Hardhome 2 AC.
Brandon Snow.
Rickard Flint had arrived back bearing word from his brother, Torrhen japing at his expense while at the same time telling him how much he wished to meet his new wife. They had set a date in a few moons time to meet up at Eastwatch and his brother had confirmed that word would be sent to their kinsman to join him. Torrhen's doubts about a peaceful parley with the Skagosi were something that Brandon shared in, and it may very well take Aemon and Rhaegal to help broker the peace. Meanwhile, his kinsman's words about what he'd do to those on the island if it were needed were ones that Brandon had no doubt were true.
" I'll end them all, for Skagos and Skane will be of much use in the Great War, be that populated or not."
There was a ruthless side to Aemon that his kinsman said the Starks had lost somewhat. Aemon's uncle Eddard, or so he'd told him and Torrhen, had been raised in the Vale more than the North and had a sense of honor that served him ill in the world he lived in. The brother that Aemon still keenly felt the loss of, Robb, as well as Aemon himself had then taken after Eddard Stark far too much, or at least had tried to. Against the men and then the things that Aemon had fought against in his own time, honor was a privilege that couldn't truly be afforded.
From what Brandon had heard and seen somewhat since meeting Aemon more than a year ago, it was a different type of honor that his kinsman now held. A truer type in a way. Honor given only to those who deserved it and had proved themselves worthy of it is how Brandon would name it. For it was the same sense of honor that he and Torrhen had always tried to live up to. Those who didn't deserve to be treated that way would soon find that a man with a dragon and wolf at his beck and call was not a man you wished to name an enemy. The Arryn fleet, the Gardener Kings, and those who named Dorne their home had all learned that to their cost and so too would the Skagosi if they gave Aemon cause to bring about their ends.
For now, however, it was other matters that soon took Brandon's true attention. Valrine had risen already and for once it had been he who had slept late. His wife would be about the village or town they had built here since their arrival, no doubt. Brandon was unsure how to name the settlement at Harrenhal as with more than 25,000 residents it was far bigger than any village or town in the North. Not even White Harbor could match it in terms of people. However, both the North's biggest city and Wintertown had it beat in terms of organization and practicality.
"And will still do for some time to come lest I get my lazy arse out of bed." Brandon japed.
The building that he and Val now named their home was as large as a small keep. It had a solar and numerous rooms to house guards or guests and to store food, weapons, armor, and other such things. A large open hall where meetings could be held and meals eaten with some of the clan chiefs was mayhap its most impressive aspect and yet, it was to be but a temporary residence in truth. One day, a year from now mayhap, it would be in the true keep that he and his wife laid their heads of an evening. Built on a man-made hill in the center of Hardhome itself, The Wolf's Lair would be on a par with most of the large keeps in the North when it was finished. A home fit for a king or so his Goodfather had named it and while Brandon had at first refused such a thing, he was not allowed to do so for long. Valrine, Myrny, and even his own men changed his mind on the need for such a residence.
Just like Hardhome itself would be a true city in time, the King Beyond the Wall would have a true keep. So while they saw to the protection of the city first, then the docks and the other residences, work continued at pace on the Wolf's Lair too. Until then, this was his home and so after dressing as quickly as he was able, the fire having gone out forcing him to do so, Brandon made his way to hurriedly break his fast. Once he'd done so, it was to the Hardhome itself that he looked. His footsteps took him in no particular direction while his eyes sought and failed to find his wife, or they did for some time at least.
"Brandon." a voice called out, somewhat breathlessly. The sound forced his hand to his sword because of the urgency with which his name was uttered.
"Myrny."
"You must come, Brandon, now."
"For why?"
"Valrine." the older woman said and Brandon needed no further words to be spoken.
Though the woman had some years on him, it slowed Myrny not in her run to the gates and then beyond. The sight of the King Beyond the Wall running after her only brought more and more warriors and Spearwives to their side. When he did catch sight of his wife, Brandon's sword remained sheathed no more. His eyes glanced at the large group that Valrine was standing in front of and how it dwarfed the few warriors that his wife had by her side. Brandon appraised both groups even as he ran and he was certain that those with his wife were hunters and nothing more. Something which only made his worries grow.
Standing across from his wife were mayhap five or six hundred men and women, with some children at the back of the group or so Brandon surmised. With him and Myrny there were no more than fifty and so turning his head away from Valrine for a moment, he nodded to two of the Spearwives who soon turned and ran back to camp. Slowing his pace down not, Brandon felt a momentary fear that one of the men facing Valrine would strike her down. Only for the memory of just how fierce his wife truly was to be enough to force that fear from his mind.
' It would take far more than one and I'll be by her side before another could raise an ax or mace.'
In this, he was proved right, as no weapon had been drawn by the time Brandon and those with him reached his wife. Though by the look in the eyes of the ugly man that Valrine was arguing with, that may not be something that could be said for long.
"The King Beyond the Wall." the ugly man spat and Valrine turned to offer Brandon a shake of her head and a much-welcomed smile.
"And who be you?" Brandon snarled back.
"Dorrand, Clan Leader of the Ice River Clans." the ugly man said far more cockily than he really should have.
If this was another time or earlier in his journey north of the Wall, then Brandon may have glanced at Myrny or Valrine when the ugly man spoke. Now, however, he knew all he needed to know about the Ice River Clans. He knew too that while it had not been spoken aloud, there were few if any in Hardhome who wished them to be part of their settlement there. Yet, looking past the ugly man and to those with him, Brandon couldn't help but see some advantages to allowing them to join him. While looking at the women and children, he'd not lie and say that the sight of them made him wish to take them under his protection as he had all those at Hardhome. Still, it could and would not be an easy thing to do and though every man, woman, and child at Hardhome was free to live their lives how they wished, some rules were enforced too.
"What brings you here?" he asked, buying some time both for the Spearwives to return with the warriors and so he could decide how best to proceed.
"Refuge and I wish to become King."
He laughed, truly and unreservedly, Brandon laughed at Dorrand and cared not for the angered look that appeared on the man's face as he did so. Behind him, more than a thousand men and women at arms had been raised, and among them were his own men of the North. Brandon was certain that with just them alone he could almost end every single member of the Ice River Clans should he wish it so.
"You dare…."
"A king doesn't dare, he simply does." Brandon interrupted. His eyes locked on Dorrand and those behind him who may seek to do him harm for the insult if one was felt. Had he looked at Valrine, then he may have lifted her on his shoulders and carried her back to their bed. Such was how she stared appreciatively at him.
"He says his people will follow our rules not." Valrine sneered, her words almost forcing Brandon to turn his head and yet he did not.
"Then he and his people will find no respite behind our walls and gates."
"You would dare tell me no…."
"I told you, a king simply does and so I make you but one offer," Brandon said quietening Dorrand down for now. "Any man, woman, or child who wishes the safety and comfort that Hardhome offers is more than welcome to it." His words were welcomed by the women at first and then by some of the men, while Dorrand and a few others very much did not or so he believed. "But there will be no eating of human flesh and no breaking of the laws of our city, for if there is, then it'll be my wrath you face and death or exile will be the only offers I'll make you."
Angered words, shouts, a show of arms, Brandon had been long enough around the Free Folk to be well prepared for each of those things and so they bothered him not. A move to Valrine, however, did, yet it was not a damsel in distress that the fool of a man who did so found in Brandon's wife. A smack of Valrine's head was more than enough to bring the man to his knees and the sight of her sword placed against the fool's neck was enough to stop any other foolish men for now. Or any other than Dorrand who then loudly challenged Brandon for his crown and the right to stay in Hardhome without condition.
"At sunset. Until then, you and your people camp here." Brandon said, turning his back to the man and shaking his head at Rickard and the others when they looked at him worriedly.
Savage, wild, even a cannibal he may be, but Dorrand knew that to attack Brandon when his back was turned would lead only to his death and the deaths of those with him. They were outnumbered by those the Spearwives had brought with them from Hardhome. With more soon joining them or seeking to do so, this was only proved even more true. Yet it wasn't even truly the numbers that would hold Dorrand's hand. Instead, it was the offer of the fight and the prize the winning of that fight would bring. The chance to become King Beyond the Wall was too worthy a prize to resist and the only way Dorrand would do so was to beat Brandon one on one.
Later as the sun set in the sky, Valrine placed a soft kiss on Brandon's lips and handed him his sword. His wife spoke no words of encouragement and showed no signs of fear and was he a lesser man, then Brandon may have been put out a little because of it. Yet, he was Brandon Snow, the fiercest and truest blade in the North and he'd been challenged by far stronger and truer opponents than the leader of the Ice River Clans. There was no fear for him from his wife because she had no reason to fear he'd not be victorious.
Something that was proved true not more than an hour later. Brandon stood tall over the body of Dorrand while around him those who'd named the man their clan leader, now cheered Brandon's name. He was the first man he'd needed to make a true example of. The first man he'd needed to kill to bring his clan to his side. A message sent loudly and clearly and one that was reinforced later when he took to his bed and made his wife moan his name just as loudly.
"MY KING!"
Kings Landing 2 AC.
Aegon Targaryen.
The work on the city had been stepped up since the conquest had ended. Aegon was ever more keen for it to become a home worthy of himself, his wife, and any children the gods may bless them with. Something that he and Rhaenys put much practice into seeing realized every single night and had thus far been denied to them. It had worried his wife and so Aegon himself because of Rhaenys' upset. Each of them spent too much time on the thought that they were the issue when in truth it was all in the hands of the gods.
Aemon had told them that they had a son, one they'd named Aenys. Though he had said that their son had been born some years from now. The Conquest, the building of a city, and the ruling of a united seven kingdoms all played their part in the delay, or so their Goodbrother had wagered. Orys too had taken some time to bring forth an heir and Aemon said that only his own war for the Iron Throne was won so quickly and convincingly or his son and daughter would too have been born many years after they had been. Still, it soothed Rhaenys' worries not and Aegon loved her far too much to allow her to suffer those worries alone.
To distract her as much as he could, they both took regular flights atop their dragons. His wife had always been at her happiest in the sky and Aegon much enjoyed sharing that time with her. When not flying, it was ruling that took up much of his time. The newly forged Iron Throne now loomed large in the Great Hall and sitting upon it, Aegon would make proclamations or hold petitions for those who now named King's Landing and the surrounding area their home. All told, there were already close to 50,000 people who did so. The city and its prime location had drawn them almost like flies.
Head aching, throat dry, he was about to bring another day's petitions to an end when he caught sight of the procession that made its way to the back of the Great Hall. Cursing the men and women for doing so, Aegon turned to Ser Corlys and bid him to remove them from the sight of the petitioners. It would be a private meeting that he'd give the High Septon and his followers, not one where the Ugly One could air his grievances publicly. For Aegon knew full well that was what the man aimed to do. Another argument that was soon to be held about the planting of the Weirwood Tree and Temple of the Pantheon that was being built on Visenya's Hill.
"The day's petitions are at an end. Long Live the King." Ser Robyn called out, his other Kingsguard taking over the Lord Commander's duties while Corlys saw to the High Septon and his acolytes.
Rising to his feet, Aegon barely heard the shouts behind him as those who'd come seeking his aid or assistance all now repeated Ser Robyn's words. With a nod to the knight, they walked to his solar and he found himself happy for once that Rhaenys would not be awaiting him there. His wife had her duties that she wished to see to in their city and Aegon was more than happy to leave them in Rhaenys' capable hands. As he was that those duties would help to distract her from any dark thoughts she may have about not yet falling with child.
Entering his solar, he took his seat and bid Ser Robyn to take his place at the door. Thus far there were but three Kingsguard named as part of his seven. Ser Robyn Darklyn hailed from a Stormlands house and had been recommended by Orys' good lady wife, while Ser Richard Roote hailed from the Riverlands and had been recommended by Visenya and Aemon. In time they'd add four more members to it, as despite their being no true threat to either Aegon's or his wife's lives, that would mayhap not always be the situation. An assassin's blade would be something that Aegon feared far more than a rebelling of one of the kingdoms that swore oaths to him.
"Though even they would need to get by Aemon's thousand eyes long before they faced my Kingsguard's six." he chuckled.
The knock on the door brought his attention back to the matter at hand and Aegon called out and bid Ser Corlys to enter. His Lord Commander doing so with the Ugly One, a tall and somewhat striking Septa, and a man who had he let his hair grow longer would be as pretty as any woman of the Realm.
' Other than his wife, sister, and Goodsister that was.'
With a nod of his head, he bid all three of them to take their seat and a glance at Ser Corlys was enough to get the knight to take up his position behind Aegon's chair. Another knock and the servants entered carrying a tray that held food and wine on it and Aegon offered some of each to the three people in front of him. He, however, partook of none of either, much preferring to save his drinking and eating for times when he sat with those he wished to, rather than those he very much did not. Although he did welcome the glass of water that Ser Corlys bid the young maid to pour for him and allowed its crisp coolness to quench his thirst.
"High Septon, what brings you here unannounced?" Aegon asked, allowing his annoyance at the man to shine through.
"Forgive me, your grace, yet, I find I must complain once more regarding the plans for the Sept."
"Indeed, and what complaint is it this time? The location or the size?"
"The location, your grace. It cannot be seen that the Faith is held lesser than weaker faiths." the Ugly One replied.
It was an argument that both he and Rhaenys had already had with the man. Aemon too, no doubt. His Goodbrother had been the one who had seen their plans for the Faith change. Dragons above all even the gods as Aemon had bid him name it. Visenya's Hill would be home to a small Godswood and a large Weirwood tree. An even larger Godswood with yet another was to be built in the heart of the city too. There was to be a temple to the Pantheon, and a small Sept too. The hill had proved itself too small to accommodate any more than that and so the other faiths would be represented below those three. A temple to R'hllor, a hall for the Drowned God, and one for Mother Rhoynar. All the faiths of Westeros served equally and truly, and yet the Faith still bristled and sought more.
"Both my wife and I myself have explained the nature of Visenya's Hill, High Septon, there a small sept may be built, and should a larger one be needed, it can be housed elsewhere."
"On Rhaenys' Hill, mayhap?" the Ugly One asked and Aegon shook his head. The last thing he'd allow was the faith to besmirch the hill he'd named after his wife and had Aemon and Visenya not suggested it, he may not even have allowed them to be placed on the one named after his sister.
"No, my wife seeks only the dragons to have a roost atop the hill that shares her name, High Septon and Dragons do not share their home with even the gods."
"Then I must protest most strongly, your grace." the Ugly One said to a movement from Ser Corlys, Aegon's hand waving under the table stopping the knight from throwing the High Septon out of the room.
"As you have more than once already, High Septon. Yet, just as then, my answer remains the same. You may build a small sept atop Visenya's Hill, a place to show that just as the gods of my family's homeland and those of my Goodbrother are held close to our hearts, so too is the Faith and the Seven who are One."
"And this is your final word, your grace?" the Ugly One rose to his feet.
"No, High Septon, as my Goodbrother told you in Oldtown, our final word is one that would be uttered from Prince Aemon's lips. Be very certain that it's a word you wish to hear, for I have no doubt that should it be spoken aloud, your gods would be welcoming you and others into their embrace not long afterward."
"Your Grace." The Ugly One said with a bow of his head, the Septa and Septon following him as he stormed from the room.
Aegon waited until he had done so, and then he allowed and welcomed the words that Ser Corlys spoke.
"Prince Aemon was right." Ser Corlys said and Aegon almost laughed aloud. Given the future that Aemon had been sent back from and the knowledge of the past that he'd brought with him, as well as what he'd been able to gather through his thousand eyes and one, that statement was as true as any could be. "A message needs to be sent, your grace."
"One soon will be," Aegon said, the words in the raven that Aemon had sent but two days earlier had named that as so.
He spent the rest of the afternoon looking over plans and signing orders. The Red Keep was soon to truly have work begun on it. Trade was an even larger source of coin than Aegon had hoped it would be and the building of the docks and places to store that trade near them had been the wisest decision that had been made regarding King's Landing. That and the sewage system that had already been incorporated into the city itself. Aemon's words about how King's Landing was as famed for the smell as much of anything were ones that Aegon and Rhaenys had vowed would not come to pass.
So lost was he in the ordering of materials, works, and projects, that he heard not the door open nor Rhaenys footsteps when she entered the solar. His wife then managed to sneak up on him and Aegon chuckled when she used her hands to block his eyes. Her laughter rang out as she relished being stealthy enough to do so.
"You're getting lax, my love."
"No, wife, you're just more practiced and ever more quiet," Aegon replied as he kissed her hands before helping her to sit in his lap.
For the next few moments, they spoke of each other's days. Rhaenys had gone to oversee the building of the Dragonpit. A far different place than it had been in Aemon's time and one where no dragon would ever be locked up or chained no matter the reason. Dragons were not slaves and none would be so in the realm that he, his wife, his sister, and his Goodbrother were forging. Mistakes made by others would not be ones that Aegon or his family would ever allow to come to pass if they could help it.
"You had a visit from the Ugly One I hear."
"I did, he complains that we're not deferring to the Faith."
"Then what Aemon intends is even more needed."
"It is."
"Did he attempt another seduction?" Rhaenys asked, annoyed and Aegon chuckled before kissing her deeply.
"He did. Fool that he is."
"We'll see how foolish he truly is soon enough, Aegon."
"I take some comfort that he's not on the list Aemon sent."
"For now at least."
"Now come wife, I hunger first for food and then for my wife's embrace," Aegon said as he helped Rhaenys rise to her feet.
"I like not being in second place, Aegon. Not even to your stomach's needs." Rhaenys pretended to pout.
"'Tis only a filling of my stomach that will allow my attention to my wife's needs to be truly fulfilling, my love."
"Very well, for now, I'll accept that as a good and true answer," Rhaenys said, kissing him briefly. "Yet were your ministrations to prove…."
"Never, my love. For on the day that I fail to bring about my wife's satisfaction it would be mine own hands that struck me down."
Her laughter again rang around the room like a bell and Aegon much welcomed hearing it. Later, after they'd both eaten and then had spent hours bringing about each other's pleasure, they lay together wrapped in a warm and tight embrace. Both of them no doubt prayed for the same thing and hoped that tonight his seed would find purchase and give them the one thing they wished for more than anything else. A babe to name their own.
Harrenhal 2 AC.
Melisandre.
Despite all that Prince Aemon had shown her and told her, at times it was the princess that Melisandre more welcomed communicating with. The conversations they shared were always more on the immediate future than the future that Aemon Targaryen had been sent back in time to change. A future that had brought so much death and destruction and had ended with a victory not for R'hllor but for the Great Other. With Visenya, however, it was words spoken on the child she was soon to birth, the lands that she and Aemon ruled over, and the plans for the Seven Kingdoms. Plans that Melisandre was more than happy to hear involved her faith as much as any.
" My husband has sent word to the king and queen that a temple is to be allowed to be built where people can worship R'hllor. Here too, we will allow you and those who come after you to practice your faith without hindrance, however, only in King's Landing can a true temple be built and protected."
" Our temples need no protection, my princess."
" Do they not? And how many temples have you seen built in Westeros, Lady Melisandre?"
" I meant no…"
" And none was taken, my lady. 'Tis simply that here unlike Essos the Faith is who holds much sway and they serve their own needs as much as those of the faithful."
" You believe they may seek to do harm to our priests and priestesses or the temple itself?"
" After what my husband intends with them, only if they are truly foolish would they do so." Visenya smiled.
Melisandre was left in no doubt that would be the reality of things. Prince Aemon was as ruthless as any man she'd ever known or even heard about and yet it seemed he had not always been thus. The Chosen Prince that he had finally accepted that he was, had taken much time to truly be born and far too much blood had been shed because of that. Or so Aemon himself told her when he spoke on why he did the things he did.
" My family, my friends, those I loved and respected. I watched them all die and was helpless to do anything to stop it from happening. I'll never be helpless again and never again will the path I walk be one I walk with doubt or hesitation."
Those words along with the words of what the Great Other was truly capable of had somewhat chilled Melisandre to her very core. The things that she knew Aemon had set out to do and the knowledge that while for now, it was the Faith and those at the Citadel who were the focus of his ire, only managing to do so even more. Melisandre was left in no doubt that should those who served R'hllor try and play the House of the Dragon wrong, then they too would find no mercy from Aemon Targaryen. Azor Ahai may have needed to kill Nissa Nissa to forge his sword, Aemon's own it seemed had been forged by events some three hundred years in the future.
It made Melisandre question her part in those events. The tales she'd been told and the foolishness that she'd been a part of were not something she was allowed to ponder too long on. Aemon as much as R'hllor himself now tasking her to walk a different path just as he himself was and the first step on that path was to see that the babe was born healthy.
" Both my babe and my wife, Melisandre, neither are to fall, else my wrath will not be contained and those I blame for it will not welcome seeing it unleashed."
So, partly because of the warning and yet mainly because Melisandre actually liked the princess somewhat, she went out of her way to make sure that everything was in order and ready for the birthing. Daily, Melisandre and the princess's lady-in-waiting would ensure that Visenya had all she needed. They'd ensure she ate as heartily as she needed to, rested when it was required and they'd try to assuage her worries and fears that her husband would miss the birth. Something that once again today was taking up much of their time. Melisandre and Marla Sunderland both then spoke of Aemon's hopefully imminent return.
"A week or more he said, my princess, did he not?" Marla asked.
"He did."
"And it's been less than so, has it not?"
"It has."
"So my princess is worrying for naught is she not?" Marla smiled and Melisandre nodded, the princess finally accepting the words and then she welcomed the balm that Melisandre herself rubbed into her tired and swollen feet.
"Aemon does so better."
"As is a husband's duty, my princess."
"One of his many duties, my princess." Marla chuckled.
The smile the princess wore belying the half scowl she aimed in Marla's direction. Other than them both, there were few the princess seemed comfortable around. While she'd taken on some ladies from Houses in the Riverlands, including one from House Blackwood, Visenya seemed to trust them not as of yet. When it came to Marla and herself, however, they'd somehow quickly earned the princess's trust and favor.
Melisandre believed that hers had initially come from Aemon and his knowledge of her future self. Marla's on the other hand came from the fact that though she was ostensibly a hostage to her brother's good behavior, she was thought of as nothing of the sort. The fate that had once been hers and had been shared with both Melisandre and the princess, by Aemon, had been just one of the many things that Aemon's presence had seen changed. Visenya even confided in them both one night that her husband's actions had completely changed her fate.
" I knew not of love before I felt my husband's lips upon mine own."
They were about to make ready for the nightly meal when the pains came. Visenya called out just as she was being helped into her dress and Melisandre was greatly relieved that she was in the room when she did so. Despite there being a Maester in the keep, it was her and her alone that the princess looked to and though her words brought up some fear and doubt in Visenya's eyes, they were ones spoken with no doubt of her own.
"The babe will be born tonight, my princess."
"Aemon…."
It was not the only call in the night that was shouted out to her husband. So upon hearing the sound of dragon wings and calls of "My Prince" Melisandre offered a thankful prayer to her god. Then she spoke the words that brought her a princess' true favor.
"Your husband is here, my princess, Aemon has returned."
The Dragon's Wroth 2 AC.
Lord Harroways Town.
Symon Hill.
He'd been surprised when he was offered the chance to serve the prince and princess, both at the fact that he was a bastard and due to being from the West. Yet, on the first of those things, he soon found out that he was not the only baseborn son that Prince Aemon had taken into his service. Symon was now one of more than forty men who made up Aemon's Bastard Boys and the prince's words still resounded in his head whenever he doubted himself.
" All that matters is who you are in here." Prince Aemon pointed to his heart. "Not who you were born as or what your name is, not to me anyway."
" Tis easy for you to say such, my prince, given the House you were born to and the dragon you ride."
" Both of which make me no better nor worse than you are, lad."
" I'm a bastard, that's all I'll ever be and you shouldn't sully your reputation by taking me into your service," Symon said, arguing against the very thing he wished the prince would do.
" I have a fondness for cripples, bastards, and broken things, Symon. So, I'll be the judge of what will or will not sully my reputation. Taking you, Martyn, and the others I've taken into my service will be the very last thing that does so, I assure you."
" I…"
" Will earn a knighthood, mayhap even land and a keep of your own one day. You'll earn a true name, should that be your wish. Yet I kid you not, the road I travel is oft a dark and dangerous one, so if you feel not up to traveling it with me, I blame you not."
" I…I thank you for the offer, my prince and I gratefully and humbly accept it."
The truth of how dark and dangerous that road would be was soon revealed to him and the other Bastard Boys. A task set to them by their prince and one that should have given Symon far more pause than it did. Though he'd not lie and say he hadn't welcomed the offer to sit this particular task out and stay as one of the princess' guards. Instead, he'd accepted the task not quite with relish as some did, but with a certainty that it needed to be done. Then he and four other members of the Bastard Boys had traveled from Harrenhal at the hour of the wolf and had made the not-so-long journey to Lord Harroway's Town.
Two names on a list he was given and that one of them was a woman should have caused him far more upset than it truly did. Symon had been left with no doubt what fate lay in store for Septon Chayle and Septa Argylle, death a certainty for them both was Aemon's order. That he or one of the men with him may have to do the deed was something he knew not how he felt about. Symon hoped instead that it would just be prisoners and not heads that he and the others left the town with.
It was once again the hour of the wolf when they arrived at the Sept. Symon, Balon, and William Storm along with Waymar Stone were joined by Eustace and Alyn Rivers in quickly surrounding the small building to make sure that their targets could not escape. Then at his command, he and the two Stormlands bastards entered through the front and back door. Inside the Sept was quiet and dark and though he wished to light a candle, he liked not the imagery that it brought to his mind. For other than the Stranger mayhaps, they were not about the work of the gods this night.
Eventually, they found the door that led to the sleeping quarters, and at a nod of his head, he and Willam entered, leaving Balon to cover their retreat. Creeping as silently as they could, they soon came to four doors, two of which led to sleeping chambers while the others led to a small room where meals were taken and a storeroom. By sheer luck or good fortune, both he and William picked the right doors and despite hearing some muffled struggles behind him, Symon moved to the sleeping figure on the bed.
"Help, Intruders, someone help me!" the woman cried out when she saw Symon leaning over her bed. His hand soon covered her mouth and though it pained him to do it, the blow he hit her on the head was much needed.
Within an hour, both the Septa and the Septon were bound, gagged, and tied to horses and with the moon still high in the sky, Symon and the others bid their horses forward. They left the town quietly and none the wiser about what had happened at the Sept. On the morrow should someone go in search of the occupants they'd find it empty but with no sign of struggle. As for their prisoners, one look into the Septa's eyes later that day was enough to tell Symon that she feared she'd be violated or raped and he almost gave her the comfort of knowing that she would not. Only the knowledge of what fate she truly was to face was enough to stop him from doing so.
'There's no point offering the comfort of my words when all that awaits her is the coldness of the prince's own."
Wickenden
Laurence Snow.
Had anyone asked him but two years ago about his future, then Laurence would have had little to tell them. The simple truth of the matter was that he truly had none. Oh, he could wed a woman, find some work, and live an unremarkable life if that was what he wished for. Or he could fight and die in the Northern Army should it ever need to be raised for true. If he was being honest with himself, then it mayhap would have been the Wall and the offer of three meals a day that Laurence would have turned to and had even considered until he was made a better offer by a prince of the realm.
That said prince was clearly northern and that it had been his words and deeds that had put to an end the North's attempt to fight the whirlwind that the Targaryens had brought down on Westeros' heads, mattered somewhat. Yet it was the fact that Aemon Targaryen and his white wolf had sought him out and made him the offer himself that had truly been what had decided Laurence's fate. The image of a Direwolf with the colors of the weirwoods themselves was something that Laurence still could barely believe. However, it was the sheer silence of the movements of that wolf that now allowed for his name to be even more apt to Laurence's mind.
"Ghost," he whispered.
The prince had made him an offer and he'd done so how a Northman would. There were no flowery words and no overly generous promises. True and honest, an offer to be part of a group of other such like-minded men who'd all serve the prince and princess of Harrenhal. Prince Aemon promised him nothing more than his skills and his service would earn him. A knighthood should he want it, though the oath that went with it and with being taken into someone's service was very much not. Not then at least.
" I can not promise you that I'll ask nothing of you that causes you dishonor, for all I know of honor is that a man can only know his own. Instead, I'll promise you but this, I'll ask you no service you cannot comply with, and let honor be damned and lay with the dead where it belongs."
Laurence believed, though he couldn't be certain, that the prince had bid the same of the rest of his Bastard Boys. He'd watched as one or two of them had asked to be excused from the task the prince set them and had seen no shaming of the men or exile from Aemon's service to be their reward for doing so. For Laurence, he cared not that it was a Septa that he and the two men with him were being sent for. They were not his gods and so he feared not his soul being damned for doing what the prince had ordered him to.
As for the two men with him. Both were from the Riverlands and had been brought up in the light of the Seven. Edmyn Rivers claimed to be the son of the Lord of Atrantra, Lord Vance, and yet it had done him no favors nor earned him an easy life. Myles Rivers had spent his entire life being shamed for who he was and had been told repeatedly by the Septon of his small village that he was an affront to the gods. Laurence had no doubt that should it come to it, then his blade would take the woman from this world and do so with some glee. While his own would not, he would do as he needed and he hoped to take the woman without a fight.
In this, the gods were against them. Be that his own or the ones the woman claimed to serve. They found her not in the town but hurrying away from it and the chase was a long and torturous one through the mountain passes. At one point, Edmyn and his horse went down and only that he saw the man rise, Laurence would have turned to offer him some aid. A waving hand and the fact that Myles rode hard in front of him, allied to their prey escaping, were what stopped him from doing so.
It was nightfall when the chase came to an end. An arrow that took out the horse of one of the Septa's protectors as their own had taken out Edmyn's horse, was followed by a crashing down of a mace on the poor soul's head. The second man fell to Laurence's sword in a fight on horseback. Neither of them was truly armored and good fortune smiled on Laurence to allow him to win the day. Soon enough he was face to face with the woman he'd been sent to capture and he'd not lie and say she was a beauty and far younger than he expected.
"Your prince is an abomination, he and his House need be purged from Westeros."
"Good, you know who we serve." Myles chuckled.
"I'll not let you take me, not have you shame me." the Septa said, pulling out a knife and placing it to her neck.
"Alive or dead it matters not, our prince commands and we obey," Laurence said simply and the pleading soon began, as well as offers that no true woman of faith should ever make.
To say he was disgusted was an understatement and yet had it not been for that then he'd mayhap have lost his life that day. Whether or not Myles wished to lay with the woman or had lied about how he'd felt regarding the Faith, Laurence knew or cared not. The sneak attack he tried to launch at him was instead all he focussed on for the next few moments. Mace against sword, speed against strength and it was a fight that went on for far longer than it should have.
"Be thankful it was my blade and not the prince's own that you faced," Laurence said when he struck the mortal blow. "For I will allow you a swift and painless death, I very much doubt Prince Aemon would be so generous," he added as he stabbed the sword down through Myle's shoulder and pulled it out ending the man's life.
"I'll not come with ….."
The sound was silenced by the knife's movement. A gurgling followed by a crash to the ground and once again, Laurence moved to offer a swift and less painful death. In her haste to take her life, the Septa had not cut deeply enough; yet she was certain to die, it would take far too long for her to bleed out and so a swing of his sword to remove her head was the peace that he offered her.
He spent the next hour burying both bodies. The shallow grave and the stones he placed over it as much as he could do for a Septa who wished to challenge a Dragon and a fool who wished to betray one. Placing the Septa's head in a bag, Laurence grabbed Myles' horse and took the Septa's saddlebags. Whether or not the books inside offered anything of value to the prince he knew not, the head he would bring him, however, would be very much welcomed.
How long it was until he made it back to where Edmyn had fallen, Laurence couldn't say. The man welcomed him happily, however, and even more so the horse he brought with him. Laurence saw how he looked at the bloodstained bag and nodded and how he asked no questions about Myles, at first anyway. Those only came when they were far from the mountains and Wickenden itself.
"He tried to betray the prince."
"And met his end at your hands?" Edmyn asked to a nod of Laurence's head. "A kinder fate than he may have deserved or would have faced had it been the prince who'd dealt with him."
"A small mercy then."
Within two days they were sailing to Oldtown, the meeting to be held there before the moon turned. Their task was fulfilled and Laurence was in no doubt that so would all the others their prince had assigned to his Bastard Boys, though he wondered if there were more traitors amongst them like Myles had been.
"And were they as lucky in their fate as he was."
Oldtown
Martyn Rivers.
To his great pride, it was him that Prince Aemon shared his thoughts concerning those who needed to meet their ends. Martyn alone out of all the Bastard Boys was trusted enough to be one of the prince's confidants. Not that the others weren't trusted and thought leal and true, but he more so because he'd been the first and was always the closest to the prince. While Martyn believed too that the fact he followed the Old Gods and cared not for the Maester played its part.
" There may be some who chose to warn a name on that list, Martyn. Some who understand me not and think me a forgiving man."
" They are fools, my prince."
" Aye, they are, for my days of forgiveness are long since past."
As for his part in the downfall of men and women who plotted against his prince and princess, that had been something that Martyn had to almost beg for. The prince wished him not to lose the last of his innocence as Aemon called it and Martyn reminded him that he too had taken a life. However, he'd not lie and say that the prince's words weren't welcome nor that they chilled him deeply either.
" You're a man not grown, Martyn. I'd have you remain so for a little while longer at least."
" And yet I'll never be a man for true unless I'm challenged, my prince."
" To take a life is no easy feat. Especially when that life poses no threat to you."
" They pose a threat to my prince and princess, my king and queen. 'Tis enough for me to wish them dead, my prince."
" It changes you, Martyn, and once you're changed you can never go back to being who you were before that. Trust me I know of what I speak."
" And yet I would play my part, my prince. My true part."
His part turned out to capture or kill one of the Maesters. Maester Arden had been appointed to Brightwater Keep. Martyn believed that it was the keep's proximity to Oldtown as well as the fact that the Maester was an older man that had been why it was he and no other that Martyn was sent for. Prince Aemon wished for him not to be one of those sent after the Septas or a younger man with his whole life ahead of him. For there was more than one of both on his prince's list.
Along with three men of the Riverlands, The twin brothers Theomore and Thoren Rivers who had some connection to House Smallwood and Whalen Rivers, who Martyn wagered was a Frey bastard, was who he rode with. Their conversations were light and airy as they did so and Martyn sensed no hesitation in any of the others to do as they'd been bid. How they were to do so, however, was a different matter, Martyn pondering much on it as they rode.
In the end, it was the raven that flew over their heads that charted their course. His prince playing his own part in seeing the man they wished as their prisoner was far more easily taken than he may have been. Whalen and Thoren couldn't believe their luck when the Maester along with two guards rode past them on the road. While Martyn knew full well that luck had nothing to do with it.
'No, this was Prince Aemon's doing.'
Turning their horses around, they readied their arms for the fight to come only to find it was words and not actions that were needed. Martyn speaking them himself and doing so in a voice that he'd not have been able to call upon was this but a year or so earlier. A pale imitation of the authority that his prince and princess exuded from every pore and yet it was more than enough to get the guards to stand down.
"We're here on the orders of Prince Aemon Targaryen." Martyn began when they caught up to the three riders. The guards looked wary while the Maester seemed on the verge of panic. "That man you ride with is a traitor to the Crown and needs to answer for his crimes."
"I've committed no crime, these men lie and serve not the prince. They are simple bandits." the Maester panicked.
"Aye, he could name it as so, yet a liar's words mean naught," Martyn said firmly. "My name is Martyn Rivers, squire to Prince Aemon, the men with me are some of his Bastard Boys, tell me Maester, is that a lie too?"
"We seek no fight with The Stranger's Shadow and pray he seeks none with us." the older guard said.
"You would hand me over, betray your liege lord." the Maester cried.
"We would see the morrow and the day after." the younger guard said.
Thoren tied the Maester's hands and then a rope to lead his horse and though they left him without a gag for now, it was not long before Martyn felt the need for one. The words the man dared to speak were almost enough to provoke even Martyn himself to take his life and yet he would not. Not because he wished it nor worried about his innocence, but simply because this man deserved to be judged by his prince.
A week later.
To see men look proudly at you was something he'd longed for most of his life. Compared to seeing a prince do so, however, it was night and day. Martyn felt his chest puff out as he and the others rode into the camp, the prince, Ghost, and one of the hawks he'd taken for his own all looking at him intently as he did so. The warmth directed at him in that look was soon missing completely when Aemon turned to see the man behind him.
A simple nod of his head and the Maester was handed over to three more of the Bastard Boys, Martyn looking on as he was taken to wherever the other prisoners were being held. He felt the warm pat on his back after he dismounted and he was bid to join the prince in his tent once he'd done so. Theomore, Thorne, and Whalen all joined him in following after the prince and each of them was soon telling their version of Maester Arden's capture. Once they'd done so, the prince thanked them all and bid them to get some food and rest.
"You've all done sterling work and it'll not be forgotten. Now go eat and drink, tonight you are to rest. On the morrow, our work continues." Aemon said and as Martyn turned he was bid to stay a while longer. "Not you, Martyn."
The prince waited until they were alone and then bid him take a seat, Martyn doing as his prince ordered. It was ale poured by Prince Aemon himself that Martyn wet his tongue with. The food he ate in the prince's tent that filled his stomach. All the while his prince looked at him oddly and then spoke of the success and failure of the others who'd been tasked with being traitors to justice.
"Four fell to fools who knew no better. Three to bonds of family and Rhaegal, Ghost and I needed to end men who should have known better." Aemon sounded regretful for once. "It does my heart good to see you safe and sound, Martyn and I wish you to know that I'm proud of what you managed to do and of you yourself."
"I ... .my prince…." his words choked and were full of emotion as rarely had someone told him that they were proud of him and until he had been taken into the prince's service, never had such words been uttered.
"I would do it here if there was a heart tree to name you by. So it'll have to wait until we return to Harrenhal for me to name you good and true." Aemon rose and bid him to do likewise. "A knight of the realm, Martyn. Knighted by mine own hands and though you'll not be the only one who'll earn such an accolade, you'll be the one I deem most worthy of it."
"I…"
"Go, rest lad. For I lied not, there is much still to be done before this bloody business is over."
"My prince." he bowed his head as he somehow managed to make it to the flap of the tent.
"This is not the end of your service to my House, Martyn, a knight of House Targaryen of Harrenhal and one that both my wife and I along with our babe will welcome happily into our household."
Later as he looked at those who would meet their ends over the next few days, he smiled. Death was something they deserved as far as Martyn was concerned and he had played his part in seeing that was so. He'd served his prince and princess well and as a knight, he vowed he'd serve them evermore.
Oldtown 2 AC.
Aemon Targaryen.
Six heads, one of them belonging to a woman. Two and ten prisoners were soon to be joined by four more. Three of them from the Starry Sept and the last of them from the Citadel. A lone Archmaester who dared to think he would be amongst those who tore down the House of the Dragon. As conspiracies went, this was a poor one indeed, and yet the message still needed to be sent. It would be one that was bloody and public and the thoughts of taking the heads of six and ten people should give Aemon pause. It very much did not.
With dawn about to break, he, Martyn, and Ghost moved to where Rhaegal awaited. The camp would be pulled up and the men marched by the time they reached Oldtown, yet it would be Aemon himself who captured the last and mayhap most important four names on his list. A chance for those who named those people friends to give them up and prove themselves leal and a show of force in case they refused to do so. One that Aemon believed could best be shown by him, his wolf, and his dragon, and which his soon-to-be knighted squire disagreed with him about.
"Be at peace, Martyn, three Septons and an Archmaester will not be enough to take me from this world."
"You risk too much, my prince."
A soft hand on the young lad's shoulder and a warm smile were all he offered him by way of comfort. Then with a nod of his head, Aemon followed Ghost and climbed atop Rhaegal's back. Their destination was the Starry Sept. The Three Septons to be taken before they made their way to the Citadel. Aemon believed that once the Seneschal, Archmaesters, Maesters, and Acolytes saw his prisoners, they'd quickly give up the other. Should they not do so, then it would be far more than one man of learning who Aemon would be taking to his death this day.
Flying through the sky, he felt it the moment it came over him. A sense of urgency that he'd not felt in so very long. Closing his eyes, he looked through those that were his but not his and soon found the reason for that urgency. The prayers he then offered the Old Gods and the increased speed of Rhaegal's flying were quickly joined by a loud beating of his heart and a determination to end this all before night fell. It was why when they landed at the Starry Sept, Aemon dismounted far more quickly and cared not for how it looked. Why, he then stormed into the Sept itself, and with Ghost by his side, he made his way to the large room where the Septons, Septas, and those who served them took their morning meals.
"My Prince." A tall wart-faced man said in shock and Aemon paid him little mind.
"Septon Barre, Septon Rollo, and Septon Torbert. Rise and be recognized." Aemon called out commandingly.
It was the first and last of them who did so, the second trying to remain seated and he may have done so were it not for Ghost. The silent snarl of the white wolf and the sight of his teeth that Ghost showed him were enough to chase away any thoughts that he could remain undiscovered.
"These men are traitors to the Crown and plot against my House. Does anyone here name them as friends or seek to give them comfort?" Aemon asked, to silence. "Good." he moved to the two men and needed not to tell Ghost to bring him the third. Sword now in hand, Aemon bid them move with his eyes and though he looked for all intents and purposes as if he was concentrating only on them, he was very much not.
He saw the angered looks aimed his way, the fearful ones too and he welcomed the latter more than the former.
"Today these men and those they conspired with will face a Dragon's Wroth, see to it that you are all present at the gates of this fine city at dusk and be thankful it is there and not on the steps outside this Sept that their blood is to be spilled."
Outside one of the three prisoners tried to run and Ghost took him to the ground. Ropes and how Aemon tied them to Rhaegal's saddle was enough to guarantee that there would be no escape for them after that and there was some wailing and declarations of innocence. Aemon listened not and once he was ready, it was to the Citadel that he and Rhaegal flew. Here, he waited outside for the Seneschal himself to bring the Archmaester to him. The man did so quickly once he saw just how angered his delay was making Aemon.
Here too, Aemon bid the men of the Citadel to make their way to the city gates, and by the time he flew from the city, word had been sent to the Lord of the Hightower as well.
Dusk.
Word had spread and it was not simply those whose presence Aemon had demanded be there, but the residents of the city itself who'd turned up to see the bloody work carried out. Behind him, his Bastard Boys had the prisoners ready and a simple block had been placed in front of where Aemon stood. In front of him, the great and the good of Oldtown, the Lord and his heir, the Seneschal, and the Archmaesters, along with the Septons and the Septas all looked on worriedly.
"I warned you all of who and what I am. Told you all that the fury of House Targaryen would be brought down upon the heads of any who dared seek to betray us. That such acts would not be forgiven and would lead only to death." Aemon called out loudly. "Yet still some plotted and thought themselves hidden from mine eyes. As you can see from the men and woman behind me, mine eyes see all."
At that, the first Maester was brought forward, the one that Martyn had captured and who now bawled like a babe.
"My House seeks only what's best for Westeros. Our King and Queen seek all to rise and for their rule to be a rule of plenty for everyone. Be leal, good, and true and earn not only the gratitude of your king and queen but mine own protection from those who would do you harm. As for what happens should you prove yourselves to be traitors, behold the fate that awaits you."
Some cried out. More begged and a few even denounced Aemon as a faithless heathen and wished him dead. Aemon loudly declared that the Gods themselves would strike him down if he was not about their work. While at the same time making it clear that if those whose ends he was bringing about were true servants of their gods, then surely it would be his head on the block and not theirs.
It was a mummery, a farce. Other than the Old Gods sending him back in time, Aemon believed that the gods cared not for what a man or woman did. The truth was whether you were faithful and true, innocent in their eyes and the eyes of others, it made no difference at all. For if it did then his wife, son, and daughter would have been spared and it would have been his life they took. His family would have lived and those who'd sought their ends and the monsters they'd sent to bring about those ends would not have.
As he took the last head, Aemon closed his eyes and looked through the ones that were far from here. With a whisper to Martyn, he then turned to the crowd who'd not yet turned away from the bloody spectacle he'd treated them to. Raising a served head and feeling the blood flow down his right hand, Aemon readied for one final lesson.
"Should I be forced to be the crown's justice, then pray it's my red right hand that brings about your end. For the next time, it may very well be by wolf or dragon that I send you to the gods and I promise you all, it will not be with quickness that I do so."
He left orders that half the heads were to be placed on spikes outside the city gates. His Bastard Boys he knew would see it done before they left. The other half would be salted and tarred and sent to King's Landing, where they too would be placed on spikes. Would it be the last message he would need to send, he hoped so. Yet, men were fools and fools were always the last people to listen to what they were being told. So, it may very well be even more stains he'd need to put on his soul before his task was done.
"We fly, Martyn, you, me, and Ghost, we fly for I would be with my wife before night truly falls."
There was no need to bid Rhaegal to do so with haste. His dragon was as eager as Aemon himself was to be back in Harrenhal and a few hours later when they landed, Aemon knew he'd made it in time.
"I thank you for your favor," he said softly to the gods he was once again starting to believe in.
A/N: Up Next: Aemon and Visenya welcome the birth of their babe and spend some time together. Aegon and Orys give a last warning to the High Septon and show off Aemon's handiwork. While in Harrenhal, Martyn and some more of the Bastard Boys receive their spurs and new roles. Before all eyes look to Eastwatch and Skagos as a plan is put in place to create an escape route that Aemon hopes is never needed.