Author's Notes: RileyRoxx, the wonderful person who is making TDR into a podfic was interviewed by ChaosBlue for The Fanfic Maverick podcast. If you're interested in podfics or learning about all of the prep and hard work that goes into making a podfic, please check out . It's episode 70.

And so ... we're about to close out the year. I can hardly believe it. If posting goes well next year, then TDR will be finished by next year's end. For those who may not know, I successfully managed to write another 50K words for TDR in November. Unfortunately, I still have two more chapters to write, but then that's it! TDR will be finished and ready to publish in its entirety! I'll be resuming the 'chapter every two weeks' schedule.

To my readers: I hope you've all had a wonderful year. I hope the new year treats you even better than the last. You've been amazing! Thank you all for continuing to read this story and offer your support in all of your numerous ways.

I want to thank Catzrko0l for being awesome and continuing to edit this behemoth. I know it's no easy task and I am exceedingly grateful for all of your phenomenal work. You're a rockstar!

I would also like to thank RileyRoxx for the incredible amount of work she's put into this story. It's been half a year and she's already released 40 chapters, equal to about 20 hours worth of listening content! If you haven't treated yourself to any of her podfics, I encourage you to go do that now.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Chapter 137

Aemon LII

Jaime,

Congratulations to you and Lady Brienne for your baby boy. Tydus? I never expected you to lean traditional, however, I'm not surprised in the least that the name isn't ancestral.

It did not come up in our conversation on the Goldroad, but I have Euron Greyjoy's Valyrian Steel armor. I loaned it to Theon to make use of it to entice the Ironborn to pledge their fealty to me. Unfortunately, he failed and his uncle Victarion stripped him of it and wore it out to our negotiations in his stead. Drogon roasted him in it. Churns my stomach to even think about wearing it. Much to my surprise, it survived the dragon fire, if a little warped around the edges. Still, it's not made for me and needs some adjustment. I will be taking it to Tobho Mott to make the necessary changes.

I received a letter from Robb when I returned and I should probably not be surprised to hear that you tried to convince him to split Ice in two. I hope, at least, that you had the good sense to not ask for one of the swords to come from it. I understand why you'd try, but I ask you to not incense my cousin by asking again.

David Reeft has been officially appointed master of whisperers to replace Varys. I can only imagine the cross words you have for me over his appointment, but, I ask you, whom would you have appointed in my stead? Perhaps this means that I should be doing more to forge alliances and friendships among the nobility, but my relationship with him still has longevity.

Will Lord Addam Marbrand be updating you on the progress of Moat Cailin? If so, I would like to hear those updates as well. Tell me also how your preparations for the Long Night are coming. Give my best to Lady Brienne and your family.

Aemon Targaryen

Deciphered: Daenerys is still angry with me. I should have told her sooner. How did you and Brienne overcome this challenge? I dote on her but I am at my wit's end.

Aemon,

Thank you. Brienne and I are very proud of Tydus. He is as perfect as one can be. Not that I doubt your daughter isn't also perfect. How fares the princess and Queen Daenerys?

Can I say that I am astounded you were able to retrieve that set of armor in one piece? The Ironborn sound like the sort who would've beaten Theon up and robbed him blind before he could even see his uncle. Though it was a good ploy, it hardly surprises me that he couldn't convince them that he was the one who killed Euron Greyjoy in combat. I've never fought against Theon, but he lacks bloodlust. This is not a slight against Robb when I say that he's far more dangerous by comparison. Perhaps I would've felt differently if I encountered Euron in battle, but the Greyjoys lack finesse in their fighting skills. They depend upon their opponents being daft with a sword.

I can only imagine what a fine figure you'll cut in that armor.

Of course I didn't ask Robb for the second sword! I would not decline it if he allowed Brienne to bear one half of it into battle against the Long Night. I would be happier if she, too, had a Valyrian steel sword at her waist. And, yes, I may very well relinquish Brightroar to her, but I haven't made my decision.

My first instinct regarding David's appointment is to be appalled and yet … I can think of no better replacement if I'm being honest (you know how hard that is for me). He's proven his loyalty and lost men for it too. While I am concerned that he may not have the same skills that made Varys and Baelish so good at their chaos, perhaps that is a point in David's favor. He will be less likely to betray you. I don't think I have to tell you to question every scrap of information he feeds you—it's a healthy habit.

My friend Addam is under orders to update me once a month. He's been at Moat Cailin for four months now. Progress has been minimal. The first order of business was to clear the rubble on the main floor. Their plan is to build from the ground up. As of their fourth update, the rubble is clear and they're shoring up the main gate archway, the kitchen, and the mess hall, which will make feeding soldiers and workers alike easier. Tempers are running short as the weather has turned, snow has fallen, and everyone is freezing in their tents. The hope is that by the sixth month, the barracks will be in working order enough for the men to be housed out of the cold.

What news of the Blackfyre, if any?

Lord Jaime Lannister of Casterly Rock

Deciphered: It took time for Brienne to forgive me. You're in a better place than we were already. You only regret not telling Daenerys sooner. I was angry with Brienne and she was angry with me. It took weeks for me to swallow my pride and apologize. Be patient and continue to dote on her and your daughter.

|-The Dragon's Roar-|

Aemon

He raised his eyebrows at Jaime's letter and nearly burst into laughter.

He would have the brass balls to be mad at Brienne for being mad at him, he thought ruefully, shaking his head, not quite able to restrain a snort.

"What is it?" Daenerys asked. She was bouncing the baby on her lap, making faces at her, and periodically dropping kisses on their daughter's face. Their daughter cooed happily, not quite able yet to smile.

Aemon considered not telling her, but almost immediately brushed it aside. He had promised not to hold secrets from her, but that rule did not apply to correspondence. Given what he'd asked Jaime about, he didn't think it a break in his friends' confidence if he shared it. "When Jaime told Brienne about—" He cut himself off and merely gestured. Daenerys' eyes flashed in acknowledgment but she didn't say anything. "He says that he was mad at Brienne for being mad at him. Which is just like Jaime."

Dany blinked in astonishment. "Awfully full of himself, isn't he?"

"That's a Lannister," Aemon muttered. "They're born like that."

"You said they had a son, right?"

"Yes, Tydus. Speaking, Jaime asked after you and Aemma. What shall I tell him?"

She was quiet for a moment as he pulled another funny face to set their daughter off again. "Tell him that your queen and Princess Aemma could hardly be better," she declared.

Aemon felt his heart speed up. Her focus continued to be on Aemma. Aemon couldn't decide if she was purposefully ignoring him or if her thoughts were on a different path from his. He blissfully decided they were currently of two different minds.

"Well, I would like to take the Valyrian armor to the Street of Steel. Do you wish to accompany me?" he asked, rising from his chair behind his desk.

Daenerys actually seemed to contemplate it, but then shook her head. "I understand the importance of Valyrian steel, but your obsession with it eludes me. It pleases me enough that it will be used to protect you and serve as an heirloom for our children."

Aemon thought the breath stopped in his chest, but he could hardly contain his delight. It had been three months since he'd told her of his history. At first, they had set aside their differences to be happy for their daughter. But as soon as their daughter was out of the room, Daenerys became cold and unwelcoming. She turned away from his attempts at touching her, so he kept his hands to himself for the time being.

Unfortunately, during the night, he would unconsciously sidle up to her. While she hadn't outright accused him of using the cover of sleep to touch her, she had declared that she was still too unwell to share a bed with the king and chose to sleep in her separate quarters. Her lack of presence left a void that even his new daughter couldn't fill.

Through the next several weeks, Aemon made it a point to send her flowers and love notes, and he made plans for private dinners. He would ask her about his gifts and she would admit to receiving them, but her expressions were carefully neutral.

One time he'd been restless and decided to visit their daughter. The wetnurse left him to it as he cooed and spoke quietly to her. "Hello, my little princess. The finest daughter in all of the land. I have no doubt there is no finer child. How is it that you're so perfect?"

Aemma burbled happily at him and he held her up to rest his forehead against hers. Then he'd gotten up and walked around the room, bouncing her in his arms, and humming an old northern folk song that he'd grown up with. As he was turning around, he caught Daenerys leaning in the doorway and started. He could've sworn he saw the barest hint of a smile on her face. A warmth had swelled in his chest upon seeing her and he hoped Dany recognized the genuine happiness he felt.

Daenerys' attention was focused wholly on their daughter, but that was the first time Aemon felt hope that she would forgive him in time.

Before heading out the door to mount his horse, Aemon stopped to plant a kiss on both Dany's cheek and Aemma's forehead. His steps to the courtyard were light as air at the knowledge that Dany had not pulled away when he'd done it.

Ser Daemon Sand awaited him with their horses in hand. Ser Barristan insisted that, when going out onto the streets of King's Landing, three Kingsguard were better than two. He was still awaiting names to potentially induct into the Kingsguard, albeit more patiently since the princess had been born. Still, it had become a more urgent prospect with the baby. Two Kingsguard and occasionally two Unsullied were assigned to the princess' room to ensure her safety. Perhaps he would reach out to Jaime for some recommendations.

They trotted to the Street of Steel. The people still met him with cheers and awe, crowding around him as he passed through the streets. He didn't remember the people of winter town being this continually adoring and long wished that he would simply become an accepted part of the street backdrop. He would never get used to the excitement and adoration his presence generated.

Once they reached Tobho Mott's smithy, Aemon was greeted with a new surprise. The new master of whisperers awaited him outside with an annoyingly knowing expression. "Is there a reason you're here?" Aemon asked.

"I was told you'd be here. I was wondering if I might accompany you in the delivery of this Valyrian armor," David replied, curiosity glittering in his eye.

"Whatever for?"

"Because it's Valyrian steel and I have a chance to watch a master at work. There are few enough opportunities to understand it and those opportunities get fewer by the year."

"I admit, I didn't think one such as you would care much for any kind of weapon or armor."

David waved his hand. "My father was a blacksmith. I learned a thing or two at his knee. Valyrian steel is a wonder, like Dawn, the Sword of the Morning. If you'll remember, I was a maester before I devoted myself to healing. We have an interest in more than just our specialty."

"What do you know about Valyrian steel?" Aemon asked.

He frowned. "Frustratingly little. My single visit to Qohor was brief. I felt fortunate to leave with my liver intact."

Aemon wrinkled his nose. "Qohor? That's not anywhere near Old Valyria, where I'd expect such secrets to be buried."

David smirked. "I'm surprised, Your Grace. I figured you of all people would know that the smiths of Qohor are the only ones who know the spells necessary to reforge Valyrian steel. Qohor guards this secret like a mother bear guards its cubs. Master Mott here is the only man this side of the Narrow Sea who has knowledge of such practices."

Now his curiosity piqued, Aemon asked, "What precisely are you hoping to learn?"

"Something of interest. If nothing else, it will satisfy my natural curiosity as a former acolyte of the Citadel."

"I would like to hear of your travels sometime," Aemon replied eagerly.

David raised his eyebrows at him. "Those times are twenty, even thirty years long gone. I imagine much has changed since I was there."

"It would still be a pleasure to hear it. All we have are stories."

"I doubt mine are much better."

"We'll see," Aemon replied. "Last we met, you were still using a cane. Have you recovered then?"

David's eyes flashed with anger as his gaze became distant. He turned to Aemon, under better control and said, "Yes, nearly. Still a lingering cough."

"Any news of Varys?" They began making their way inside.

"It's been three months. If he's not in Essos by now, he'll still be on a ship. Word will be equally slow to reach me," David grumbled.

"Not merely trying to hide in Westeros then?" Aemon asked with a sigh.

"The ship we know he took was bound for Essos. Where he might step off is a mystery, but I doubt the course changed."

Aemon nodded, his shoulders slumping in defeat. There was a possibility that Varys would be so foolish—much like Baelish had been—but the spider didn't survive the Mad King by being such.

"Worry not, Your Grace. Varys will be charged for his crimes if it's the last thing I do," David said, grinding his teeth.

The king recalled David's longstanding bitter anger over his man Vicente dying. Now Ser Callum had been the latest to suffer a most unfortunate fate. It pained Aemon that he was not able to guarantee the Shepherds' protection, but it was simply the way of things. David didn't blame him for their deaths at the least, given that his attention was entirely on Varys.

"We'll be sure to bring him to justice," Aemon replied.

They stepped into the smithy. Master Tobho Mott was a surprisingly lean older man, who gazed upon them sternly with a keen eye. At present, he was nicely dressed in a fine tunic, but his skin was decorated with white-flecked scars and his hands were rough and weathered from wielding his hammer.

"Your Grace," the man said with a bow of his head. "What is it that I might do for you?"

Aemon lugged the net of armor over and heaved it onto the work surface. "I have this Valyrian Steel armor; it's not quite a perfect fit and I would like to have it adjusted."

Master Mott's mouth opened in quiet astonishment as he unbound the net and inspected the helmet. "The only known surviving piece of armor is—or was—in the possession of Euron Greyjoy. That I would have the opportunity to handle it," he said, shaking his head in admiration. "You honor me. Come! I will measure you for the adjustments."

The smith led them to an adjoining room that had a rough worktable with a number of tools hanging off the wall. He clapped his hands and shouted, "Gendry!"

Aemon's breath caught in his throat as a familiar dark head with blue eyes poked through the curtain on the other side of the room.

"Come. You will watch me measure the king as part of your lessons. Your Grace, this is Gendry, my apprentice. He has excellent skill with a hammer and will be working with me on your Valyrian steel armor," Tohbo said.

Aemon held his hand out to him. Gendry stared at it in confusion, and then hesitantly grasped and shook it. His grip was hard enough that Aemon thought he might have broken a few finger bones, but he hid the pain and simply nodded. "Well met, Gendry."

He felt a pang in his heart. Gendry had been a good and strong lad who had done his best to protect Arya. It had been one of Aemon's sincere hopes to find a way to elevate Gendry, but there were simply no options available. It would be strange for Aemon to simply pluck a bastard from the streets of King's Landing and place him in a significant role. Far too many people would be curious about the reasons for favoring an unknown Robert Baratheon bastard. Edric Baratheon had been acceptable by virtue of noble blood from both sides of his family. Even if he were to place Gendry in the smithy on the castle grounds, it would have done him no favors. He still would not be in a position where marrying Arya would be acceptable. At least as Tobho Mott's apprentice, he had the chance to make a name for himself as one of the few smiths who knew how to work Valyrian Steel. That would improve his standing far more than anything Aemon had to offer him. He had decided long ago that while he would do his damndest to safeguard lives, people would simply have to make something of their own lives.

Master Mott took a rolled-up measuring tape off the wall, but he halted upon seeing David follow. "My lord, I am measuring the king. You have no business being here. I would ask you to wait in the other room."

"I would like to see you at your work," David replied, his eyes now flinty and obstinate.

"I know not your relation to the king, but I insist you leave."

Aemon frowned at David. "What reason do you have to remain?" he asked.

"I wish to see a master at work."

"So do many," Master Mott said, his face stony with his displeasure, "but this is my establishment and I insist."

David cocked his head and turned his attention to Aemon. "Valyrian steel has the properties necessary to kill wights. Perhaps there is something to discover," he said.

Aemon's brow furrowed. This was not the first time David had been cryptic and Aemon wondered at his true motivations. Hadn't the healer just said his knowledge about Valyrian steel was limited?

Master Mott threw back his head and laughed. "The secret for creating Valyrian steel has been lost for thousands of years and you, a former maester, now healer, thinks he can rediscover it by mere observation?"

David was unperturbed by Master Mott's amusement. "Not observation. If necessary, I will conduct experiments and see what I come up with."

"You're deluded, healer," Master Mott said, shaking his head in distaste.

"I see no harm in feeding this particular delusion. Do you, Your Grace?" David asked.

Aemon considered David carefully. It would be a boon to their preparations for the Long Night if they could figure out how to remake Valyrian steel. It seemed unlikely though that a single afternoon would be enough to tease out the secret after it had been lost for a thousand years. He had a feeling the likes of Master Mott and his fellow smiths in Qohor hadn't already tried their hand countless times at recreating it. What could a healer with no smithing knowledge know about producing magical steel?

"I don't see the harm in him observing," Aemon replied.

"And asking questions."

Tobho bristled. "You will not have my secrets, Healer!"

"I don't need your secrets. I will be asking about the steel's composition," David said.

"Master Mott, you said yourself that David has no smithing experience. There is very little he can do with what little you tell him," Aemon said, trying to tread carefully.

Master Mott bristled. "He can sell them to another smith! He doesn't have to go far to find those who would wallow in my destruction!"

David held his hands wide. "I have no parchment or quill. A hard copy is hardly necessary."

"You can write it afterward."

"Even my memory is not that sharp," David retorted.

"What could possibly hope to discover about Valyrian steel that others have not?"

"Sometimes, finding the right path is about asking the right questions," David replied.

"Please, Master Mott. I have every faith in David that he would not be so cavalier with this information," Aemon asked. "If need be, I will compensate you."

Master Mott's face twitched as though he were trying to hide a sneer. "There is not enough gold in Casterly Rock for what I know about Valyrian steel."

Aemon inhaled deeply, now glaring at the blacksmith. "I am sure you've heard about the Long Night? I know the information has trickled out of the castle to the rest of the city, if not the rest of Seven Kingdoms. We have seven short years, at best, to prepare before the undead army marches across the land, slaughtering everything in its path. Valyrian steel can stop them in their tracks. Everyone will perish! Is your life worth more than those secrets?"

When Aemon had arrived, learning about Valyrian steel with the purpose of reproducing it had been the last in a long line of other preparations to be made. What use was the recipe to him after all? But now that David had stirred his curiosity, it seemed like an avenue worth pursuing, even half-heartedly.

Master Mott considered them, still glaring. "Very well, you may ask your questions, healer. But I maintain the right to refuse to answer them."

"None of my questions should be about your secrets."

"You agreed to give us something and I will hold you to that, Master Mott," Aemon said.

Mott was still unhappy, but he silently nodded and gestured to the king to stand on a stool and hold his arms out. Over his head, Aemon noticed Gendry had remained standing silently in the corner. When they inadvertently locked eyes, Gendry had quickly refocused on the task his master was working on. Aemon wondered briefly what he had thought of the entire argument.

Ser Barristan and Ser Torrhen were also in attendance, having quietly surveyed the whole time. Aemon was pleased that Ser Barristan had allowed the situation to unfold rather than interfere like a mother hen.

David stood back and watched silently for a time, same as Gendry. Aemon was beginning to grow irritated with him that he'd insisted on such a heated discussion. Mott seemed to be thinking the same, as while he measured Aemon, he said, "I thought you had questions, healer."

"I don't want to interrupt your work."

"Courtesy. Not something I expected," Mott said with pronounced disdain.

"I have enough questions for you. Don't fret," David said.

Mott threw him another glare and turned his attention to the armor. "To my surprise, Your Grace, the armor is slightly warped around some of the edges. It's impossible for anything ordinary to affect the metal."

"Indeed," Aemon remarked. "An enemy was wearing it and Drogon torched him in it."

Both David and Mott looked at him sharply.

"Hmm … I was already thinking dragon fire might be key to making Valyrian steel. It's hot enough on its own to change its shape. Do you recall how long Drogon was breathing his fire over it?"

Aemon blinked and shook his head. "It happened so fast … no more than half a minute, I should think."

"I wonder if Drogon's fire is hotter than an average dragon's fire."

"How would you be able to tell that?" Aemon asked.

"Not sure it's something I could prove. His fire just looks more menacing," David said, rubbing at his chin.

"How do you think that dragonfire might be a part of the creation of Valyrian steel?" Aemon said.

"And I thought I was going to be asking questions. There's no denying that magic is involved in the creation of Valyrian steel. The spells that Qohor smiths use is evidence enough of that. But I'm certain there's latent magic."

"Latent magic?" Aemon said.

"Magic that is simply present. That's not conjured."

"Is there such a thing?"

David blinked. "The dragons, Your Grace. They are magic."

"But … they don't have a magical aura around them," Aemon shot back.

"True enough, but there is something about their presence that is magical. After all, it's speculated that Valyrians became silver-haired and violet-eyed because of their close association with dragons. That would suggest dragons do shed magic over time at the very least," David explained. "It's why the Targaryens resorted to incest. They thought the purity of their blood would prevent the unfortunate effects of incest."

Aemon had, of course, read this in the books about the history of the Targaryen family in the Red Keep. He had his own suspicions that incest was likely a culprit to some of the madness that he found in those pages. As their daughter was only two months-old, there had been no talk of betrothals for her, but Aemon was going to be adamant that she marry outside of the family. Whether incest was the culprit or not, marrying brother to sister disturbed him on a deep level that he could not describe.

"Since dragons are beings of magic and given that each dragon has a color of fire unique to them, it's possible there are magical properties to it," David further explained. "Or another possibility is that it's not in the fire. It may be present in Valyrian blood."

Even Master Mott was interested in the conversation and he regarded David cautiously. "This has been speculated in the past. It has been tried with no success; I will say that much."

"I'm assuming they tried Valyrian blood?" David asked.

"Well, yes," Master Mott replied. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I suppose it depends on the last time it was tried," David said. "If it was a hundred years ago or even two hundred years ago, Valyrian blood was already quite diluted before the Targaryen family resorted to incest. Or … perhaps it's in dragon blood."

They all stared at David now. "Are you suggesting getting blood from a dragon?" Aemon asked. The very notion caused his heart to pound with no little amount of fear.

"If it hasn't been tried, then it may very well be worth exploring."

An uneasy silence fell over everyone in the room, though Master Mott continued measuring and taking notes. David was eying him speculatively and he could sense the question on his lips. He had no idea what he'd say about trying to draw blood from any of the dragons, but especially Drogon. Perhaps he would listen to Dany and take care not to roast the one to take blood. Was it even possible? The endeavor sounded foolish to even his ears. They needed Valyrian steel, but this was mere speculation.

"There you are, Your Grace. Do you have need of the armor any time soon?" Master Mott asked as he finished taking his measurements.

"No, take your time," Aemon replied.

"I will do that, Your Grace," Master Mott bowed.

"Now, I would like you to answer my questions." David stepped forward.

"Very well. What do you wish to ask of me?" Master Mott replied with a guarded expression.

"Have you noticed any difference between molten Valyrian steel and regular steel? Does it look the same?"

"Valyrian steel tends to run redder."

"What of its consistency? Is it of the same consistency as regular molten steel?"

Master Mott had to think for a moment. "It's more difficult to work with. The furnace must be stoked to a particularly high heat, but even then it remains sticky and does not spread easily."

Aemon listened to them for a few minutes, but he had little working knowledge of smithing. Though he was curious about the conversation, there were still seals awaiting his signature and stamp, but especially little Aemma and Dany. He had done his part in negotiating the conversation, but now they were deep into it and it was quickly diving into theories he had only scant interest in.

"I'll leave you to it," Aemon said. "David, I want a full report on your findings if you have any."

"Of course, Your Grace." They both inclined their heads respectfully toward him and he took his leave.