Author's Notes: Welcome back to another chapter of TDR! I'm posting it early because I am busy tomorrow morning, so lucky for guys! Thank you, everyone, for your support. I know I left you on a bit of a nasty cliffhanger, but I hope you'll forgive me upon reading it. This is a fun one!

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Catzrko0l, for everything that you do for this fic. They've helped me a little bit with the planning, particularly as we're coming to a close, so I can't tell you enough how helpful they've been!

Chapter 135

Daenerys XXIII

Even after a full night's rest, her body ached all over. The birth had felt every inch like the time she'd lost Rhaego. It had terrified her. Tears had begun streaming down her face as soon as the door to her quarters had clicked shut and Aemon was forced outside.

Please don't leave me. I don't want to be alone, she had thought then, surprising her despite her anger.

She pulled herself up into a sitting position, groaning at the pain and looked around the room desperately.

"Khaleesi?" Missandei asked.

"Where is she? Where—?"

"The wetnurse has her. Let me go get her, but you must stay abed. The grand maester said you need to rest. It will be a few days before you should walk."

Dany sat back with a sigh, but just a moment later her eyes softened and she reached out. Missandei smiled at her as she was handed her brand-new daughter. "She looks like you," her friend said.

She looks like Aemon, Dany wanted to correct her, but she knew she meant well. However, there was no mistaking the dark shock of hair on her head as any but Aemon's. The babe blinked up at her mother, her eyes drooping after having just been fed. Her face was perfect, her hands and toes were perfect. Everything about her was perfect.

"My beautiful baby girl," she whispered and gently kissed her forehead. It wasn't lost on her that the grand maester had been wrong about the sex of the baby. It hardly mattered, but she did find it amusing. Her happiness did falter when she thought of Aemon. He'd been expecting a boy as well. Even when she was Khal Drogo's khaleesi, she had been under the distinct impression that little boys were much more sought after than girls. Everyone had simply presumed Rhaego would be a boy. She knew they abided by their rituals as proof and thinking back on it, she wondered what kind of trouble she might have been in if he had ended up a girl after all.

Aemon wouldn't do that, she thought. He might lie through his teeth, but he wouldn't be cross over receiving a girl instead of a boy. Would he? It gutted her that she even had her doubts. She wouldn't were it not for the secrets he'd been holding from her.

Even just thinking about it made her furrow her brow and she winced at the twinge of pain she felt upon tensing up. Although she had longed for Aemon's presence, she was still furious with him. How could he have left me ignorant all of this time? I must've looked the fool in every conversation, she thought with some acidity.

It beggared belief. He knew she was set to marry Khal Drogo and yet he had done nothing to intervene. She'd had a mind to pepper him with questions, but the pain from her contractions had started to get bad midway through his story. His tall tale, she thought acerbically.

Was it really so tall? She was trying to convince herself that it was a farce. That this was a foolhardy prank of some sort and it would end with her as the butt of the joke. But this was Aemon. Though he quipped and threw barbs around with frequency, he had never done an elaborate prank that she'd ever heard of. Apart from executing the traitors she'd heard about, she'd never even seen him dole out so much as a punishment. At best, he gave stern warnings, and then Tyrion, Ser Barristan, or even Prince Oberyn would give him grief about being too lenient. It was simply not in him to jape at such length.

Viserys still died by melted gold being poured over him. She shuddered at the memory and felt a deep ache in her heart. He had caused her to lose Rhaego and yet in Aemon's story, she didn't lose Rhaego for another few months to the very same Mirri Maz Duur. She could only imagine her fury at that witch if she'd been the one actually responsible for Rhaego's death.

She did find the divergence in her story curious. She'd gone to Astapor and freed the Unsullied the same as before, but then she'd turned her forces inland and marched to Meereen, where she liberated the city of its Masters and freed its slaves. Then she ruled in the great pyramid of Meereen until she felt she'd been idle for long enough. She was a Targaryen after all. The great sword throne in Westeros belonged to her. She'd disembarked with her armies and her dragons, a queen in her own right.

That's how he always saw me, she thought. Not as a silly girl, but as a queen. Though she'd been in the very grips of pain, she had felt awe at the way he described her sitting on the throne at Dragonstone. He had then bent the knee to her. Though it was largely done out of desperation, he felt her the more impressive one of them.

I see now why he refuses to chain the dragons up as well, she mused. She'd also had all three dragons; it was a fluke made possible by Varys that he'd ended up with Rhaegal. Though it was less than ideal for Rhaegal to be several months behind his brother and sister, he could at least be assured he'd never be chained and left in the dark.

And her dragon Rhaellon had been Viserion. Her former self appeared to have fonder memories of her brother than she had. I might have been able to forgive him had he not taken Rhaego from me, she thought bitterly. That seemed to have been the deciding point for her past self.

The rest of Westeros falling into war hadn't meant much to her, though the circumstances were fascinating. Joffrey Baratheon, a bastard, had taken the throne, masquerading as Robert's trueborn son, though he had no inkling otherwise. She had been appalled at hearing the torturing and suffering he had delivered to his own smallfolk and to Sansa especially. She could hardly imagine such a sweet girl enduring a beating. She wore her heart on her sleeve and continued to wear the innocence of a child, though she was quickly approaching womanhood.

On one hand, she'd felt vindicated about Jaime Lannister when she learned of his early misdeeds: nearly killing a child, sleeping with his sister, and being a selfish prick worthy of being executed. However, as Aemon expanded on how he suffered and the changes he underwent as a result, thereby distancing him from his violently ruthless sister, she was surprised to feel a pang of sympathy. Cersei Lannister much reminded her of her brother. He had threatened to rape her on a handful of occasions. Though she now hated and distrusted Jorah, she was certain he hadn't been deliberately misleading her when he warned that Viserys had been prepared to marry and make more pureblood Targaryen children with her. It was by the grace of the Seven that she was married off before he had the chance.

Just as well, it seemed daft to her that Cersei's nature had escaped Jaime's notice. I was never blind to my brother's moods and rages, she thought with some disdain. Still, Jaime had eventually thrown off his lovelorn shackles and headed north to fight for the greater good.

It did bring into question her relationship with Aemon. By all accounts, her former self and he had fallen in love. But it was obvious then and now that his desire for her may have been partially inspired by her dragons. They were essential to combatting the Long Night. According to Aemon, the wights nearly evaporated when exposed to fire and there were untold millions of bodies available to the Night King to raise from the dead, especially if he broke through the Wall and continued his march south.

Aemon's done all of this—taken the throne, hatched a dragon, and married meall for the sake of overcoming the Long Night, she thought. It was a worthy cause. It brought back the memory in the House of the Undying, walking through the icy throne room full of bodies, only for them to rise up and attack her. That would be the fate of everyone in the world if the Night King ever had the chance.

But it did not make her feel better; she was conflicted. Though her heart was full to bursting and full of love for the little being she and Aemon had created together, she was now uncertain where she stood. She nearly hated herself for demanding the knowledge of these secrets. It was so much simpler to be encompassed by Aemon's arms and listen to his heart pound against his chest. When he kissed her, it was with a fiery passion that made her toes curl and ignited her own passion. Before that moment the other day when he had spilled everything, she had been confident that they were a man and woman who had found no greater love.

Now the facade had been ripped away. Were they different from any other lord and lady who had been thrown together in an arranged marriage? If there was a difference, it was that Aemon had arranged it as opposed to being an unwilling participant. Was he any better than her brother, Viserys?

What nonsense, she thought, shaking her head at the ridiculous thoughts. Though she felt betrayed—something she oft felt around Viserys—he and Aemon were night and day. Aemon had never turned on her in anger. He had never shouted at her, never hit her, and never belittled her. So often when she would first join him during the day, he would look at her as if he had never seen such beauty and embrace her in much the same way.

Dany wanted to believe he was sincere. Though she was still decidedly miffed, her heart ached for his closeness and comfort. She had long imagined his happiness at seeing their child once she had come into the world and she didn't think she would be at peace until he saw her.

However, she remembered asking him who else had known this story and he had mentioned Ser Barristan and Lord Tyrion. She'd never had cause to speak with Ser Barristan or nearly any of the Kingsguard. They seemed to prefer to keep to themselves when in her presence, speaking only when spoken to as was etiquette.

Though Dany wished to keep holding the baby, she began to stir and cry. She suspected the little one was in need of a changing.

"Missandei, would you mind taking our daughter back to the wet nurse? Then please summon Ser Barristan," she ordered.

"Of course, Your Grace," her friend said as she gently took the baby back out into the hall. A few minutes later, she returned with Ser Barristan.

"Would you make some tea for the both of us?" she asked.

"I thank you, Your Grace, but I need no tea," he said.

"You don't have to drink it," she replied.

They both remained quiet until the door had shut behind Missandei once more.

"Ser Barristan, Aemon told me that you are familiar with his story of when he was alive before," she began. He remained quiet but nodded. "What do you think of all of this? Do you believe him?"

He cocked his head at her. "I understand that it's an impossible situation that he has put you in. I assure you, Your Grace, Aemon's word is his bond."

"He lied to me," she stated.

"Yes, it was a lie of omission, but not with ill intent. I don't know his heart, but I do know his intentions. I have been at his side since he declared himself for the throne. I've seen every setback, every victory, every misfortune. He was near heartbroken when he thought Tywin had assassinated you. He's not like a prince or a king who has grown up at court and has long learned to hide his true intentions behind a mask. He wears his heart on his sleeve."

Dany grimaced. "I want to believe that. I feel I know in my heart that what you speak is true and yet …."

"You're hurt," Ser Barristan said plainly. He then sighed and shook his head. "Your Grace, I am kingsguard. By that virtue alone, I've not delved into any romantic dalliance since my induction, as required. I know not what words are best to say. I know of honor, duty, sacrifice, war, and fighting."

She opened her mouth to explain, but found nothing that she hadn't already said.

"As a maester might say, most things heal with time. I think you're putting too much on him and yourself in too short of time," he replied.

"Perhaps you're right," she whispered, feeling her shoulders relax. "Do you know if he's seen our child?" she asked.

"Almost as soon as he could, Your Grace."

"Was he pleased?"

"Thrilled. Thrilled that both you and the child are safe."

She found comfort in the plain way that Ser Barristan spoke. However, her words caught on the next question, "What … has he named her?"

"He refused to name her. His Grace insists that when you are feeling better that you name her together."

Dany closed her eyes as tears threatened to overwhelm her. She swallowed the emotion and drew in a deep breath to center herself. "I think it's been long enough to go nameless. Would you inform Aemon that I wish to see him and also to have the wet nurse return our baby?"

"Of course, Your Grace," he said. He left just as Missandei brought in the two cups of tea.

Missandei raised her eyebrows at her in amusement. Dany smiled back and simply reached for the tea.

"I brewed something that might ease your pain," her friend said.

"I thank you; this will be a treat. Save the second cup for Aemon. He should be here shortly."

"Of course, Khaleesi," Missandei replied.

Barely a few minutes passed before there was a hurried knock on the door and then Aemon burst in. He glanced around wildly, but as soon as he set eyes on her, he grinned. Though she did feel warmth upon seeing him, she did not return his joy. He noticeably deflated, but his energy did not abate as he pulled up a chair beside her.

"How are you? You're not hurt, are you?" he asked hurriedly. He reached out to grab her hand, but she deliberately kept it out of reach. He pulled his hands back, keeping them in his lap like a contrite child.

"I am … as well as can be expected," Dany replied, feeling a pulse of pain roll through her as she adjusted her position.

"I can have the maester bring you milk of the poppy," he said.

"That won't be necessary. Missandei has made me tea that's supposed to ease it," she replied.

"Oh, good," Aemon said. He glanced down and then back up at her. "I am so sorry for everything. I know … my words caused this. I cannot speak plainly enough how worried I was for you and our daughter. There were times when the Kingsguard had to keep me from barging into the room when I heard you scream. I did not sleep for a single solitary moment and stood outside our quarters the whole night, hoping for the best."

Dany held up a hand to stem the tide. "Brunal said that at this point in the pregnancy, the child can come at any time and still be perfect. The due date is not an exact art, as he put it."

Aemon grimaced. "That is a relief, but I'm sure I didn't help. I promise to never keep secrets from you again."

Daenerys nodded. "I'm pleased to hear that. I haven't forgiven you. I will need … time," she said stiffly, feeling the anger bubble deep within her core. In the next moment, she sagged, still feeling the exhaustion from the birth. She became annoyed at the stab of pity she felt upon seeing him downcast his eyes. "However, our daughter is what matters; she needs a name."

"I agree," Aemon said, sitting up straighter. "Do you have any ideas?"

"A few," she said, gauging his reaction.

He pulled out a slip of parchment from a breast pocket. "I was doing some research. I have Targaryen names and a few northern names. Lyanna, Lyarra, Helaena, perhaps Laeanna to make it more traditional?"

"I did like Helaena, also Maegelle. Or perhaps Aemma for great grand uncle Maester Aemon," Dany offered, a smile tugging at her lips as she thought of the old maester.

Aemon's eyes brightened up at hearing it as well.

They put their heads together. Aemon wrote out all of the suggestions and they went through and debated each one. Quite a few were crossed out instantly as either one would shake their heads when they mulled it over once more.

Finally, they decided. "She will be Aemma Targaryen."

|-The Dragon's Roar-|

Aemon LI

He strode down the hall with quick, punctuated steps. Though he was elated by the birth of his daughter, he was still vexed by Daenerys' anger. He deserved it, he wouldn't deny, but it seethed in his mind. Though he could declare success with the Ironborns, he was further troubled by Varys' daring to commit murder and make his own quick escape. Unlike Baelish, he'd poisoned the only one who would have a chance at stopping him. At the moment, his quarters were locked and untouched. Aemon had nearly ordered the kingsgurd to kick in the door and toss the room, but Tyrion and Willas convinced him otherwise. It would take another spymaster to perhaps unearth anything of value and right now, David was the only one he trusted to find anything.

Though it had been weeks since his poisoning, David was still weak and currently using a cane to go short distances. Even then he was frequently left winded. Aemon was forced to visit him in his brothel. Despite Daenerys' anger, he was at least grateful that she knew better than to think he was lying with any of the prostitutes.

He mounted his horse. Ser Barristan, Ser Preston, and Ser Arys similarly mounted their horses and followed him. Once they had returned from seeing to the Ironborn, Ser Barristan had again reminded him that he was still lacking a seventh member of the kingsguard and he was going to remind him every single day until Aemon had given him a list of names for his approval. As they rode down to where the brothel was, Aemon gave it some thought and came up empty. He could think of plenty of extra northern sons, but none of them had any faith in the Seven. Torrhen had already bent his beliefs to be a kingsguard. He wouldn't soon forget Jaime's ire over not insisting the Hound be knighted. There was nothing he could do to remedy that situation, so the best thing he could do was not repeat that mistake.

"Ser Preston, which kingdom do you hail from again?"

"I come from the Westerlands of House Greenfield, Your Grace."

"And you Ser Arys?"

"The Reach, Your Grace."

Barristan is Stormlands, Daemon is Dorne, Torrhen is North, the Hound is the Westerlands, Preston is Westerlands, Arys is the Reach. That leaves the Riverlands, the Ironborn, and the Vale, Aemon thought. He snorted in derision at the idea of an Ironborn being a kingsguard. Even if he found a willing candidate, Ser Barristan would veto it. It's a pity the Westerlands are overrepresented, but it can't be helped. I'm sure there are plenty of worthy knights in the Riverlands and the Vale, he thought. Ser Barristan was not familiar with every knight in the realm, but he would know a portion of them, most notably the best ones. He'd have to consult with him about it.

Once they reached the brothel, Aemon, Barristan, and Arys dismounted. Barristan put Ser Preston in charge of watching the mounts while they consulted with the healer.

Upon entering, Aemon glanced around the brothel, now getting a clearer understanding of why David might have use for it. Compared to the dingy streets outside, the interior was gaudily decorated but clean and well made. The entry chairs were wooden and stuffed cheaply with wool, covered in green cotton with lush patterns. A red-haired woman by the name of Leona greeted them at the door and led them back through a heavy oak door. Once through the second door, the wooden floors became shinier and the decorative molding was ornately carved. Two chairs sitting in a nook in the hallway were made of real velvet in the color of royal purple. Aemon curled his lips. Is it any wonder Baelish could afford this? This should've been noticed far sooner, he thought with some disgust. A few women who peered out behind their door were startled by his presence and curtsied, wearing a variety of sheer dresses in a menagerie of colors. Aemon pointedly kept his eyes on their faces for a curt nod, but otherwise stared straight ahead.

Leona led them up a curling wooden staircase to the second floor and walked them down the hall and this time stopped in the middle to knock on an even more ornately carved oak door.

"Who is it?" A voice called out inside.

"Leona. I bring the king and his kingsguard."

They heard the lock give and the door opened, allowing them inside. Arys stood on the outside of the door, guarding it from eavesdroppers. Aemon nodded his gratitude at Julian Grey, David's protege. Then he turned to David himself who was seated on a purple and plush velvet couch, gripping his cane. The healer looked as exhausted as he had after the Ironborn attacked. He coughed into his elbow and nodded at his two students and said in a croaking voice, "You may leave us."

Once the door shut, David waved to the seat cushion next to him. Aemon hesitated. He had too much energy to be seated, but sat anyway. He eyed David, whose expression was forever unmoved and far too scrutinizing. The silence stretched between them and it was David who decided to break it, "I hear your campaign against the Ironborn was successful. They have bent the knee and continue to remain a part of the Seven Kingdoms."

"A single scuffle hardly constitutes a campaign," Aemon grumbled, turning to glare at the ground.

David gave a croaking laugh which quickly turned into a cough. It took a few minutes for him to regain control again and continued, "It was successful, wasn't it? For most kings, that's all that would matter."

"I am not most kings," Aemon bit off, closing his eyes once more to rein in his temper.

Instead of being affronted, David was amused. "I heard that Drogon made his own decisions." His amusement quickly turned to concern. "Will I have to contend with him charring my patients?"

By the Old Gods and the New, I hope not, Aemon thought, with a shudder.

"That's difficult to say. He's back with his mother now. They're bonded and he should listen to her at least."

"I suppose that's some small comfort," David grumbled.

"I'm sorry for Ser Callum's loss. He was a kindly man, worthy of the honor of being knight," Aemon said.

"He was a good man. Far too good for the likes of this world. I will miss him," David replied, his voice dropping to a whisper as he himself glared at the floor. "I will get that bastard who poisoned us."

"Do you know how he learned?" Aemon asked.

"One of his little birds must've tipped him off. Hell, one of his former informants even. I tried to tap two of them again after this and learned that they have since been missing. I imagine they'll wash up shortly on the edge of Blackwater Bay," David said acidly.

"Damn it all!" Aemon punched the cushion. "Did you learn anything of use?"

David raised his eyebrows. "Plenty. By the time he poisoned me, I was ready to present my findings to you and recommend that he be tried for treason."

"What did you learn?"

David stared at him for a moment and then opened his leather jerkin to pull out a rolled piece of parchment. "I wrote it all down in the event that something like this would happen. I told no one. If I had died, Leona would've given it to you."

Aemon stared and grasped it with trembling hands. "Thank you," he whispered, clutching it tightly to his chest.

"If he ever spoke to you about 'the good of the realm,' it was all tripe," David began, "At best, he was hoping the realm wouldn't be in such bad shape before the one he truly wanted ruling invaded. He is partially responsible, as well, for Baelish's success largely by failing to intervene. A good master of whisperers would have seen the dangers and informed the king, but he didn't. Though I have no proof, I think both came to a point where they had blackmail which mutually assured the other's death if they dared go to the king. His murdering of Baelish was hardly altruistic."

Aemon scowled. "I had my suspicions it wasn't either, but without proof—"

"He can get away with murder," David growled, shaking his head. "I did my best, but Varys has been a master of whisperers for over thirty years. It was nigh impossible to stay ahead of him."

"You did well, David. I appreciate you kept this in confidence. In the future, you have my permission to share this with the queen as well," Aemon said, gesturing with the paper.

David smirked and gave him a knowing look. "Of course, Your Grace."

"Now, do you know who Varys was aiding and abetting with his sowing of chaos?"

"The Blackfyre. Who else?" David said.

"It seems passing strange that Varys would have a vested interest in a man tangentially related to a Targaryen bastard," Aemon muttered, rubbing his chin.

"As far as this Blackfyre's supporters are concerned, a claim is a claim. I imagine they would say much the same about you."

Aemon frowned. "My father was a Targaryen prince, first in line to inherit the throne. They're hardly the same."

"You still masqueraded as a bastard."

"Unwillingly!"

David held up his hands in surrender and shook his head. "Their words, not mine, Your Grace. I do have some more information that is little known. Varys did, indeed, sell your father out to King Aerys. When this happened, King Aerys ordered Prince Rhaegar to give Lyanna Stark the flower crown upon winning the tournament at Harrenhal."

Aemon glanced at him sharply. "What?! The king put my father up to that? Everyone assumed my father was just as ill in the head as King Aerys when he did that!"

"Indeed. But is it not law that a son must follow his father's commands? And this is a king to his own prince."

Our fathers rarely have ill-conceived notions about us succeeding them though, Aemon thought, yet it still troubled him. This was another place in law where a son dismissing his father's stark ravings should have been praised.

But no one had known. The order was entirely between King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar, and perhaps also Varys. He glared at the carpet as he tried to work through the implications. Placing the crown on my mother cast her in the light of a whore; an innocent! That would hardly be above the king.

"My mother was betrothed to Robert Baratheon," Aemon began, glancing at Ser Barristan as if for confirmation. "I believe my father said she wasn't best pleased about it but she would do her duty."

"There's … more, Your Grace," Ser Barristan said with a heavy sigh, suddenly looking very much his age. "Before Harrenhal, when King Aerys was at the height of his paranoia, he began growing suspicious of your grandfather, Rickard Stark. You see, each of the Seven Kingdoms were quite insular, rarely marrying outside of it. But your grandfather betrothed Lyanna to Robert Baratheon and Brandon Stark to Catelyn Tully. Those are powerful marriages. Not only were Brandon and Lyanna present at Harrenhal, but so was your Uncle Eddard. He may have been looking for a different bride for him as well."

"My grandfather had notions of a strong North with strong ties to the other kingdoms," Aemon mused, furrowing his brow.

"The king might have considered that a threat," David said.

"Did consider it a threat," Barristan added. "Everyone assumed it was mere paranoia. But is it only paranoia when he acts on these thoughts?"

"So King Aerys ordered my father to crown my mother the queen of love and beauty to break the betrothal between her and Robert Baratheon?" Aemon thought the very breath was ready to leave his body. For so long, everyone had wondered what had driven Rhaegar to such insanity. He'd only ever heard good things about his father, which was the part he worked to acknowledge. But Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn's ire still tickled the back of his mind that there was a far more unpleasant person that he didn't want to see.

"But Robert proclaimed his love for Lyanna Stark and refused to break the betrothal," Barristan said.

"So my father kidnapped her. Likely on the king's orders," Aemon finished dully.

"Given what state King Aerys was in and the other insanities he committed toward the end of his life, it hardly seems far-fetched that he would order his son to do something like kidnap and marry another woman," David said.

"The king did not care for Elia Martell or his grandchildren by her," Barristan said, shifting his feet unsteadily.

"Perhaps part of him wanted new grandchildren to inherit, but he didn't live long enough to know it," David rubbed his eyes.

"Why didn't my father say no?" Aemon shouted, standing up to confront Barristan. "He knew what his father was commanding was wrong!"

Barristan looked strained. "Once Varys undercut Prince Rhaegar, that in turn undercut his support to usurp his father. He had no allies."

He was cornered, Aemon thought ruefully, running his hand through his hair in frustration. He could've fled to Essos! He could've fled to the Wall! He could've, he could've …. But it was clear that while his father was not the type to willfully commit such atrocities, he was worse yet the type who wouldn't say no to them either. Aemon sat once more and slumped into the couch.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace," Barristan said.

"I wanted to believe my father was a good man. You said he was! My … uncle, Eddard Stark, would never have stooped so low as to rape an innocent girl to satisfy his father." Aemon scowled.

"Your uncle also never had to worry about his father ever ordering such a thing to begin with," Barristan snapped. He was then startled and said, "Forgive me, Your Grace. I didn't mean to lose my temper."

David watched the exchange between the two of them with something akin to curiosity. "I have no further information, Your Grace. Apart from King Aerys ordering Rhaegar to crown your mother the queen of love and beauty, all else is speculation. However, if King Aerys was mad enough to condemn his own son to this humiliation and risk starting a war, he was likely mad enough to make other threats that your father couldn't ignore. If your grandfather did not like your half-siblings, it seems reasonable that he might threaten to kill them."

"He kept Princess Elia Martell, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon in King's Landing to prevent Dorne from joining Robert Baratheon in his uprising," Barristan said.

"Perhaps that is another reason. We'll never know," Aemon said, getting to his feet once more, feeling like a heavy weight was set on his shoulders. "I thank you again, David. But while this has been informative, it's inherently fruitless as what's done is done."

"Knowledge is power, Your Grace. It will never be fruitless unless you fail to act on what you know," David said, pointing with his finger.

I suppose that's what Jaime and I have been doing with our knowledge of what was, Aemon thought. It seemed unlikely that he would ever be confronted with such a situation.

"Are your … injuries permanent?" Aemon asked.

"No," David replied. "I need rest. My lungs will come back and I will regain my strength. All in due time."

Aemon nodded. "I've spoken with the small council. I would like to offer you the position of master of whisperers."

David had looked away and did a double take. "Me?"

"The master of whisperers handles crucial information about my enemies, something that you have been managing for a few years for me now. I would trust no one else." Aemon insisted.

The healer stared. "My calling is my clinic, Your Grace. This was only ever meant to be a supplement, not my focus."

"I would trust no one else."

"Perhaps my protege Leona would be of some use," David offered.

"I thought Julian Grey was your protege?" Aemon asked.

"In healing. Leona is my protege with this … information. She's nearly as good as I am."

"Nearly isn't good enough," Aemon insisted. "Your word alone about her isn't enough. I would accept only you."

David scowled. "At least allow me some time to think about it."

"Take as much time as you need. The first small council you are able to attend, I will await your answer." With that Aemon gave David a final curt nod and strode out of the room with his Kingsgaurd at his back.

Author's Notes: I imagine some of you are a bit confused about the voting. The male name Daeron had more votes than any all of the others on both the Facebook poll and the Discord one, but the child ended up being female. The truth is, I knew the gender shake out before setting up the poll. I just figured you'd guys would enjoy helping me pick the names. So thank you for that!