closer to throw her arms around him. "Oh, I'm so sorry, my love."

He reached up to grasp her hand. "S'not fair," he mumbled; warmth rushed to his cheeks at how childish the words sounded to his ears.

"I know," Daenerys whispered.

"He was supposed to live a long life. Die happy and old. It's what he deserved."

She was quiet for a moment and said, "I don't think I have to tell you that we don't often get what we deserve."

"I know," Aemon replied. "Yet somehow I did."

"So far," Daenerys said and he could feel her smile against his shoulder.

He refused to remark on his own end. It was times like this that death felt so near. He dare not tempt fate and raise the Stranger's ire.

They stood like that for several minutes until Aemon noticed the sun setting. He stirred, "I have to tell the girls. I already promised I would have dinner with them tonight."

""I'll join you … unless you don't want me to," Daenerys said.

Aemon considered her for a moment. Would the girls take comfort in her presence? Gods know, I will. He nodded. "I'd like that."

He sheathed his sword and stared morosely at the scraps of cloth and goose down that had once been pillows. Whether he asked it or not, he knew that more pillows would be requisitioned. It seemed like such a waste for something he had never taken comfort in.

They left his solar arm-in-arm, both of their guards falling into step behind him. Despite this melancholy, Aemon still felt light-hearted every time he no longer saw Jorah in Daenerys' escort. Jorah was waiting in the dungeons for a ship to take him to Eastwatch. Two Unsullied were to escort him there just to be sure he couldn't attempt to bribe the captain. He hated to disappoint the Old Bear by handing his son back to him, the same scoundrel that he was when he abandoned his house, but Jorah was fortunate to still have his head.

As they crossed the grounds, it seemed the nobility could tell something was amiss because they kept their distance. Aemon was happy to take comfort in the peace his glum expression awarded him. There was time enough to be king after he finished mourning.

He grimaced upon stepping into the quarters and hearing Arya and Sansa bickering like always.

"Why do you have to be so awful?!"

"I don't care about your stupid wolf-rose!"

"Ugh! I'm just trying to be a sister! I don't know why I bother with a half-mad troll like you. You'll die alone and unwanted!"

"No, I won't!"

"Yes, you will! You're useless!"

"Girls, please," Aemon shouted.

Sansa had the good grace to blush and be contrite.

Arya was red and fuming. "Did you hear Sansa? She called me a troll!"

"Well, you are!"

"Enough!"

They both fell silent and stared down at their feet.

Aemon drew himself up in a bid to tower over them, which was difficult with Sansa's height. "I don't expect you two to like each other, but you are sisters. It's important that you get along and respect each other. Arya, you're not a half-mad troll. Sansa was not kind to say that about you. I don't know what started this fight, but I know you, Arya. You like to rile Sansa up. That's enough from both of you!"

In the next moment, the news he came to deliver crashed back down on him in the next moment and his ire deflated. "You are family. We are family. And right now, we'll need each other more than ever. I … have something to tell you. Why don't you … take a seat," he said in a quivering voice.

The girls still looked sullen, but both of them dutifully sat at the table, with several seats between them. Aemon and Daenerys sat down with them. He glanced at Daenerys, who gave him a melancholic smile and clasped her hand with his.

"I … just received word that Winterfell has been taken back," Aemon replied.

"Is Bran okay?" Sansa asked, the picture of worry.

Aemon nodded. "He's fine. All of the children are fine. It's … it's Father."

Sansa gasped.

"They opened negotiations with Roose Bolton, but he broke the peace and … shot Father. He … he won't survive his wound," Aemon said, feeling helpless. He straightened up and did his best to remain calm.

Sansa was aghast. She pulled herself up in a similar manner, but her lips trembled and her blue eyes began to water. "Father's … dead?"

"No!" Arya screeched. "No, he can't be dead!" She bolted from the room.

"Arya!" Aemon jumped to his feet and gave chase. He turned the corner to find her trying to get past Ser Barristan blocking the door. The old knight stared morosely at her but remained steadfast.

"Let me go! I want to go," Arya cried, her sentences broken by sobbing.

"Arya, please. I know this is hard." He grabbed her and pulled her into a hug.

"I don't want to be here," Arya screamed into his doublet and battered his chest with her fists.

Aemon just stayed quiet and held her until she stopped and continued to bawl into his clothes. There was nothing he could say to make it better. He knew she was trying to run, but he couldn't let her leave. There was nowhere she could hide.

As her crying was beginning to subside, he said, "You can see Edric tomorrow."

She pushed off of him and he let go. Instead of trying to bolt past, she went to her bedroom instead and slammed the door. He stopped in front of it, but didn't knock. He rested his head against it as he could hear her muffled sobs. What could he do to make it even a little easier?

A thought came to him and he went back to the dining room. Daenerys had moved to sit next to Sansa, whom she was cradling with a hug while Sansa sobbed into her. She herself wasn't shedding any tears, but her eyes slid over to Aemon's in sympathy.

"Are you two doing okay in here?"

He wasn't sure if Sansa could hear him, but Daenerys nodded and started stroking her fingers through Sansa's hair.

"I'll be back."

He left Daenerys' bloodriders on guard and headed toward the godswood. In the time since he entered the Stark quarters, the sun now hung low on the horizon, ready to drop beneath it. If that wasn't a sure sign that summer was done, he didn't know what was. Still, they had years before the Long Night concerned them.

Once he stepped into the godswood, he felt immersed into another world. It was always cold in the North, so insects were scarce, but he found the soft hum of the crickets quite soothing. Fireflies flickered and danced around him, like an enchantment. Aemon began to whistle as he walked.

In the next moment, two creatures came crashing through the underbrush. Nymeria nearly knocked him down in her enthusiasm and he let out a bark of laughter. "Easy, easy, girls."

Originally the direwolves had been kept in cages. They had nearly outgrown them by the time the dragons were moved into the Dragon Pit. Since it was just Lady and Nymeria, Aemon had ordered them to be set free and have their run of the godswood. While Nymeria was still quite energetic and wild, no one had been attacked or bitten. Still, it did mean that most people continued to avoid the godswood, not that anyone found as much comfort in it as he and his family.

"Easy, girls, good," Aemon said soothingly as he stroked their heads. Lady was perfectly behaved as always, panting and sitting at attention. "I have an important task for you. Come."

Ser Barristan and Ser Preston had stayed at the entrance to the godswood, so Ser Preston showed a great deal of alarm at seeing the enormous wolves dogging his footsteps. Ser Barristan was stoic as always.

The grounds were quickly clearing of the last of the nobility and servants, but they stared and shied away like horses at the sight of the wolves. Despite the heavy loss, Aemon breathed in the wolf smell and felt at home. He had worked so hard to act the Targaryen, but it seemed his true self aligned more closely with the Starks.

When Aemon brought the wolves in, he stopped at Arya's door. He knocked on it briefly, but before she could even shout, he'd opened it wide enough for her wolf to slip through.

He smiled when he heard Arya cry, "Nymeria!"

Lady pulled away from him and hustled into the dining area. Sansa was now sitting at the table holding a cup of tea and sniffling. Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks, even as she sighted Lady. She quickly got down on her knees and hugged her wolf. "Oh, Lady!"

Watching her speak to her wolf and pet her soothingly made Aemon's heart long for Ghost. He would have to warg through his eyes soon. Perhaps he might even glimpse his father's funeral if he did, which caused the sadness to well up once more. The last few times he'd seen through Ghost, he'd felt his wolf's excitement and energy. The colder air invigorated him.

It made Aemon miss his home.

He shoved the thought away. This childishness is unbecoming, he thought. There's no going back. And now his father was dead. Time marched forward. Except that one time …. Aemon twisted his mouth. Did he dare plead with the Gods? If they could bring him back, surely they could bring his father back. He straightened up; it was worth trying.

Aemon caught Daenerys' eye and she quirked her eyebrows at him, indicating that she had seen the change. She turned back to Sansa, whom she was still hugging and said, "Would you like to still eat dinner?"

Sansa still hadn't gained control of her sobbing and simply shook her head.

"Would you like to go to bed?" Daenerys asked.

After a minute, Sansa nodded.

"Come on, let's get you settled for the night. Aemon and I will stay here. Let us know if you need anything," Daenerys said, guiding her into her room.

Aemon started and opened his mouth to protest, but closed it at Daenerys' stern look. He nodded. "I will let the servants know we'll be here for the night."

Once the arrangements were made, dinner was delivered for four people, but it was just Aemon and Daenerys sitting across from each other. They each picked at their food, the silence only broken by the scrapes of their dinner forks.

"Might I ask about the look you had?"

"Hmm?" Aemon grunted as her sentence broke his thoughts.

"You looked … determined."

"I thought it might help if I prayed to the Old Gods," Aemon replied with a frown.

"What … do you expect them to do?" Daenerys asked.

"I don't know. But the least I can do is pray for my father's crossing."

"I see." A moment later she asked, "Can I come with you?"

He blinked at her.

"I've never … known a religion. My, ahem, my brother thought religion was a mummer's farce. It was not important enough for me to learn. Are there really Gods out there and do they answer prayers?" she asked.

Aemon grimaced. Yes, there are. They do exist. Do they exist to do our bidding? Out of the thousands of prayers they received, why did they pick the ones that they answered? He had never thought about it. Why did they bring us back? He'd only ever been so grateful for the opportunity to save his loved ones and be able to steer their lives' course through less stormy seas. But what benefit did the gods receive? He had a feeling Jaime wouldn't even bother with the question. What does it matter?

Daenerys was looking at him imploringly and he finally consented with a smile, "I would love to have you at my side."

She smiled, but as soon as she turned her eyes away, he faltered. She had once more brushed against the uncomfortable truth of his past. He was still unsure how much he should tell her or even if. It had been a relief to tell his father and Ser Barristan. They had received it well, but Jaime's retelling to Tyrion went as Aemon had originally expected it to go. She would think him mad and rightly so.

He knew Jaime had been waffling about telling Brienne. If he had told her, he'd kept that from their letters. It was likely too personal of a detail for Jaime to include, but it just made Aemon more anxious. When they retired to the lord's room, Aemon tossed and turned for hours, still fretting.

In the morning, they discovered that Arya was missing and had left Nymeria on her bed. Lord Edric Dayne and Arya were close and still trained together most days. Aemon sent a kingsguard to Edric's room and, sure enough, the two were sitting there talking. Edric was abashed but insisted that Arya had only wanted a friendly ear.

She was still quite young and hadn't "flowered" as the ladies put it, though Aemon wasn't entirely sure what that meant. But she was quickly approaching an age where being in the room of a strange man would invite scandal if it wasn't already. Edric was fifteen, just a few years older than her.

Before Aemon's father had left, they had spent some time discussing the girls and what would be expected of them. Naturally, Arya was meant to marry and his father had wondered aloud whether Lord Dayne would be interested. It had certainly crossed Aemon's mind as well, but Arya was still rebellious about marriage and he didn't dare get on her bad side again until he was certain he saw signs similar to what he remembered of Arya and Gendry's relationship.

Though he was often busy with the kingdom, he tried to train with Arya at least once a week and often saw them fighting. Arya had improved leaps and bounds since Aemon had first charged Lady Maege and Lady Dacey to train her. Though she was still young, she was losing her childish clumsiness and becoming quick and nimble. She would make a fine warrioress. And further, Edric would let her be one.

But he was careful to be stern with Arya when she was brought before him: "You cannot go sneaking out in the middle of the night to a strange man's room. That is not becoming of a lady."

"He's not strange! He's my friend."

"Arya, no one thinks untoward thoughts of a girl who visits her brother's or cousin's rooms, but that's because they are family. Edric is not family and is not counted as such."

"Why does it matter?" she grumbled sullenly.

"You're a bit young …."

"What Aemon is trying to say is that men and women do certain activities with each other that are quite … intimate," Daenerys said, having risen from her chair in a huff. "I have not been here for long, but I was married before. It's considered … very important that a woman be untouched. People will think Edric touched you, which will reflect poorly on him and you."

"But we didn't do anything. We just talked!" Arya exclaimed.

"We believe you, Arya, but others won't. As a Stark, your position in the family is of high importance and such actions will reflect poorly on the family," Aemon said. "If Lady Catelyn catches wind of this, she may insist that you be wed to Edric, assuming he agrees."

Arya's eyes went wide and she became troubled.

"I hope you understand how important this is?"

"Am I never allowed to see him?"

"On the training grounds, where you can be seen in public. But not alone anymore. I'm sorry."

Arya sniffed and vigorously wiped tears that fell down her face. "I just - I just wanted to talk about Father. He understands! He's lost a father too."

Aemon deflated. "I know, but Father left you in my care. I want to do right by you. You won't sneak around in the tunnels anymore, will you?"

She didn't quite meet his eyes, but she nodded.

He wasn't convinced at all that this was the end of it, but he had no heart for harshness right now. "Then let's break our fast. We will pray in the godswood this morning."

Aemon hadn't originally intended for them to accompany him, but since Daenerys insisted on going, it seemed appropriate to include Sansa and Arya.

For once the girls were quiet throughout breakfast. They kept their eyes on their plates and slowly ate their food. Arya declared she was done after only a few bites. No one pushed her to eat more, but Aemon required that she stay until they finished. He gave up moments later, feeling like he was eating sludge more than porridge.

Once they were dressed and ready, Aemon led them toward the godswood. Sansa and Arya followed without complaint. It made for an eerie and unsettling walk since he was so used to their bickering. While their wolves remained light, their usual energy was missing and they stayed by their mistresses' sides.

With the dragons no longer in the godswood, the songbirds had returned and broke the early morning with their music. It felt far too peaceful and calm for the mood. Once at the foot of the fake weirwood, Aemon stared up into its face and grimaced. Was it possible to even speak with the Old Gods with this mockery of a weirwood? The decayed rope that had grown into the tree's limb caught his eye. If the Gods could save Jaime, then they could certainly hear his prayers.

"Let us pray. Dany, feel free to join us."

She stepped closer and got down on her knees next to Aemon, paying no mind to the early morning dew soaking into the fabric. "Is there a ritual I follow?"

Aemon smiled. "No. The Old Gods are not quite so ritualistic as the Seven. I only ever saw my father pray in silence to the tree."

He put his hands together and bowed in demonstration. Daenerys followed suit. Aemon smiled at her willingness to understand and felt a warmth fill his chest.

His smile faded as he returned to his task of praying: The Old Gods, I know you can hear me. Thank you, again, for allowing me to right the wrongs from the time before. I've worked hard to steer the kingdoms on the right course. I beg you, please show mercy on my father-uncle, Lord Eddard Stark. He has only ever been devout to you. He has been steadfast by my side, the most loyal and honorable man I know. If you can bring me back, I know you can do the same for him. Please, Old Gods, I beg of you. Heal his wounds or return Eddard Stark to life so that he may continue to prepare us and lead our fight against the Long Night.

Aemon opened his eyes and stared up into the crudely carved face of the oak tree. Its smile seemed mocking to him. He saw no sparkle or any indication that his prayers had been heard. A gentle breeze stirred the leaves and he strained to listen, hoping he could hear a message, but he heard nothing.

He sighed. It seemed that if his prayer did work, it would take days for a raven from Winterfell to reach him in King's Landing with the news. Perhaps I should have cultivated the services of Melisandre after all, he thought peevishly. Being brought back from the dead had been disorienting and it left him with a persistent feeling that something wasn't quite right. There was still so much for his father to contribute and to see. Please come back, Father. I beg of you.

Once the girls were done, he led them away and told them to come to him or Daenerys for anything. He couldn't stop himself from glancing at the tree one last time before he left.