Author's Notes:

Good day, everyone, and welcome to another chapter of TDR! Thank you all so very, very much for your support in reading this story. I really can't tell you enough how insanely motivating it is to have such a ready audience. You guys are awesome! I hope you enjoy this chapter!

Thank you, forever and always, to Catzrko0l who continues to be such a stalwart beta. I appreciate all of the hard work you put into making these chapters shine!

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Chapter 130

Aemon XLVIII

He breathed in the salty air as the wind whipped his cloak. As summer wound down, the heat had diminished in King's Landing, but it was still insufferable to a northerner. He found the stormy and brusque wind of the Westerlands coast to be refreshing.

Much to Aemon's surprise, the people of Lannisport barely paid any attention to their party as they rode through the city. The people parted, but most barely gave him or his entourage a passing glance. Aemon briefly wondered if it was because they were used to Lord Tywin Lannister acting like royalty whenever he visited the city that they paid little notice to anyone else besides. He did find it a welcome change of pace to be ignored; he couldn't walk two steps in King's Landing without being swarmed.

What did grab their attention were the two dragons winging overhead. Drogon roared and swooped in low. Aemon nearly winced as he came upon the ships, but he wasn't as close as he initially feared. Once he was clear of the ships, he pulled up and then tucked his wings and dived, hitting the water with a great splash. Rhaegal did a cry that sounded a bit like barking before similarly diving into the water, like a little brother hurrying to keep up with his elder.

When they had first left King's Landing, Aemon had kept a weather eye out for the dragons. They stayed high enough up in the sky that they could almost be mistaken for birds. Once they were away from the ocean, they switched from hunting fish to hunting deer. The train had been halted once by Drogon who, having snatched a buck, roasted it, and settled in to eat it on the Gold Road. After the first few days, Aemon paid little attention to their whereabouts. They flew close enough that he could see them most times.

At one point, Drogon had grabbed himself a fat pig that squealed loud enough to wake them in the early morning hours. It had so unnerved them all that they broke camp and were back on the road before the sun rose. Aemon had wanted to find the farmer and compensate him; since dragons were capable of flying far and wide, it was decided it might take too long to find the hapless man.

The journey to Lannisport had taken a bit longer than expected thanks in large part to the wildling negotiations. When Jaime had told him the negotiations were to be held at noon, Aemon insisted they find an inn; he wanted to ensure that no one would walk in unceremoniously in the middle of his warging.

As Aemon had imagined, the Free Folk grated under Jaime's presumptuous arrogance, but they were then undeniably cowed in his victory over the Lord of Bones. He'd only caught a glimpse of it. He couldn't be sure if it were his heart or Ghost's that felt like it froze in his chest when he saw the Lord of Bones approaching while Jaime was held by two of his dogs. Despite the pain, despite the blood, Jaime hadn't been afraid, only determined. Aemon decided, though, that if Lord of Bones could have three dogs, then Jaime could have dogs of his own. He pointed Ghost's nose and rushed over, and then he deliberately jarred himself out of his warging. He didn't want to know what it was like to attack another creature, whether man or beast, through his direwolf. After a few minutes, he'd returned to Ghost and noticed Jaime hobbling away, no worse for wear than when Aemon had found him during the fight.

It had been useful to sit in on the negotiations and see the concerns and the barbs being thrown back and forth. There were times when he winced internally at some of the things Jaime said, but he was more practiced in this game. Though much of it was harsh, harsh is what the Free Folk needed to be reined in. He was confident that, although the freefolk were proud, they weren't willing to commit mass suicide over it.

He was pleased to see Jaime and Tormund apparently getting along. Though Jaime had still appeared disgruntled by the force of Tormund's joviality, he tolerated it. It did surprise him that Brienne was not in attendance north of the Wall, but perhaps Jaime convinced her to stay behind so that he could stay on neutral terms with the likes of Tormund.

Apart from the two-day stop at an inn in the tiny village of Bromset, the journey west had been smooth. There had been minor friction between Prince Oberyn and Ser Kevan Lannister. The prince deliberately goaded Ser Kevan out of boredom more than animosity. While Tywin's brother had not reacted, later in the evening a group of each side's soldiers had come to blows. No one had died, but a Lannister man broke his wrist and a Martell one had broken his nose. Aemon demanded that the two sides get sorted or he would leave them both on the shore of Lannisport.

Though it had disappointed Prince Oberyn, he obliged the king's orders and kept his distance from Ser Kevan. Much to Aemon's surprise, Theon ended up falling back to ride with the Martell train. On more than one occasion, he saw Theon and Prince Oberyn conversing together. Aemon was burning with curiosity to know what they talked about, but he was otherwise swept up in conversations with the many other lords in his company.

"Your Grace, welcome to Lannisport," Lord Paxter Redwyne said to him with a hasty bow as they pulled up to the edge of the port.

"Lord Redwyne," Aemon acknowledged. "Was there any trouble getting to Lannisport?"

"All ships made it and any repairs that needed to be made have been made."

"Good! Weather permitting, I'd like to set sail on the morn," Aemon said, peering up at the ships.

"Certainly, Your Grace," Lord Redwyne said. "I will speak with Lord Velaryon and we'll load the ships."

"Good man. Would you know whom I might speak to about letters?" Aemon asked.

"I believe Devan Lannister is the castellan when the Lord of Casterly Rock is not there. He's around here somewhere. Forgive me, Your Grace, but I—"

"Go on. I can find him," Aemon said, looking around for Ser Kevan. If memory served, Gerion hadn't lived in Casterly Rock for more than a decade. Would he even recognize his own cousins?

He found the both of them in a deep conversation, but when he'd almost reached them, Gerion abruptly hopped aboard his stallion and trotted off.

"Ser Kevan, is there a problem?" Aemon asked.

"Not at all, Your Grace. Family matters. Gerion will return before we depart; he has given me assurances," Ser Kevan said. He kept a reserved face much like Lord Tywin had, but Aemon couldn't sense any malice in his demeanor. It seemed strange that he would gloss over the issue, but some families were more private than others.

"Very well. I am seeking the castellan, a Devan Lannister? I wish to see if any letters have arrived from King's Landing," Aemon said.

"Oh yes, Devan should be at port storage where the supplies will be loaded."

Devan was a young man, looking tested and frazzled, but he smiled good-naturedly at Aemon and led him to a low building among the storefronts. He unlocked it and allowed him in. It was a surprisingly simple place built of brick. Although the desk was of a finer quality than the smallfolk's usual standards, there was only a single banner declaring the Lannister lion. He used another key to open a drawer and dug through the stack of letters he had received.

"Here you are, Your Grace."

Aemon took it, noticing a single roll of parchment.

"Thank you," he said and exited. Devan once more locked up and returned to his duties.

Aemon took the letter aboard the Rhaegar and to his quarters, locking the door behind him. He split the seal and unrolled the parchment, smiling upon seeing Daenerys' simple handwriting.

Dear Aemon,

There are not enough words to say how much I miss you. I think even the baby has noticed your absence since he kicks me more often at night. The grand maester insists that the way he sits indicates a boy.

All is well here. I am finding Lord Willas, Lady Olenna, and Healer David of particular help in offering advice. Lord Tyrion has taken over the majority of your duties involving letter writing and addressing. I am still keen to learn everything, so I may insist on learning the art from him.

The kingdom is prosperous. Surrounded by this small council, I am confident that we can address most everything. Please focus all of your attention on bringing the Ironborn back into the Seven Kingdoms. Be mindful of the dragons. With much longing, I await your return.

Love,

Dany

Aemon's heart swelled with love at the letter. A boy? I can't wait to meet him, he mused. His brow furrowed in frustration that he was stuck so far from home, having to put a kingdom in line. Since the Ironborn were hamstrung by their previous attack on King's Landing, he doubted it would take more than a day to end any further thoughts of rebellion.

I'm glad to see that the small council is stepping up to be of help, Aemon thought. He wondered briefly about what David might be doing that would please Dany when they had barely said a word to one another outside of a small council meeting. He shrugged and pushed it out of his mind. He did wonder what issues may have cropped up since his departure, but it put him at ease that Dany handled them with exactly the sort of grace and leadership that he first loved about her. This Dany was not all that different from the one he knew previously.

A knock sounded at his door. With a heavy sigh, he put the letter in one of the drawers of the desk and rose to greet the person at the door.

It was Lord Velaryon. "Your Grace, I am simply reporting that Ser Kevan has ordered the horses to be stabled in Casterly Rock. Since we are departing in the morn, he was curious if you were interested in staying in the Rock for the night."

Aemon had never once seen the Rock in his previous life and he was curious to see the home where Jaime had grown up. He didn't speak of it fondly, unlike Aemon who'd quietly lamented how Winterfell had changed after the Boltons had burned a good portion of it to the ground.

"Tell Ser Kevan that I would be delighted to stay in the Rock." He opened the door wider to step out and locked it.

The Rock had been the first sign that they were nearing Lannisport. Even despite the gloom of a nearby storm, it soared majestically into the sky. Closer now, the entire top portion was shrouded in mist. He tried desperately not to crane his head and gape like a small child. There were mountains beyond the Wall that towered far above the likes of Casterly Rock, but no one had carved into them and made a home out of them.

He noticed an opening at the base of the mountain, but as he approached, it dwarfed them. It yawned like a gaping maw and gave him the impression that he was riding into the belly of a great beast. At the base of Casterly Rock were the smithies, the training grounds, and the stables. Much like the Wall, it had a lift that took them to the floors above.

To think Jaime grew up with this, Aemon thought in suppressed awe. Is it any wonder the Lannisters were raised with such arrogance? He was tempted to find Jaime's room and leave a note, wondering when he'd next be back to receive it.

"Your Grace, Della will show you to your room. A bath has been drawn. Should you require any assistance, there will be a servant stationed at your door," Ser Kevan said with unnerving neutrality. He was more accustomed to lords falling all over themselves to impress. He didn't need that fawning, but it was a noted difference.

Lannisters… Aemon thought, shaking his head when Kevan had turned away.

Della was young and auburn-haired, dressed in a red and gold dress that appeared to be made of fine materials. Her smile was bright and she curtsied, "Your Grace, if you'll follow me."

He followed her up a few flights of stairs. There were no markers to indicate floors and it didn't take long for one stairwell to blend in with another against the dark rock. Della led him unerringly until they reached a door. She opened it and stood back. "Your room, Your Grace. Let me know if you need anything."

Aemon ventured in. He quickly closed the door so that she would not see him gape. A warm fire was burning in a fireplace. A four-poster bed was placed against one wall, the poles carved from a dark wood were polished to a mirror shine. The sheer curtains naturally had a gold sheen. A sprawling rug nearly stretched the entire length of the room, again, in hues of red and gold. In contrast, the fireplace was a shiny black that looked like obsidian, carved into thick curling ropes. A couch and two chairs were placed in front of the hearth; the fabric was shiny and felt like silk when he touched it. A large reddish polished desk was positioned in the corner. He ran his fingers along it, marveling at the smoothness of its grain, having no idea what wood it was carved from, but given the Lannisters, he imagined it was rare.

The bathroom was no less extravagant. In the middle, with clawed golden feet, was a smoothly carved ornate bathtub already filled with steaming water. The floor was marble as well, with gold leaf filling the cracks between tiles.

This is more extravagant than my quarters in King's Landing, he mused, feeling a mixture of awe and annoyance. Though beautiful, it was such a great waste of gold; the inn in Bromset had been sufficient enough for his purposes, especially for one night.

It was only when he stepped out of the bathroom that he noticed two doors on the opposite side of the wall. He opened them up and was faced with yet another set of doors. When he opened those, he was nearly blown back by the gale winds that greeted him and swept rain in his face. He was not one to be cowed by the cold and fought against it to peer out onto the balcony. From this height, it felt like being on top of the Wall. Looking down, he could see ants scurrying around that were actually people. Casterly Rock was truly a marvel, even if its greatest luxuries mattered little to him.

Still, after a few weeks of camping on the roadside, he decided he would take advantage of the tub while it was still warm. He stripped out of his armor and cloak, setting them up neatly beside his bed, and strode into the washroom. After some time scrubbing, he was pleased to feel clean and he entered his room to find that his trunk of belongings had been brought up while he was bathing. The clothes he had stripped out of were gone, no doubt under orders to be washed.

He dressed in his black doublet and trousers and then opened the door. "Della, would you lead me to the library?"

"Of course, Your Grace. This way," she said. Ser Barristan and Ser Daemon Sand were hot on his heels. At this time of day, he found the library empty as he perused the titles. He pulled out a book here and there, screwing his mouth up into a grin to find that the ends of the pages for most of the books were also painted gold. Do all of the Lannisters shit gold? Aemon thought. Perhaps I should ask Jaime.

He looked specifically for Targaryen history, hoping to find an item not available in King's Landing. It seemed that the Lannisters possessed most of the same copies that he could find in the capital. Though the dragons were currently under control, Drogon's appetite once more brought to the fore the problem of how they were going to control the dragons. It was a pig now, but it could have just as easily been a person.

So far, their pointed efforts to give them already slaughtered food seemed to have done half the job of separating humans from their food. Most of their time was still spent hunting. There was not all that much difference between a squealing pig and a screaming human if Aemon wanted to be honest with himself. How was he to deter their dragons from eating people?

While he thought Daenerys might disagree with him about the level of control they had over the dragons, Aemon was convinced that their control could slip. The dragons were bound to eat someone at some point. The best he could do is never use them for that purpose to begin with and then perhaps they wouldn't see it as an option. That sounded far more like wishful thinking than he was comfortable with.

While in the section for House Targaryen, he found a small black book with no title. He pulled it out and was surprised it was one of the few that lacked the gold leaf. He flipped through its pages and froze. Among them were illustrations of dragons. He stopped and looked closer. There was a picture of a dragon hatching and descriptions of how dragons were nurtured in the wild. He flipped some more pages and saw a description of a dragon named the Cannibal. Another few pages and he found an image of Balerion with his rider Aegon the Conqueror. The book appeared to be exactly what he was looking for!

He glanced around the library, finding no one to ask, and simply tucked the book under his arm. He found Della again and said, "I am done here. Might I inquire as to when dinner is?"

"It's still not for another couple of hours, Your Grace. Shall I lead you back to your room?" she asked.

"Please."

He spent the next hour reading the book. Though it did have some information about dragon behavior—most notably mating rituals—it did not go into detail about how the Targaryens controlled their dragons. The history books in the Red Keep recorded the line of riders from one dragon to the next, so he was familiar with the names of all of the dragons who hatched during the Targaryen reign, but there were little more than footnotes about them. This had a more detailed history that described their physical appearance and behavior.

He found the story of the Cannibal quite interesting, as he was the only wild dragon on the Westerosi content. It surprised him that a dragon would indulge in something as barbaric as cannibalism by eating dragon eggs and other smaller dragons. It was passing strange that he was last seen flying north and had simply disappeared. Given that the only other large dragons were in the control of the Targaryens, it seemed unlikely that there was a threat great enough to bring down the ferocious Cannibal.

He recalled that the Night King had easily felled Viserion and then pulled his corpse up to bring him back to an undead life. Surely if the Night King had access to a dragon of Cannibal's caliber, he would have used him in the time before. It was silly to worry about it, so he struck it from his mind. He had enough worries.

At dinner, he brought up the matter of the book to Ser Kevan, who then gave him his blessing to borrow it but asked that it be returned eventually. From there, talk turned to the impending conflict with the Ironborn. This was a discussion that they'd had many times on the journey to Lannisport. Aemon looked over to Theon to catch his eye. Theon was eating like a servant boy who wasn't supposed to be at the lords' table and was downing his meal as quickly as possible. He looked pale even with the orange flickering of the candles and the torches in the sconces. All the same, he saw Aemon looking and nodded resolutely at him. Aemon had been leaving him alone for the most part, but before they departed he had impressed upon him the importance of his role. Aemon was going to spend the time on the ship to prepare Theon for how to address the rest of the Iron Islands.

He was nervous about it. Theon had become surprisingly mute in the time before and had refused to elaborate on the interim years or what he knew of Ironborn social customs, so Aemon was almost as blind now as he was then. It was his hope that a large enough show of force would cow them into submission, making Theon's role a little more of a messenger than the deliverer of pain. Drogon was meant to be the primary harbinger of the Ironborn's ill fate should they refuse.

Still, the Ironborn were depleted. Two of their lords were confirmed dead. After Euron's death, the in-fighting had started to tear apart the Iron Islands. It was so fractious that if Aemon wanted to, he could simply sweep along island to island and conquer them with nary a problem. Lord Redwyne and Ser Kevan had criticized him for not being more forceful. However, his goal, as it had been with every kingdom, was to limit deaths. They would need every man they could get to fight against the Long Night. The strategy was also to limit the number of corpses available to the Night King for his army. It was simpler to keep as many alive as possible.

He should not have been surprised that Ser Kevan of all people would push for more harshness. Tywin was, after all, famous for cruel punishments, such as the slaughter of House Reyne and House Tarbeck. Although Jaime had learned much at his father's knee, he had adapted his father's reputation for his own use. Aemon in turn learned that a threatening aura might be enough to avoid the bloodshed and have the Ironborn fall in line. After all, Tywin didn't have a threat like a dragon who could raze the rest of their pitiful little houses on the island. Not that Aemon ever imagined doing such a thing, but the fearsome reputation of his own house meant it was unclear what exactly he might do if they dared to disagree.

Before bed that night, Aemon wrote a short letter to Dany and then a lighthearted one to Jaime. Neither one had much of import. For Dany, he recounted the droll hours on the road and regaled her with the extravagances at Casterly Rock. In the one to Jaime, he teased him relentlessly. He then passed his letters to Della.

They rode back to Lannisport in carriages so that their horses could stay in Casterly Rock's stables. A fine mist was falling onto the port. The dragons had settled in a field near Casterly Rock and only roused when Aemon had whistled several times. Even from his distance, he could see a rising mist coming off of both of them. When he'd ridden Rhaegal in the other time, it had been in the winter when the heat had felt like a welcome presence rather than a hindrance. Riding them now might feel like fire.

Despite the rain, the winds were calmer and they were able to cast off with little delay and strike out to sea. Aemon stood at the prow, staring out across the ocean. The Rhaegar, of course, took the lead so that all that lay before him was open sea and a slate gray sky. Only a few merchant vessels bobbed on the waves, but they were pointed south instead of northwest.

Drogon gave a mighty roar and soared ahead of the ship with Rhaegal attempting to imitate him in ferocity. Aemon noticed the unsettled stirring in the others at the sight of the dragons and felt himself deflate with disappointment. Scaring the Ironborn was one thing, but he had hoped to avoid scaring the rest of his allies. He supposed there was nothing for it. After Belarion had burned Harrenhal into the molten stump it was today, the dragons would be forever feared for the damage they too often wrought.

Once they were settled into their path, Aemon wasted no time in summoning Theon and Lord Monford Velaryon.

"I know what the plan is. I can do it. Your Grace," Theon hastily added at the glare Monford gave him.

"Humor me," Aemon replied in amusement. "I need to know that we have the right approach. We're both flying blind here. Now, you said that you need something of Euron's to prove that you were his killer."

"Aye. The Ironborn loot the bodies of the dead."

"Is there anything particularly noteworthy of Euron's that the Iron Islands would instantly recognize as his?" Aemon asked.

Theon stared at him. "You know the answer to that question."

"I'm not giving you his Valyrian Steel armor."

"You don't need to give it to me. It's for show," Theon retorted.

"What happens when I take the armor back from you? It's Valyrian steel, as you said. It would look passing strange for you to pass it off as a decoration and not use it for your own protection," Aemon said, with an exasperated sigh.

"A shame. If we'd had more time, we might have been able to craft a mock-up," Monford said.

"We don't have time," Aemon said. "That should've been done in King's Landing if it was an option at all."

"How likely is it that the Ironborn remember exactly how his armor looked? We may be able to purchase or borrow another warrior's armor," Monford suggested.

Aemon glanced at Euron's Valyrian steel armor wrapped with a cord beside his bed. He'd put it on before he left King's Landing. It needed some adjustments in the breastplate, but when he'd looked at himself in the mirror, he was awed. Though the metal was black, in the light it shone with a red sheen, as though it had an inner fire. It was unlike any armor he'd ever encountered. Anyone would cut an intimidating figure.

"That's not truly a quality that can be mocked," Aemon replied.

"They'll not catch it if I don't have it," Theon muttered. "It's not suitable for an archer."

"Hmm…" Aemon rubbed his chin as he contemplated.

"We're already talking about tricking them. Does it matter if we take the armor back from Theon?" Monford said.

Theon shifted uncomfortably.

"It matters," Aemon began, "because it could cause headaches for him later. They might question his legitimacy to rule."

"I can handle any doubters," Theon growled.

Doubtful, Aemon thought. While he wasn't certain about Theon's story, he had heard that Theon jumped ship rather than confront Euron, who held his sister captive. He redeemed himself by challenging the Night King at Moat Cailin. Though he'd fought bravely, he'd died quickly. This Theon had yet to suffer any real hardships. He had attempted to assassinate Euron in King's Landing. It was by the grace of the Gods that someone else beat him to it. He'd never had much hope that Theon would come out of that encounter alive.

"Given that he's grown up a captive in Winterfell, it's damn near unavoidable that some, if not all, will think him a puppet," Monford was beginning to sound exasperated.

"I'm not a puppet and I'll prove it to them!" Theon shouted.

"Are Ironborn commonly archers? Or would this be a duel?" Aemon asked.

Theon sneered. "I'm even with Robb at sword fighting."

"But is that enough? Robb is a good swordsman but not when compared to the likes of Ser Barristan," Aemon insisted.

"Neither are other Ironborn," Theon said.

"Are you sure about that?"

Theon scowled and then exploded. "I'm not a cocksucking bitch! I can handle myself. I didn't expect you to be such a cockless cunt!"

Monford knocked Theon upside the head. "Watch your tongue! That is your king you're speaking to!"

"That's enough, Monford." Aemon sighed and shook his head in frustration. "I don't want you killing yourself to prove a point." If Theon died, the gig was up and war would be the only recourse. It would hamper their efforts to prepare for the Long Night and put an untold number of lives at risk.

It would also impede his efforts to return to Dany in time for the birth of their child. He ground his teeth together at the very thought.

"I will wear the armor and I will convince the Ironborn to pledge allegiance to you," Theon growled, emphasizing each word with his finger.

"Very well. The consequences on your head be it. Now, let's rehearse what you will say."