Chapter 22: Life, Death, Love

The fire before him surpassed any mountain Aemond had ever seen in his life. The blood in which his body floated was so thick it barely allowed him to move. There was no more snow in that immense fortress he had seen so many times. Everything was pain, everything was fire, everything was blood.

Three heads has the dragon...

Three fires must you light...

Life, death, love...

A chorus of ghosts spoke inside his head, echoing throughout his being. He couldn't escape it. Covering his ears wouldn't help, but he couldn't even do that because his arms were trapped. All his limbs were ensnared in that cadaverous ocean.

Three steeds must you ride...

Life, death, love...

He felt a tremor beneath him. It was a creaking from all directions. As if the ground was splitting in half and he would fall into the chasm, into darkness, into oblivion.

Three betrayals you will know...

Life, death, love...

Suddenly, from the flames, the imposing figure of a black dragon emerged. It soared rapidly into the dusty sky. It was followed by three others. They shot forth like arrows, disappearing into the smoky clouds only to reappear moments later, their flaming roars heralding their descent towards him.

It was his end. In his mind, the words "Life, death, love" kept repeating, the dismembered bodies preventing him from moving, the blood slowly suffocating him, and those colossal creatures poised to crush him.

Life, death, love...

With one final burst of flames, the vision vanished before him. Instead, he found himself desperate under the roof of his tent, covered by a thick layer of sweat that never stopped emanating from his pores. Both the sheets and his clothes clung to his body, but he didn't care.

Struggling, he tried to sit up, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He hated sleeping, no matter how tired he felt. He hated going through those things. He hated waking up with the paranoia that he would die within seconds. He hated hearing things he couldn't even understand. How could he pay attention to what the voices said when he was surrounded by walls of fire? But this time, this time he had heard with the same clarity as he heard his own thoughts.

Life, death, love. He would carry those three words in his head all day if necessary to understand what they meant. With an ironic smile, he remembered his past. His lineage had been formed and built by those three things, and now his future would be too.

Dizzy, he got up, pushing the sheets away from his body. He needed to get some fresh air, and judging by the faint light filtering through the tent's fabric, the sun was just rising, giving way to the cool dawn breeze.

One of the campfires was still burning, so he walked unsteadily towards it. Nothing calmed him more than watching the fire. Seeing the flames consume the logs. The glowing embers sparking as they crumbled. It was peaceful, not violent like in his dreams.

"Apparently, I'm not the only one with insomnia," he heard Daenerys's calm voice from behind him as her steps approached.

"I hope it's not your dreams keeping you awake," he muttered, turning his violet eyes from the flames to focus on the queen beside him.

"It's the fear of those dreams that keeps me from resting," she said, looking sadly at the fire that still held its scorching heat, recalling when she had stepped into that pyre with Drogo and the eggs. "Death, suffering, pain, anger. Always with fire."

"What do they mean?" he asked, hoping that finally, the doubt that had plagued him for years could be answered.

"I don't know," was all she said because she simply didn't know. Viserys had told her stories about the dreamers in their family, about Daenys, but to her, nothing made sense. "It's something we carry in our blood, just like our bond with the dragons. It's magical, and magic has no explanation."

"A year ago, I would have thought you were crazy for talking about magic," Aemond admitted with a smile, relaxing his posture for the first time since waking, though what he said made him think. "A year ago, I wouldn't have even considered being here."

"What do you mean?" she asked, genuinely interested in what was on the Blackfyre's mind. Why? Because she had recently begun to notice certain similarities between his story, his life, and his worldview, and learning more about him was the only way to ensure that the theory one of her dreams presented was true.

"A year ago, the Iron Throne wasn't even on my mind. It never was," in other words, he was saying he never wanted it. "Sometimes I doubt if I do now," he laughed at his own words. "And you might wonder why I'm here, disrupting your claim, standing in your way when the Iron Throne isn't what I want," a brief pause formed. Daenerys stared at him, saddened by the melancholy she saw in those purple eyes, even darker than her own. "But it's my duty," he said, meeting her gaze. In his mind, he heard the prophecy, the song of ice and fire. He couldn't forget it. "Our duty."

"Do you remember what I told you the day we met?" Aemond raised an eyebrow and looked at her. "I said we would disappoint our ancestors by marrying," he nodded. "I was wrong. They would think the opposite."

"Do you think Daeron the Good would be proud of you for marrying me?"

"Not just him, everyone. We resolved a foolish conflict to unite against the true enemy, against those who sit on the throne that belongs to the blood of the dragon," he looked at the last stars left at dawn. "None would have been able to set aside their pride and do it for the common good as we have."

"None of them set aside their pride, and that's why we're here and not in Westeros. That's why our blood stains the Seven Kingdoms."

"All without a purpose."

"Yes, it did have one," she corrected. "Their purpose was to keep the realm united, but they forgot. They became arrogant, believing themselves gods over men. That was the first mistake that led to their end," she referred to the lineage, to the blood, to the dragons, both Targaryen and Blackfyre. "It wasn't their enemies who brought down the house of the dragon... It was the house itself."

Dany fell silent, contemplating what he said. It was true. It wasn't the Usurper who led them to this place, but her father's madness, her brother's rebellion, and the long list of atrocities committed by their ancestors. The Targaryen house fell due to the hatred its members had generated, but it collapsed from within. The family had split, and without unity, without love. Without loyalty, no house could prevail.

That's what they needed to do. They needed to prevail through the storm. Prevail for the realm.

"We will... united," was all the woman added before turning and returning to her tent. Something, though she wasn't sure what, had unsettled her in the conversation. Perhaps the reminder that she was alone in the world, or realizing that, on the contrary, Aemond suffered the same as she did. The uncontainable pressure of duty falling upon their shoulders, the loneliness casting a shadow over them apart from the rest. Yes, she might have her people, her khalasar, her advisors, but to them, she was a queen; she couldn't lean on them, she couldn't break down with them, she couldn't talk to them or confess that day by day the fear of being rejected by her people drove her to despair.

Until that morning, she had believed she was the only one, but Aemond felt the same. His mother had died giving birth to him, his father had been absent throughout his childhood, and yet psoriasis had taken him. He had no brothers or sisters, only the memories of a house desperate with resentment and anger falling upon him.

Fighting alongside his men sometimes eased him, but returning alone every night to his tent, knowing he was thousands of leagues from his home, or what he called home.

He had a house in Tyrosh, but it didn't feel like home. He had brothers in the company but didn't feel like family. He had loyal people but didn't feel like he had a people. For that reason, within him, there was always hope that by taking King's Landing, by sitting on the Iron Throne, by having the realm, by returning to the home he never knew, he would no longer be alone. As if sitting there would give him a family through history.

The camp awoke, and Aemond began his duties. He returned calmly to his tent, dressed in a maroon doublet with silver embroidery, and walked through the small city of tents they set up whenever they stopped to rest.

Some were there for him, others for Daenerys. Thousands of people behind him crossing the Slaver's Bay. He felt how some of his men looked at him with distrust since they had joined the small khalasar. He saw disappointment in the eyes that once looked at him with admiration, and it hurt, but if those men knew what was at stake, what he had to do, they certainly wouldn't look at him that way.

"Your Majesty, wait," Jon stopped him when he saw him pass by. The redhead was with two other soldiers beside a cart. "The Triarchy sent this."

It was filled with the extravagant fabrics, fruits, spices, and perfumes of the Free Cities, as well as crossbows from Myr, armor from Lys, and weapons from Tyrosh. That had been the agreement made when Aemond left the council. The Triarchy would send him everything he needed.

"I've been informed that they've set up a trading post in the Lands of the Dispute," the knight said. "According to them, they want it to be the 'largest the human eye has ever seen.'"

"Essos and their ambition," he murmured, pleased that his organization was functioning. "When will we arrive?" he asked his hand as they walked towards the queen's pavilion.

"Maybe a week, my king," Aemond nodded at the answer, continuing the walk in silence. Jon had noticed that he wasn't in a good mood, but still had to fulfill his duties and inform him of everything. "Septa Lemore says it will be full moon soon. According to her, it's an excellent sign for the wedding."

"Have the preparations started?"

"Yes, Your Majesty," he replied. "Several Dothraki have even started looking for gifts, which made me wonder, have you thought of a gift for the queen? Remember, the wedding will take place as soon as we besiege Meereen. It's customary to exchange gifts as well as vows."

"Gods, I hadn't even thought of that," he pushed some strands of his platinum hair back. "You've been to more weddings than I have. What do you recommend?"

"With all due respect, Your Majesty, I've been to dozens of common weddings, not many of the Targaryen house," Ser Jon shrugged. "Targaryen women deserve more dignified gifts than common women."

"I'm sure the gift she'll give me will be a history book detailing how little right the Blackfyres have to the throne," he joked, though there was no trace of humor on his face.

"I think otherwise," Aemond raised an eyebrow at his comment. "Those seem to be your words, Your Majesty, which fuel the enmity between the two houses and not the queen's. I've noticed how mutual respect between you is increasing, though I wouldn't dare say affection."

"Jon, you know you don't have to be so formal with me," the younger man abruptly changed the subject, spotting the pavilion they were heading towards.

"I know, but I fear you must get used to this treatment from everyone. In Westeros, you will be treated as such, without exception. It's best to start now."

"Whatever," he huffed, now understanding why Herrath and Rylon no longer called him by his name. "Find me a craftsman, a blacksmith, or a carpenter. They need to be working on the catapults. I have a few ideas."

"As you command, Your Majesty."

The meeting wasn't much, although Daenerys's absence was noticeable to Aemond. According to Missandei, the queen hadn't had a good night, so she preferred to rest and leave him in charge of the situation.

They discussed the arrival at Meereen, the catapults under construction, the siege plan, and the organization of the army. Since most of those present were warriors, the conversation mostly revolved around combat and siege tactics, but fortunately, Ser Jorah also brought up how the camp was doing and how long it would take to pack everything up.

Aemond could be cultured in various fields, but he admitted that politics required much more of his concentration than the martial arts, which is why he was grateful to have a council with different types of expertise. After all, that was their role, to advise the king, or queen, in their intellectual shortcomings.

Two hours later, the king left the pavilion and, along with Daario Naharis, headed to the mercenary camp. They didn't get along too well considering the enmity between their companies, but now they had the duty to unite their men and train them as well as the Golden Company warriors, or so Daenerys said when trying to ease their constant arguments.