Chapter 142

Aemon LIV

Aemon was having difficulty staying still, wanting to sway and fidget in his excitement. But he had a hold of Aemma's hand and he needed to set an example for her, though her attention was pointed toward her toe as she drew barely coordinated circles in the dirt of the courtyard.

Lord Willas and Lady Sansa's wedding was a mere week away. Guests had started arriving a month in advance, the first of them being Lady Catelyn and little Rickon. Lady Catelyn had been pleasant enough and offered her courtesies. Rickon was still too young to be riding a horse and was made to ride in the carriage with his mother most of the time. He'd been sullen and grouchy from weeks of being cooped up and Catelyn had scolded him for his impropriety. Aemon could only imagine how dull such a long journey would be.

After a day, he was whooping and hollering, finally able to free the pent-up energy he'd been saving. The young squires, including Arya, had welcomed him into the training fold. He'd only just started learning the sword in Winterfell, so he was unpracticed, but he made up for in enthusiasm what he lacked in finesse. Aemon had eagerly joined them one afternoon out of the week to reconnect with his young cousin. When Arya saw her lady mother nearby, she had a tendency to sidle up to Lord Dayne, who seemed flustered by it.

Lady Catelyn for her part had decided to keep the peace by not beseeching Arya to drop her sword training, which was a relief to everyone. Though she doted on both of her daughters after such a long absence, she still stuck to Sansa's side most of the time as they merrily chatted about the wedding. He and Arya had exchanged rolled eyes as the topic continued through dinner. Though Daenerys had a courteous expression, she did not join in and seemed to grip her fork a little bit stiffer than usual.

The sound of clopping horses drew Aemon out of his thoughts and he grinned. Jaime and Brienne trotted their horses into the Red Keep, both of them dressed in armor like they were heading up the Westerlands column instead of a mere escort of two dozen soldiers. Jaime smirked at them as he reined his horse in and they both dismounted at the same time.

When Aemon had last seen Brienne, she had still been rather shy. He thought some of the typical Lannister haughtiness may have rubbed off on her, though she carried herself with simple pride rather than the arrogance that Jaime preferred. They both bowed, but Aemon just stepped out of line and clapped Jaime on the shoulder.

"About damn time you rode in. Were you aiming to be fashionably late?"

"We're Lannisters. Of course we were," Jaime snarked.

Aemon glanced at Brienne and was surprised to find she simply smiled back, not contradicting him. It seemed Brienne had grown accustomed to Jaime's typical ways. Still, she held out a hand to Daenerys and said, "Your Grace, I hope you are doing well."

"Very well, Lady Brienne. Better still when this baby is born," Daenerys replied, patting the roundness of her belly.

Brienne shared a compassionate expression. "Children are such a joy, but why must it be so painful to carry them?"

"I can hardly disagree."

"Speaking of children," Aemon said, staring at Jaime, "where are yours?"

Jaime rolled his eyes and sighed. "You're well shut of those hellions." This time Brienne did slap his shoulder, but her exasperation seemed more endearing than it had been. "Tydus is a terror on two legs. Before we left, the cooks found him in a cabinet, eating peanuts. How he got in there, no one's sure. He's a wisp! And little Galladon is a squaller. He out screams the storms that blow in from the Sunset Sea. Cassian is the only one who lets us breathe easy. He takes his role as an older brother very seriously. More often than not, he's on the heels of Tydus, trying to mind him when the maids let him slip by."

Aemon chuckled. "Perhaps we're fortunate after all. Even so, I would love our children to meet in the future."

Jaime shrugged. "One day, Your Grace." He then turned his attention to the little girl who was peering up at him with wide eyes. "Hello, little princess. I'm surprised she took her color from you." He threw Aemon a wry look.

"Just the color. Everything else is Dany," Aemon said.

Aemma reached a tentative hand out to Jaime, which he took and planted a kiss on.

"My lady," he said.

The little girl giggled.

"Aemma, this is my friend Lord Jaime Lannister. And this is his wife, Lady Brienne."

"Jemmy," she said.

Jaime snorted at her poor attempt, but the little girl had finally turned to Brienne, her eyes widening further. "Mama, a giant!"

"Aemma, that's not very nice," Dany chided quietly.

But Aemma whined as she pulled to get closer to Brienne. Aemon let her go and she toddled up to Brienne, reaching her arms out to her. Brienne grinned and picked her up, lifting her up.

"Higher, higher!" The little girl shouted and soon Brienne was raising her up and down, while she squealed in delight.

"I can do that too, Aemma," Jaime said with a pout.

"Clearly, Brienne is the real charmer," Aemon teased.

"Brother! What a delight to see you and Lady Brienne." Tyrion came hustling over from the Tower of the Hand.

Once they'd exchanged greetings, Tyrion looked around in puzzlement. "Where are my dear nephews?"

"At home," Jaime said with an exasperated sigh.

Tyrion gave him a look of mock outrage. "After all these years of hearing their exploits, you expect me to just brush off their absence?! At this rate, I will only meet them when they're adults."

"They're too young for travel and I'm busy managing the Westerlands. If you wanted to see them, there's nothing stopping you from making a trip to Casterly Rock."

"As if you're the only person with work …." Tyrion huffed.

"You're splitting your work with Aemon. There was a time I had to act as king with no help!" Jaime grumbled.

"You poor thing."

"It's good that you're here, Tyrion, I was just about to have a meeting with Jaime," Aemon interjected. He began leading them away to his solar. They were stopped momentarily by Aemma screaming as Dany tried to take her from Brienne's arms, but the princess didn't want to let go. They all chuckled and shook their heads indulgently.

"I really hope our next child is a girl," Jaime said with a sigh.

"Tired of the boys already?" Aemon said.

"We're overrun! Have I not been calling them hellions? Julianne and Joy are such nice and calm children. I've not gotten a headache from their antics," Jaime said with a roll of his eyes.

"Perhaps you'll rethink that when you see more of Princess Aemma," Tyrion replied with mirth in his voice.

"She has her … moments," Aemon said, with a fond shake of his head. "She's already won all of the hearts and minds of everyone in the Red Keep."

"A natural-born leader, that," Tyrion added. "She will make a great lady if not queen."

"I hope so," Aemon said, hoping that both of them only heard the optimism in his voice. He had never felt a feeling as whole and pure as he had when he held Aemma for the first time and peered into her eyes. It was only when he was alone with her that he whispered he would fight the world single handedly for her happiness and wellbeing. As the autumn days drew on, the chill in the air was a constant reminder that winter was inching ever closer.

He tried to calm himself with assurances. The Seven Kingdoms are whole. There is no brutal and ongoing war. We have plenty of men, we have plenty of dragonglass, he thought to himself, but it never seemed enough. Now this business with the Blackfyre had him fretting.

Aemon opened the door for them to his solar and they filed in. He sat down with a sigh. Tyrion took the chair across from him, but Jaime remained standing to stretch his legs from the long ride.

Jaime glanced between him and his brother and then said, "Has there been any news of our … friend?"

Aemon frowned thoughtfully. "Frustratingly little. None of it particularly good or bad. David is convinced that Varys has been working with him."

"That would explain why he failed to do his job," Jaime snapped, though he was directing his anger toward the wall.

"Yes, unfortunately. So this Blackfyre, roughly three years ago, slew the leadership of the Seven Fires mercenary company and fashioned it into his own army. As he's a Blackfyre, he also has the Golden Company," Aemon began.

"Two mercenary companies; I thought they were pickier than that," Jaime said. "How do they know he is who he says he is?"

"Perhaps they didn't want to ask too many questions of a man who would destroy them. Or … perhaps it's because he carries Blackfyre."

Jaime's eyebrows went up his forehead. "That's been lost for decades."

"It seems to prove that he is who he says he is," Aemon said, with a sigh.

"The hell it does," Jaime snorted, "He could just as easily be pretending."

"David's sources confirm the sword matches the description the maesters have on record. He has also since allowed the black dye to wash out of his hair and prove his heritage as Valyrian."

"I suppose it hardly matters whether he's legitimate or not," Jaime muttered with a scowl.

"That's right," Tyrion shot back. "He's still a threat."

"I assume you've … considered assassination?"

Aemon scowled. The option had indeed been discussed and dropped. Dany had spoken with him privately about her misgivings, recalling the time Tywin had attempted to have her killed. It had only encouraged her to strike out toward Westeros with vengeance on her mind.

"I am not keen to assassinate. A failed attempt could only make things worse," Aemon replied.

"We could pay a Faceless," Jaime said.

"No," Tyrion said.

"No, we cannot, the crown doesn't have the gold," Aemon shot back.

"The Lannisters do."

Aemon fumed. "Jaime, you're my friend and I appreciate all that you do, but I will not foster a relationship where the Lannisters own the crown!" He sat back when Jaime nodded.

"Is there anything to be done then?" Tyrion asked.

Jaime chuckled darkly. "Nothing."

"We can prepare," Aemon said.

"We're already preparing for one war, it wouldn't be much of a hardship to anticipate two. The primary problem is—"

"Fighting on two fronts," Aemon finished. He began tapping his fingers impatiently on his desk. "Given that Varys is his source, he'll know we're preparing for the Long Night."

"He'll attack when we're busy then," Jaime said.

"Most likely," Tyrion replied.

"That gives us some time," Jaime said resolutely.

"Time is our best weapon." Aemon's eyes strayed to the windows out back, watching the dragons wheel around the bay.

"Maybe he'll strike sooner out of fear of the welcome he'll receive," Jaime said.

"Somehow I doubt it. He's apparently biding his time. David said he and his army stayed two months in Old Ghis and appeared to be ready to take Meereen, but then … didn't. They diverted, sacked enough ships in Astapor, and traveled further east,"Aemon reported. "That is as much as we know."

Jaime furrowed his brow. "What were they doing in Old Ghis? I thought it was just ruins."

"It is ruins," Tyrion said. "Unfortunately, superstition abounds. We can't be sure what he was doing there."

"But now he has the ships to sail his army? And we're sure he went east?" Jaime demanded.

"Yes," Aemon replied. "David has been as thorough as he can. It's been difficult. He also found a money trail between Magister Illyrio Mopatis and the Blackfyre. David met this Magister Mopatis before sailing to Westeros. Varys will have told them about David doing spy work for me." He sighed heavily again and reached up to pinch the bridge of his nose as a headache developed.

"We should discuss where the Blackfyre is apt to make landfall," Jaime said. "Then we'll know which forces to pull for the Long Night and which ones to leave behind."

Aemon nodded. "Yes, let's discuss it while you're here."

Jaime smirked. "Not now?"

"Best to do it in the presence of the small council," Aemon said, trying to keep his tone even. Of course, Jaime saw right through it.

"As you wish, Your Grace." Jaime gave him a mock bow. "What of the experiments to remake Valyrian steel? Is there anything new?"

"Not … really," Aemon began. "David wanted to try with dragon blood, but none of us are clear how he expects to get this blood and we're not willing to tempt fate for it either. Now, the previous test, Rhaegal simply lit the smithy fire, but the flames did not keep its green tint forever. Master Mott does not think that Valyrian steel was produced faithfully … though it is quite beautiful. The green veins left a ripple silhouette on the steel."

"Which … no Valyrian blade has," Jaime said.

"Precisely." Aemon sighed. "David wants to try using Rhaegal to sustain the fire next time."

"You don't say?" Jaime said. "Does David have the sword?"

"Master Mott does."

"I wonder if he'll allow me to test its mettle."

Aemon gave him a wry look. "I'm sure he speaks coin."

Jaime's eyes became far off. "If the missing ingredient is blood, specifically Valyrian blood, and yours didn't work …."

"Then the recipe is apt to be lost forever," Aemon finished with a grimace. "David had the same thought as well. 'Tis a pity, but Master Mott seemed to be more excited about these experiments. Perhaps they'll be able to produce a different kind of steel. While not Valyrian steel, it could still be better than regular steel."

"Dragon steel, perhaps?"

"Well, if we're done here, I think I will return to my work in the Tower. Don't be a stranger, brother. The Dancing Dragon has a new ale I think you'd like," Tyrion said, rising from his chair and heading out the door.

"You'll have to take me then," Jaime replied as they both walked out the door.

It closed and Aemon reveled for a moment in the peace and quiet. Everything had been going so well until this Blackfyre had appeared. He would be a fool to ignore the threat. The man wanted his throne and that meant Dany, Aemma, and the new baby would be in danger. He'd burn the world down before he let any harm come to them. It made him think back to the Mountain ravaging Princess Elia and butchering her children, his half-brother and half-sister. Aemma was approaching the same age as young Rhaenys and he felt tears prick his eyes at the thought of the two of them together.

If the Blackfyre wanted to ignore the threat of the dragons, Aemon would remind him of just how deadly they could be.

Margaery VII

Dear Robb and Margaery,

Lord Willas and I have exchanged vows and we are married! I have so long awaited this day and I could not be happier! We are saddened that you were not able to make it, but I understand how impossible the distance is. Please don't be strangers! We love hearing about little Ned and Olenna's exploits. With any luck, we'll be able to add to the growing number of grandchildren. Perhaps one day we will all be able to meet again.

Oh, perhaps you know, but my mother, Lady Catelyn refused to depart back for Winterfell until Arya was officially betrothed. I wasn't there for the row, but the shouting could be heard from the gardens. It was announced at court the next day that Lord Edric Dayne and Arya are to be wed. I'm shocked they could find anyone to marry her, let alone Lord Dayne. Arya was just as grumpy and awful as you could imagine. I wish her well in her happiness, but I can't see them having such a happy ending as Willas and I.

We will be departing to return to Highgarden in the next two weeks, so send your letters there henceforth.

I hope one day that our paths may yet cross again.

Love,

Sansa and Willas

Margaery couldn't keep from rolling her eyes. While her eldest brother was a kindly man, only Sansa would be this sappy. As well as that pitiful. Perhaps the lessons my grandmother wanted to teach her are within reach after all, given her unkind thoughts on her sister, she mused, thinking back to the letters her grandmother had sent complaining about Sansa's resistance to her lessons. Still, Sansa was learning, but slowly.

Thanks to King Aemon bringing honor back to the throne, Sansa had escaped all of the backbiting and a large portion of the underhanded dealings. There were times when Margaery thought Aemon should have allowed her to see the inner workings of the kingdom, but that was hardly any of Sansa's business.

Her grandmother often sent reports on the results of the small council meetings. Margaery's interest had been particularly piqued to hear that the king had used the Healer David as a personal spymaster, pitting him against Varys in some respects. The small council hadn't been best pleased, but her grandmother had secretly praised the king for his forethought.

"If only it had come to something," her grandmother had grumbled in her letter, which made Margaery chuckle. The spider had slipped through the king's fingers despite his efforts, but then catching a spider was not easy. It was also not a task Aemon had cared to let others in on and given his commitment to right many of the wrongs left by his predecessor, he hadn't monitored it as closely as needed.

Now they had to fret about this Blackfyre. That a Blackfyre thought he had any business anywhere near the throne…. As if the Seven Kingdoms will bow their heads should this usurper prevail, she thought with a dismayed click of her tongue. It only worked if he won the allegiance of the dragons to his side. If he somehow managed to kill the dragons entirely, the Seven Kingdoms would then weaken and squabble amongst themselves as they sought a new king. Or, if not seeking a new king, seeking alliances to independently establish themselves, the Seven Kingdoms separate once more. She would hope with the way that Aemon arranged marriages that the kingdoms would be far too entangled to completely dissolve into that sort of tribalism, but one could never be sure.

Her grandmother had cautioned her to keep a weather eye out for any news about the Blackfyre, but to otherwise keep her focus on bettering the North.

Progress was slow, of course. Admittedly, though, she had expected it to be a decade or more before she'd even be allowed to touch the North, given that Lord Eddard Stark had been a man still in his prime. It had been her plan to soften the ground by appealing to both him and Robb. And then Lord Stark had died right outside the walls of Winterfell, leaving her and Robb reeling from the shock. She had wept at his death, in part because he had died a few weeks shy of meeting his very first grandchild. A tragic and undeserved fate.

Robb had taken the loss of his father better than she had originally anticipated, but when he'd returned from the journey beyond the Wall, he had acted listless and bitter. Something had happened beyond the Wall, but Maester Luwin had taken it in stride.

"Lord Robb will be in mourning for some time. There will be days when he will be his usual self and then there will be days when grief prevails. Just be there for him as best as you can," he'd advised.

Sure enough, his bitterness had melted like snow in early spring and he returned to being the man she'd married. Over the next year, these swings had happened periodically, but they had grown further and further apart. She did learn that apparently Lord Lannister had broached the subject of splitting Ice in two, which had likely triggered his melancholy. She harbored her own bitter feelings towards Lord Lannister for such a suggestion, but to his credit, the lord hadn't broached the subject ever again. Not even in his letters.

Whatever Sansa may think, I wish Arya and Edric all the happiness in the world, Margaery thought forlornly. The poor girl was just not well-suited for the life of a lady. It was plain to anyone who looked, but what other choices did she have? As a Stark, her bloodline was too important to simply leave by the wayside. Her only other options of septa or a silent sister were not what Margaery would call an improvement.

Though they were not acquainted, it was impossible not to take note of the sole Dayne heir. Arya and Edric were friends, she knew, and he happily crossed swords with her on the training grounds. It was the best that Arya could hope for. Arya had rebuffed any sort of friendship with her, but perhaps she would be more open now knowing that Margaery was not among those who felt smug self-satisfaction that Arya had not squirmed out of her fate.

Margaery sighed and folded up the letter. She would read it again to Robb when they retired for the evening. She rose from her seat by the fire and shrugged off the throw that had been nearly a permanent addition to her attire since entering the North. She dearly missed the south with its greenery and warmth. The North had its own beauty, but she found the ever-present clouds stifling her otherwise good cheer. With all of the snow on the ground and the grey light that came through the clouds, the landscape looked like it had been entirely leached of color. Margaery had taken many of her sleeveless dresses from her days at court and gave them sleeves of grey velvet, so that her attire was often blue, green, red, or yellow. She was the lone bright spot that wandered the corridors and she thought people enjoyed it.

She shivered as she walked the corridors to Robb's solar, already missing her throw. But where they were going, a throw would only be a hindrance. She knocked.

"Robb, may I come in?" she asked.

"Enter," he called out. He had already turned to grin at her. "You're wearing my favorite dress," he replied, admiring the deep blue color of her robe … and more.

She rolled her eyes. "How long have you been at this?" she said.

"At least half the day. It's the winter stores of all of the castles. Given that Roose left his crops rotting in the field, the Bolton castle is more depleted than it otherwise would be." She could see the storm cloud developing on his face at the mere mention of the name.

She took the papers from his hand, gathered the others on the desk, put them in the drawer, and locked it. "That's enough for today. I'm feeling the chill and it would do my spirit good if you would escort me to the hot springs."

A protest had been on his lips, but it died with her order. "Of course, my lady." He held out his arm to her. She took it.

It was after dinner, so the presence of the servants was already thinning in the halls. They descended into the bowels of the castle. Margaery knew they were near when she started to see the condensation collecting on the stone.

There were a number of pools, which some servants were already occupying. They paid them no mind and went to the smaller, private pool, reserved for the Lord of Winterfell and his family. Once the door was secured, Margaery shed her robe to reveal her fully naked form and started down the steps. She sighed as she sank into the water. She beckoned Robb, who had been stalled as he stared at her lustily. Despite feeling so very different after having borne two children, it never failed to please her that he still found her beautiful.

He cursed as he fumbled with his jerkin. He'd at least spared himself his armor. She always wondered how Lord Lannister could bear to wear his armor so much, but perhaps that was a habit left over from his Kingsguard days.

Robb kicked his trousers off into the unceremonious pile of his clothes and slowly waded in, grinning like a boy about to make love for the first time. Margaery swam over to him and immediately wrapped her arms around him before going in for a deep kiss. She sighed blissfully when their lips parted, but she kept her head against his forehead.

"Care to share the news of our endeavors?" she asked, with a quirk of her eyebrows.

He chuckled. "Would anyone believe that your version of pillowtalk is all about politics and logistics?" He leaned in for another kiss.

"It's the only time I ever feel we're truly alone," she purred in a sultry voice.

"Aemon has sent another thousand gold dragons for our suggested road project. He liked your idea of broadening and shoring the main road from Moat Cailin that passed by Winterfell all the way to Castle Black," he said.

Margaery chuckled this time. "That didn't take much convincing."

"He's a man who knows sense when he hears it."

"I'll say. Then there's the road to White Harbor we should expand on as well. When are you expecting those surveyors to return?"

"It may be another month or so," Robb said, speaking between kisses. "You've seen the snow. It will be even more treacherous in the Northern Crags. I'm still not clear about what you expect to find."

"Gold, iron, steel, precious jewels. It hardly matters, but there must be something there," she replied, ending with a guttural moan.

"It would likely have been better to wait for spring or summer."

"Has Aemon said anything about our proposal for a fleet?" She found her thoughts fleeting as he lavished her pulse point.

"One thing at a time, my love," Robb murmured. "The king is still having to pay off the loan to the Iron Bank. It may yet be some time."

"Hmm," Margaery said, sounding compliant, but she was fretting. Sailing to the North would be faster than marching, so it concerned her that they might lack supplies and lose yet more time with the lack of ships. She would never say it aloud, but she wanted to curse the previous lords of Winterfell for their lack of boldness. Surely she couldn't be the first person to suggest a fleet or any number of things. It pleased her that Robb's legacy will be the one who saw the true potential in the North, but it wasn't soon enough to combat the Long Night.

She was already married by the time Aemon had presented the Long Night. Her family may have felt differently about her marriage if they'd known beforehand. Though she did not regret it, she would have preferred to walk into this marriage with the complete knowledge of the imminent threat facing them all. Ever since that day, she felt like a sword had been hovering over her head.

"Are you well?" Robb asked.

She smiled again. "Of course." Instead of kissing, they held the other for a moment. When Margaery broke the silence, her voice wavered, "Do you think we'll be ready?"

Robb was silent for a beat. She was resting her head against his shoulder and could not see his face, but he never stopped stroking her back. "I think so," he whispered. "I've never seen Aemon so animated. He's not taking any chances. That Lord Lannister is equally dedicated brings me hope. We could not have asked for two more powerful men. Their concern is everyone's concern."

"I hope you're right," she whispered back, feeling a sob threatening to choke her.

She listened to him breathe and then he said, "I hope I'm good enough. I never expected to be heading up Winterfell alone on the cusp of the Long Night."

Margaery pulled her head up to peer deeply into his eyes. "You're not alone. I know it's not how you would have wanted it, but we will be enough."

Robb didn't say a word, but it was all in his kiss. She felt longing, hope, and grief mingled together. There was still so much hope and potential in the North, but her heart quailed at the thought that it still might not be enough. But it had to be.