Aemon Targaryen

Kings Landing, 301 AC

It was strange.

Those words had been circling in his mind for the past day where he had been back in the very building he had been born in. Tracing his fingers along the bricks that he knew were a mixture of red and deep orange yet he could not see anymore, walls he had leaned against when he was only a child. Corridors he had ran down with his brothers and sisters.

Well, apart from Aerion.

His older brother had always been too self absorbed in his ways and what he believed. Surrounding himself with people who looked down on those they deemed below them like they were the rivers of shit that flowed through the worst parts of Flea Bottom. Remembering the times where he would beat both himself and Egg only to be pulled away by their cousin whom he later married Daenora. Before Daeron became fond of wine a little too much they would play tricks on the servants, occasionally the odd noble or two and wait for their grandfather who was King at the time to pick up after their mess. Daella and Rhae too, both his sisters were always prim and proper when they had to be but when they didn't have to be? It wasn't uncommon to chase each other through the few hidden passages they'd found.

Yet everything flipped the moment King Daeron II had died. Then his father had accidentally killed his eldest brother Baelor in a Trial by Seven. Then Aerys became King and he died not long after that, his uncle Rhaegel not being completely there which many were terrified of. Followed by a sickness which swept through Westeros which took even more family from Aemon and left his father no choice but to become King. Something that should not have happened and yet it had. At most, a fourth son could hope for his own Keep and a decent marriage.

He'd been ten when he'd been sent to the Citadel. Being so low in the line of succession it was a good move to make, especially with the uncertain times caused by Daemon Blackfyre rebelling against his half-brother. Even now, such a thing bothered him. Had they learned nothing? Nothing of their past? Of what happened when they fought within the family? Dragons were prideful and vengeful, that was common knowledge. Yet their pride had brought them too close to heel for his comfort. At least he wasn't wholly alone as a distant cousin of his was a Septa. Alarra Hightower was the youngest child of Rhaena Targaryen and Garmund Hightower. They didn't converse often with one another but when they did they enjoyed it greatly. He never got to meet her mother as she'd died around a decade beforehand yet Alarra had been the last person alive at the time to have seen a dragon with her own eyes. It was due to her there was such a detailed drawing of Morning in that book he'd given to his nephew so long before. Nearing three years before as it was closing in on the end of the year.

He shook his head to rid himself of his memories before breathing deeply. It still smelled the same. For most it would cause their noses to wrinkle but to him it was a reminder of home. Although he would say he did miss the crisp coldness that was the air at the Wall. So cold it felt like his lungs were freezing with every breath he took. The layout had not changed once and he was surprised by just how much of the Red Keep he remembered. Considering how young he had been when he left especially. His nephew setting him up in a room on the same level as his within Maegor's Holdfast and much to his annoyance, assigned Ser Brynden to him when he got back but in the meantime it was Ser Loras.

It wasn't that he disliked the Blackfish. Quite the opposite really. But Jaeron needed everyone surrounding him with the news he had been lumped with the day prior. Not only was the poor boy reeling with the news of his older siblings actually being alive, he was now reeling just as much with the capturing of Robb Stark and the death of Catelyn Stark. Both of which he'd met briefly when they had travelled to Castle Black with Jaeron not long after the truth had been revealed to him. Death didn't affect him anymore, he'd witnessed so much of it he wouldn't even blink an eye at it anymore. Not that his eyes saw anymore, they hadn't in three decades.

Making his way out of the Holdfast with Ser Loras close behind which wasn't unusual to him, even as a boy they'd had guards at their backs at all times. The boy helping him down stairs and ensuring to count his steps as he did so in time he may not need to rely on such help. Maybe with luck, before the Stranger came knocking on his own door. For all Aemon knew it could be tomorrow. He'd lived far longer than most and many had even assumed him dead. Having to force down the laugh that was threatening to escape his lips at Olenna Tyrell's reaction to seeing him at the table the night before.

"Oh sevens sake, the bag of bones is still kicking!"

He hadn't seen peoples reactions to such a response, but he knew his nephew was bewildered by such as was his betrothed most likely. Mayhaps even insulted on his behalf. Being broken when he had let a true laugh leave his mouth. He'd missed her sharp tongue.

"And the Old Crone has yet to put down her lamp."

She'd been quiet for a moment before a laugh had left her too. There was a time where they might've been family. She was betrothed to his nephew Daeron but this was broken behind his brothers back as she instead went after Luthor Tyrell. His nephew instead taking up his time with one of his favourites and not marrying much to Egg's annoyance. Remembering simpler times before everything had changed. Before he'd taken the vows with his great-uncle (although he never called Brynden such around his siblings and father, instead referring to him as name only out of shame of what he'd done), before Egg was the King. When he had all his cousins to play tricks with. Things he would never get to do again and that saddened Aemon massively.

At least he had something they never would've experienced. Finally outside Maegor's Holdfast and towards the Godswood and sitting down on a stump that had once been a Weirwood. Whether said Weirwood had been a Heart Tree he could not say, there wasn't even records of when it had come down. Considering it was enclosed within the walls of the Red Keep that suggested it had been there when the castle was built but he could be wrong with such an assumption. Hearing a loud chirp as Lyrax landed in the clearing yet she couldn't get closer amongst the other trees. Using his cane to stand back up and make his way towards her.

He'd heard it from his nephew of what it felt like for the bond to finally form. It had sounded incredible at the time. Yet now the blue and grey dragon had chosen to bond with him? He knew it was more. So much more. The moment his wrinkled hand had touched her scales the searing heat from them almost made him jump. Yet he'd refused to give up. Remembering when she had carefully wrapped a wing around him to enclose them as one and a surge of what could only be magic rushing through his body. It had almost caused him to lose his balance, having to use the little muscles he had left to remain upright. He was sure he had imagined it, but he could've sworn for a split second he had saw Lyrax's scaly head with his own pale lilac eyes. Only a second though, before he was surrounded by a darkness so familiar once again.

He heard her first, knowing she was flapping her wings but whether that was an excitement or a small fright from him appearing he could not tell. A moment later feeling hot breath which made the already warm day harder to manage. Ser Loras steadily backing away if the soft footsteps were anything to go by.

"Rytsas, talus ñuhus." (Hello, my girl.)

Whether Lyrax understood him Aemon could not say. But he assumed she did as a loud chirp of happiness left her before her muzzle was pressing against his body. Wishing he could mount her but he knew his brittle bones would not allow such a thing. He'd only managed it with his nephews help alongside rocks to use as stairs on Rhaegon. Yet he didn't have that here, and Lyrax didn't have a saddle made. Was it possible to do so without one? Yes, some of his ancestors had done so when their dragons were just slightly larger than horses. That wasn't the case for the two dragons who remained here though. How long Aemon had stayed he could not say, being broken out of his thoughts as a servant appeared stating the Grand Maester wished to speak to him.

"Vamiot avy urnīnna." (I will see you soon.)

His back cracked loudly as he stepped away, Ser Loras making his way to help but he simply raised his hand.

"I appreciate the help, yet it is not required. Until stairs are involved that is."

Ser Loras huffed but as Aemon didn't know him well he could not tell if it was a huff of annoyance or a huff of anger. Many people saw annoyance and anger as one in the same, yet he knew better. Stepping within the Red Keep again and enjoying the cool air that came from the thick bricks which kept out a chunk of the heat from outside. Though it was still hot, there was no denying such. Why was the Grand Maester summoning him? He knew him too, from long ago. He'd been in his final year of his studies at the Citadel when Pycelle had joined. The pair never talking to each other their time there yet many still whispered behind Aemon's back of his House name despite swearing it away when he took his vows. Ser Loras finally stopping and opening a door to his right confirming they were at their destination.

"I will remain outside, Prince- "

"Maester, Ser Loras. I swore my titles and name away many decades ago."

Another small huff, so quiet it could only be heard if looking for it. After he had lost his sight though, his other senses had heightened. It being one of many things he was researching with Chett and Samwell as there wasn't many reports on such a thing. Pycelle standing up and helping him into a chair and offering him some wine. Aemon accepted yet he distrusted the man, instead deciding not to chance it. His nephew had confirmed what he wished to do and a part of him wondered if the man in front of him knew his days were numbered in the Red Keep. It was a smart move. Jaeron for good reason did not trust Pycelle, and by him being released of his vows to the Night's Watch whispers were no doubt spreading throughout Kings Landing as a whole and not just the Red Keep.

"Dornish Red?"

He questioned after bringing the glass to his lips but making sure not to actually drink any just as a precaution. Yet there was no denying the scent, his mother and grandmother had both been Dornish after all.

"I am afraid Arbor Gold is too sweet for my liking, Maester Aemon."

Aemon analysed his words, trying to pick them apart for anything to worry about. Yet he found none in those.

"It has been a long time since we last saw each other, even if only one of us sees with their eyes now."

He waited patiently, to see if Pycelle would take the bait. Whilst he could not see with his eyes, there were many more ways to see. He could smell everything around him, hear everything around him, feel everything around him. Taking bits and pieces of everything and piecing it all together in his mind to form an image in his head. Lifting his glass again and pretending to take a sip of wine. He needed his wits sharp for this talk. Remembering Jaeron's words the night prior.

"I know it goes against your vows, uncle. Yet I do not trust the Grand Maester. Anything you find out, no matter how damning or political, tell me."

And it did go against his vows. A Maester was sworn to take no part in politics and solely to serve the castle they were assigned to. He'd heard enough from Rhaegar years before on how he too had not trusted Pycelle and how he had his fathers ear. Anyone who had Aerys' ear was not someone to be taken lightly for Aerys did not trust easily- or at all really. He'd met him when he was a young boy, when Jaehaerys had taken both him and Rhaella to meet him at the Wall. Before the two were even betrothed to one another that was how long ago it was. He'd been inquisitive then, with a relatively sharp mind and sound ideas. Where the turn had happened no one could really say, but everyone agreed the final snap had been when he'd been taken captive by Denys Darklyn in Duskendale.

"Well, things have changed since then Maester Aemon."

The accentuation on his title burned him, it being obvious why he had done such. Very much putting him in his place that here he was just a Maester, and not the Grand Maester.

"They have indeed, Grand Maester. Tell me, have the Citadel changed their views in the last few decades and I was unaware? To my knowledge a Maester of any stature be that standard, arch, or grand are sworn to not take part in politics."

"No, the views are the same."

Yet you did. The words circled in his mind. If only he could see the links that made up his chain and figure out what his specialities were. If he knew what his specialities were, he could use those he was less knowledgeable on to trap the man.

"I apologise but I was under the impression you were aiding Joffrey before my nephew took the city?"

He pretended to take another sip, knowing with certainty he could not trust the other man. If only he could see his face to take in his expression.

"I will not take such insults, Maester Aemon- "

"I did not mean them as an insult. Forgive me, I was rather loose tongued at the Wall and I am struggling to reacclimate to the ways of the Red Keep."

The words were false, of course. There was no need to reacclimate. The moment he had stepped foot in the city again everything had come back to him. How everyone operated, how everyone of importance was weaving themselves in ways to better their position, how rare it was to have a true word leave ones mouth. Pycelle seemed to fall for the trap though as he sighed loudly in what Aemon knew to be relief.

"I am sworn to the Red Keep, therefore I am sworn to give advice when it is asked of me. King Joffrey heeded my counsel."

Except Joffrey was never the King. Not really, for he had no dragons blood in his veins. That was how Robert was able to claim the throne in the first place, through his niece Rhae who just so happened to be the grandmother of the Baratheon brothers. Making a note of the words in his mind of the choice of words. If he was loyal to his oaths he would've been going by the story Jaeron was spinning now that Joffrey was never the rightful King. By Pycelle referring to him as such suggested his loyalties did not lie to the Red Keep after all.

"Of course, a wise King listens to his counsellors."

The words were true. Words he'd spoken to his brother when he was named King at that council. The moment where he could no longer just be a member of their House and instead had to be the Head of their House. It should never have been him. It should've been his uncle Baelor, and then his sons. Yet they'd all died. He remembered Valarr and Matarys well, his cousins both being rather spoiled with the belief they would almost certainly be the King one day. If it weren't for them, then his cousin Maegor but he'd been passed over due to the connotations of his name alongside his fathers madness.

"Indeed. If only all Kings did so."

There was the barb, yet it didn't even so much as prick him. Aemon had dealt with more than his fair share of slights that they didn't bother him anymore. It being clear what the Grand Maester was really saying. He was annoyed that Jaeron was not heeding his counsel and likely took insult that he did take counsel from others. Pycelle knew he wasn't trusted both in actuality and in deceit. Making another note in his mind. Both were already damning enough but his nephew wanted more, needed more. He could not remove him from the small council and his inner circle without concrete evidence or admittance. Deciding he needed to talk further back on the matter to try and trap the other Maester.

"You became the Grand Maester of the Red Keep when my brother was ruling, correct?"

Of course, he already knew the answer, yet he wished to hear it anyway.

"Indeed. Granted, I only served him in his last few months before Summerhall, yet he was a good King. Loved by many."

Back to the honeyed words it was. It wasn't a secret his brother wasn't liked by everyone and was looked down on by many. Both from his closeness with Ser Duncan, his Blackwood wife which was a spit on the Seven as she followed the Old Gods, and from being so low in the succession. He'd had to adjust and quickly, had to learn things he never should've needed to learn. Yet he had, and he had learned them well. Otherwise he would not have held the Iron Throne for as long as he did.

"There is no need to lie in here, Grand Maester Pycelle. My brother wrote to both myself and our cousin at the Wall. I am well aware he wasn't wholly accepted."

Back to calling Brynden cousin it was. Making another note of his blatant lie there. Pycelle began babbling as he fought to think of words to say at the obvious slip up.

"I appreciate you for trying to preserve my brothers legacy, Grand Maester. Yet I would appreciate truth. I am more than aware of my House's discrepancies as is my nephew who is currently holding the Red Keep."

Aegon hadn't trusted Pycelle either, not wholly at least. Something his brother learned his many years of being the squire to a Hedge Knight was being able to accurately judge the character of someone. Something he had used to his advantage in his tenure as King. His words clearly working as he saw the mans chest puff out ever so slightly at the compliment without seeing the venom laced within his words. Hearing him pour another glass of wine which if he counted correctly was now his third. Knowing then what it was he had to do. How long they talked he could not say, but he could tell the moment the Grand Maester was beginning to get drunk. Now all he had to do was wait for the time to strike.

"My great nephew regarded you well, if you weren't aware."

Not a compliment for sure. Even at the Wall Aerys' descent into madness was known. Especially because Rhaegar didn't coat his fathers nonsense in sugar like most would in order to keep favour in the eyes of their parents. Especially Prince's for there was always a real possibility on being removed from the succession for such a thing. Something which if it were to have happened, Dorne would've proclaimed war on Elia and her children's behalf. No one was as stubborn and fierce as the Dornish, even Northerner's didn't hold a candle to them although they weren't far off it.

"He listened well, I cannot deny such."

Yet what was he being fed by his mouth? Aemon was beginning to get to his wits end with the man in front of him and wishing to get out of this room right this moment. Yet he would not fail Jaeron. Even if it would be going against his vows, he likely would not see the end of the coming year anyway as he was already passed his one hundredth name-day. Something very few people could say. Pycelle was now six glasses down and was well and truly inebriated.

"It was a good thing he did heed such advice. Many say his worst decision was to remove Lord Tywin as his Hand and send the Lady Joanna away. They say she and Aerys were more than friendly with one another or so the rumours say."

If there was any truth to it, then it was just funny. Wishing if such rumours were ever to be proven he could see Tywin Lannister's face that his precious wife was sleeping with another man behind his back.

"Lies. The Lady Joanna was wanted by King Aerys, yet she did not want him. Aerys did not like this and he sent her away- "

"Funny, I must've been told wrong. I was told it was my niece Rhaella who dismissed Lady Joanna as her Lady in Waiting."

Pycelle coughed a little followed by a hiccough. That was all he needed to know and he had finally gotten him into the corner he had been intending to from the very beginning of this conversation. Pycelle may have been the one to invite Aemon here, yet it would be Aemon who would walk out of this room with his head held high.

"Lord Tywin is a proud man, it was a bad decision for King Aerys to dismiss him in such a way- "

"Yet it was you who talked Aerys into letting Tywin into Kings Landing at the end of the rebellion."

Pycelle began roaring now, his words coming out clipped and with an obvious bite in them.

"Lord Tywin wanted what was best for the city. I will not sit here and take these- these insults by the like of your rotten ilk- "

The moment the words had left his mouth, he stopped. Clearly realising he had stepped over a boundary he had not intended to do so. Realising what such a thing meant. Aemon heard his fingers move across the desk and grab something but his lack of sight betrayed him. Hearing a light whistle and leaning back as what could only be a knife grazed the tip of his nose. Clearly Pycelle had been intending to wedge it in his neck but from how drunk he was and Aemon's quick movements, he had missed his mark. The commotion must've been heard as the door opened and whichever Kingsguard it was of the two remaining in the Red Keep removed their sword and swiped his way. Hearing a loud yelp of pain from Pycelle.

"My hand!"

"Be glad it was only your hand and not your head, Grand Maester."

Ser Loras, he recognised the voice now. Piecing together what must've happened and having to fight the smile from coming onto his face. Good, the weasel deserved to have his hand cut off for what he had tried to do. More guards entered the room as they bound the now struggling Pycelle as the young Kingsguard helped him to his feet, feeling his breath fan his skin and knowing that he was scanning him for any damage.

"Only a scratch, Ser Loras. Nothing I cannot handle."

They began walking now. To where Aemon could not say for he only had an idea of where he was in the Red Keep currently. Counting each step as he did before they reached certain corners and tracing his fingers along the walls for some familiarity. He got such a thing as he felt the intricate engravings into the red sandstone confirming they were outside the throne room. Entering not long after and hearing the numerous whispers of people as they took in what was likely the panicked looked on Ser Loras' face.

"What is the meaning of this nonsense?"

Olenna spoke, knowing then the young Knight had steered him towards his soon-to-be good family. Oh how the tides turned. Wondering what would've happened had the betrothal of Olenna and Daeron not been broken. Would Margaery and her brother be his nieces and nephews? Would something have happened to them? Might their parents, aunts, and uncles been some of those that lost their lives in the blazing fires of Summerhall as the castle burned to the ground? Questions, so many questions.

"The Grand Maester tried to attack Maester Aemon."

He didn't say the words quietly either, a few gasps of shock echoing around those closest before they began buzzing around the room like crickets. Hearing the doors open again and from the way he heard the many feet moving he knew it was his nephew having his path cleared. Hearing the soft click of the heel of his leather boots alongside the swishing noise that could only be Ser Arthur's white cloak dragging along the floor. Followed by the clicking sounding like it was higher and realising then what Jaeron was about to do.

He was going to sit atop the Iron Throne.

Something he had yet to do despite taking the Red Keep and the city long ago, stating he did not wish to do so until the war was at an end. Oh if only he could see what was about to happen. Thick northern accent booming through the room and bringing everyone to a silence.

"I have been made aware of an attempt of someone of mine own blood. Something that will not be tolerated in the Red Keep. Maester Aemon is not only a guest here, he is family, and he will be treated with the respect deserved."

"He's not been pricked."

The words were quiet, coming from Olenna's lips only he could hear. Giving her the tiniest nod in appreciation and having to force the way he felt like he could burst and play the frightened old man. He wasn't frightened, assassins weren't anything new to him. It was just something that came with being of the royal blood. Feeling a deep burning within his chest and despite not being able to see Lyrax as she was outside, he knew she was furious at what had happened. If the throne did not prick his nephew, then it meant he was accepted as King, and the message it clearly sent was obvious from hos quiet it had gotten now. Not even a peep was heard. Not that it lasted for long as the doors opened again and Pycelle was dragged in by two guards judging by the two different sets of footsteps he heard walking down the centre of the large room.

"Your Grace, mercy please- "

He hiccoughed again and someone snickered at the obviously drunk man begging for mercy. Jaeron would give him no mercy however, not now that he had confessed that he had been the one to talk Aerys into letting Tywin enter Kings Landing. He hadn't been quiet when he had spoken the words so Aemon knew someone did overhear them and there would be no backing out. Pycelle knew it too from the pathetic noises now leaving his mouth.

"Plead your case as to why you believe you are owed mercy, I shall hear it."

A show thing, that's all this was. Whether it was for the way it would look or if his nephew was enjoying it he could not say. Wishing now more than ever his eyes worked so he could see what everyone else was seeing. Numerous words leaving his mouth but neither formed a complete sentence as he struggled to think on what to say with the way his mind was clouded by the wine. Suddenly glad he had not drank any of it. Aemon knew that Dornish Red was strong, but it wasn't so strong that only a few glasses would have someone be this level of intoxicated. Either Pycelle could not handle his wine, or there was something in it to make someone drunker. Not unheard of, some people did resort to such a method to bring someone low.

"As not only Grand Maester but as a Maester in general, you are sworn to take no part in political affairs. What part of attempting to wedge a knife in my granduncles throat is not such, Grand Maester?"

Pycelle began sputtering again, trying to think of a way to word such. Knowing now there was no way out of what was happening. Especially because he had spoken of their House as rotten ilk. Not the worst thing a member of House Targaryen had been called, yet it was still treason to speak such of the royal family.

"Your Grace- "

"Or your admittance to convincing my grandfather to allow Lord Tywin entry to the city so he could sack it!"

Jaeron continued. The words having the intended effect as a few gasps echoed throughout the room. The rumour had always been there but until now it had only ever been that- a rumour. Now it was truth, and people were putting the pieces together of the duplicities of the man still sputtering words out to try and weasel his way out of his current predicament. What an embarrassment to the Citadel- Aemon thought to himself.

"You have broken your vow to remain neutral at least twice, and the punishment for a broken vow to the Citadel is death. I will give you another option though. I will allow you to keep your life but you will spend the remainder of your days at the Wall if you wish such."

"I am a Maester, I will die a Maester."

"Ser Arthur, escort Grand Maester Pycelle into the outer courtyard and fetch a block."

Murmurs echoed again, people realising his nephew intended to do the deed himself. A small smile dawning on his lips which was clearly caught by Olenna as she spoke just low enough for him to hear again.

"Perhaps old age had not withered your talents, Maester Aemon."

"One cannot grow up in Kings Landing and Oldtown without learning how to lie, Lady Olenna."

She huffed a little but not in annoyance. People beginning to shuffle out of the room and he followed with the help of Ser Loras again. Enjoying the way the breeze from the Blackwater and nearby Narrow Sea hit against his face and ignoring the putrid stench of shit as best he could. Hearing sputtering again as he was clearly forced to his knees by someone, a snapping noise followed by a loud yelp of pain leaving him which was answered by Ser Loras muttering about broken legs confirming he had tried to get away but someone had stopped him doing so by hitting the back of his legs so hard he could not stand up. Whether broken or not was difficult to tell.

"I, King Jaeron Targaryen first of my name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm hereby sentence you to die. Do you have any last words, Grand Maester Pycelle?"

More sputtering followed but again neither of the words formed a full sentence. Hearing a sword being drawn and touch the ground as he prepared to aim. Giving him a minute to see if his words would become legible but they never did. Hearing shuffling and the sputtering stopped as his head was forced over the block judging by the strangled gasp of air from the move of the block pressing into his neck and restricting air. Everything going terrifyingly quiet before a loud whistling noise was heard as one of his nephews swords swung followed by a sickening thud that could only be Pycelle's head being removed from his shoulders.

"Have the Silent Sisters tend to him and send his body to the Citadel as per rights."

Who he spoke to was unknown but soon people began filing back inside the Red Keep as if nothing had happened. Hearing his nephew cleaning the blade before sheathing it once again and leaving not long after with Ser Arthur not far behind him judging by the swishing noise of a cloak dragging along the stones.

"Go to your betrothed, my dear. I believe he will want some company and I must discuss things with Maester Aemon."