Hi everyone, time for the eighth chapter, I hope you enjoy,
As always I own nothing
293 A.C
Disputed Lands
Steel sang around him as Alliser sidestepped a sword aimed at his neck but he heard a gurgle before he could retaliate. He could only watch as the man who had been aiming for him crashed to the ground, an arrow protruding from his throat.
Joining the countless others who had fallen and whose blood now soaked the ground.
His black armor was covered with the blood of foes and friends alike, though certainly more belonged to the former.
Though he was reluctant, Alliser had followed the kingsguard's advice as he was able to recognize the wisdom behind it. Their actions had been dishonorable, yes, but the company of the wolf was not meant to be sellswords, they were an army in exile, the Targaryen army. They could not simply sacrifice their men in a pointless conflict.
Two nights ago, during a moonless night, he had led three thousand of his men to the massacre of the sleeping force.
Had they been able to work with the others, they would have found strength in numbers, but they had not and so they died.
Still, Alliser had no time to thank the archer as another fighter entered his vision and with nothing but a nod, Alliser advanced, swinging his greatsword with both hands.
His opponent was wielding a large battle axe and was doing so expertly, swinging it high above his head. Alliser knew he had to avoid said weapon as parrying would leave him in a dire situation as it was a beast of a man, perhaps seven feet tall, though his armor masked most of his features.
Alliser continued to move and weave around, avoiding every blow that came his way and as he did, he could see the warrior was growing angrier.
He smirked, and continued, trying to find a weak spot in his enemy's defense.
He avoided the butt of the battle axe as it came back towards his helm after ducking under another swing and to both of their surprises, Alliser found himself inside the man's guard and he did not hesitate in smashing the pommel of his greatsword in the warrior's armored chin and the large man stumbled.
Alliser brought his sword in a powerful swing and broke the axe's handle in half, disarming the seven feet tall man, enjoying his momentum, he pushed forward and found a gap inside his opponent's left arm.
He heard a scream of pain from the giant but was rewarded with a shove forcing him a few steps back.
His opponent, with one arm now useless, replaced his broken axe with a bastard sword found near one of his fallen comrades.
He took off his helm and revealed a face darker than any Alliser had ever seen, smiling with bloody teeth as he spat a mouthful of red blood on the already red ground.
Alliser was half-surprised to find out that despite the extreme difference in skin color, they bled the same.
A summer islander then, 'fool', Alliser thought as he moved to attack again. To take one's helm off during battle almost always meant certain death.
With a grunt, their swords met in the middle, sparks flying from the point of contact. Despite the pain he must have felt, Alliser was once again shoved by the man's injured left arm and as he stumbled, he could not avoid the sword coming from above and took the blow to his shoulder, narrowly avoiding a deadly strike.
It popped with a disturbing noise and Alliser knew he had lost use of the arm for the remainder of the battle.
Fighting through the pain, he moved in time to avoid another blow, this time heading for his helm and using his greatsword with one hand, Alliser went on the offensive.
While his opponent focused on repelling him, their swords met and clashed as they both fought with everything they had. As they became locked in another power struggle, Alliser slipped from under the strain and used the man's surprise to deliver a powerful kick to his knee, hearing a sickening crack as his enemy bellowed in pain and went down to his knees.
Not losing a second, Alliser swung his entire body and used the momentum to accompany his sword as it cut through the man's neck. The head came off cleanly, surprise written all over it.
He lost no time focusing on the dead and began to look around for another fight when a horn sounded thrice and all over the battlefield, all could hear and feel the trembling ground as thousands of horses began to charge through the armies.
Both destriers and cavaliers wearing black armor knew not to slay the others in black and they began to relentlessly cut down the opposing force.
It took only another few minutes before another horn was blown twice and his men began to cheer as the enemy retreated, thoroughly defeated.
Alliser watched on with grim satisfaction as the company followed his orders and did not give chase.
"Lord Commander,"
"Ser Jarman," Alliser offered a nod to one of his fellow escapees. The knight of House Buckwell had also been sentenced to the wall for keeping to his oath and was one of the few that Ser Oswell had managed to intercept.
"The Bastard of Nightsong was slain," the knight informed him and Alliser sighed.
Rolland Storm had been a fierce knight, the commander of the infantry, and a good leader. But one had to control the bloodlust induced by battle and the knight had always had some issues with it.
"What should we do with the prisoners, commander?"
"We heal those we can and set them free,"
"Sir?" Ser Jarman questioned, surprised.
"You heard me," Alisser grunted, "report in the war house in two hours, I expect numbers," he said and mounted the horse that had been brought to him.
Mercenary companies were essential to the running of Essos, Alliser knew that, despite his dislike of them he could not simply wipe out four of them. Still, it would take years for them to recover, enough to ensure more contracts for him and his men and even more of a chance to grow.
The only company that could realistically compete with them was the golden company, their elephants would be a challenge for any opposing force. But there was no reason for them to face each other.
They had not lost many but still, it was men they would need to replace, and quick. With every year that passed, he knew the time grew closer when he would stand on Westerosi shores again, ready to crown a true king.
293 A.C
King's Landing
The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard made his way through the filthy streets of the capital, while the hour of the bat was long passed many remained in the busy Eel Alley.
Had the people been able to recognize him, he had no doubt they would have parted for him, making his task of the night much harder.
And thus, he advanced, cloaked and unarmored, wearing only his sword at his hip.
It was not often he found himself walking the streets of King's Landing anymore where he had once enjoyed doing so. But to his shame, Barristan found he could not bear to watch the city deteriorate to this point.
King's Landing had never been the cleanest city of the Seven Kingdoms, housing a million people was no easy task, and sadly, the many kings that had ruled over the city had oft-ignored the issue and passed it along to their successors who rushed to do the same.
But in all his years living here, it had never been so bad.
Flea Bottom which had always been the filthiest of them all had only worsened, and it seemed the filthiness had carried over to other districts. Now only the top of the hills seemed clean. Considering one was occupied by the ruins of the Dragon Pit, one by the Great Sept of Baelor, and the last by the Red Keep, it was saying much.
The awful smell had taken over the city, and he had learned to live with it but Barristan had to admit that he could not shake off the shame of knowing he had a part in protecting the king who allowed this to happen.
He could only hope the true king would see the issue for what it was and plan for it. Sadly, it would get worse before it got better.
Finally, Barristan arrived at the bar he had been directed to by a serving wench a few nights ago.
Its name had been scratched off. Recently so.
Not slowing down, he entered and had to take a second for his eyes to adjust to the sudden intake of light.
His hand found the pommel of his sword instinctively, only for him to relax as he found a busy tavern and no threat.
"Will you need a table, my lord?" a child not older than ten asked him but Barristan shook his head.
"A friend awaits me in the rooms above," he said, keeping his hood on.
"Brown hair with blue eyes my lord?"
Barristan narrowed his eyes but nodded.
"Follow me,"
And so he did, keeping his hand wrapped around the hilt of the sword and the young girl led him upstairs, they passed a few doors from which he could hear no sound coming off and Barristan felt his heart beat faster.
A narrow hallway was the perfect spot for an ambush, the easiest to attack from and the most difficult to defend.
At the seventh door, the child stopped and knocked twice before opening the door.
"Call if you need anything my lords," she smiled and took off.
Still not taking off his hand from the pommel of his sword, Barristan entered slowly, ready to defend himself but relaxed as the man he was meant to meet sat at the table, a cup already in hand.
"I apologize for the subterfuge, good Ser," Alton Waters said as he downed his cup and gestured for him to close the door, "The good people of this tavern work for the king,"
"For you, you mean," Barristan could not help but retort, he had never liked any of the masters of whisperers he had known, they were untrustworthy, it could not be avoided when one spent their time scheming and plotting.
"Is it not the same thing?" said master answered, "They work for me, I work for the king, and so they work for him, please take a seat and have a drink,"
Barristan grudgingly nodded and did as bid, he was poured a cup of mead as Alton Waters refilled his.
He repressed the urge to snort, of course, the man had studied him. It was his favorite.
It was at least proof he was not incompetent, he would have to be if he wanted to compete with the likes of Varys.
"To the king," the master of whisperers rose his glass and Barristan repeated the words, each knowing of which king they were referring to.
"The king has dispatched assassins for Viserys Targaryen," Barristan said, not wishing to waste any more time and he watched as the spymaster closed his eyes and swore under his breath.
He had learned of this already a moon ago and while he knew Viserys was not the king he served, he could not help but worry for them.
"The king would not have happened to mention where they're located?" the now weary-looking master of whisperers asked.
"No," he sighed, "I am not trusted enough to sit on the small council, I doubt I'll ever be,"
"My contacts still fail to locate them in time..." the spy admitted, "we must trust they will be able to avoid this one as they have avoided the others,"
Barristan nodded reluctantly, after all, besides disappearing into the night to go look for them himself, there was not much he could do, and that was assuming he would do better than a man who had been at it for years. And Alton was right, it was not the first-time assassins were sent and each time, they had not returned.
"Were you aware of the lioness bedmates?" Alton changed the subject, but Barristan frowned. Why would the spymaster ask him that?
"I was not aware she had more than one…" he slowly said, thinking about every moment he had spent near the queen but found himself lacking.
The queen had very strict wishes as to whom guarded her. Before the kingslayer's disappearance, she had insisted her brother was the one to guard her and when he was off duty, it was Ser Meryn Trant that fulfilled the duty."
Barristan had to admit he had only been too happy to be told he would not spend any time in her company.
"She does," the master of whisperers simply confirmed and Barristan widened his eyes as he realized what it all meant and he felt a wave of disgust wash over him.
And now, Ser Tygett Lannister, freshly knighted, had been induced into the Kingsguard.
As he had done many other times, he had kept silent and nodded along, at least this one knew how to fight, not like Trant or Blount.
Not that Tygett Lannister was anywhere close to what a member of the kingsguard should be. And now that Barristan realized the truth behind all of it, he had rarely felt this disgusted, to sleep with a family member was one thing, the gods knew many lords and ladies across the realm were cousins. But there was a difference between sleeping with cousins and sleeping with one's twin brother or with one's uncle.
"The children…" he whispered, realizing what it likely meant.
"Not of the King's loins, I found five bastards of him in the past weeks, all have brown hair and blue eyes, all of them."
"Fuck," for the first time in many years, he swore. "It would explain…" he began but stopped himself, hesitating, while he protected another king, Barristan had no wish to arm children.
"It would explain?" the master of whisperers asked.
"The eldest's behavior…" Barristan made a choice, he had to trust this king was better than the one seating on the Iron Throne. As the memory of the day he had seen Lannister banners soaked with blood and tightly wrapped around the children and wife of his prince, 'I see no children, only dragonspawns,' Robert Baratheon had said. "When he was Seven, the child presented his father with an unborn kitten, directly cut out from its mother's womb."
Even he had felt horrified at the sight offered by the blood-soaked child, proudly presenting his trophy to his father, and so did the spymaster judging by his horrified face. For once Robert had done the right thing and struck the child. Though it hardly made a difference.
"He enjoys punishing the servants, and threatens them of taking their jobs," Barristan continued, "he even had one burn her hand over a candle for not bringing him a lemon cake quickly enough…" he sighed.
Alton clenched his jaw, "Aerys reborn…"
Barristan shook his head, "No, Aerys was never the most stable, prawn to melancholy and bouts of anger or jealousy, but before Duskendale he was fine, and he never took pleasure in hurting others even when he was defied,"
He had known the King well, as a prince first and he had continued to serve after Jaehaerys the Second passed.
After that half year spent in the care of the House Darklyn, the king had changed tremendously, none of the maester sent to his side could figure out what to do or what had even been done.
"It began slowly after Duskendale, but over time, he grew more paranoid, more vengeful. He went mad,"
He carried the guilt for it, if only he had saved him faster, maybe it could have all been avoided. As it would if he had managed to unhorse the prince at Harrenhall.
All of Aerys' madness had been successfully contained until then, no word of it reaching beyond the Red Keep.
Unlike the current heir to the throne who was very clearly already mad.
"Anything else?" Alton asked.
Barristan simply shook his head.
Alton simply rose from his seat and gulped down the rest of his mead. "Until next time then, Ser, I'll try to arrange a quicker way for us to meet,"
"Might I ask…" Barristan said before the master of whisperers could leave.
"Yes?"
"Might I ask how the King is?" Barristan asked, being so far from the person he was supposed to protect with his life was becoming harder with every moon that passed but he bore it, knowing his service was valuable to his king.
"He is well, Ser," Alton smiled, "still growing but gifted with an admirable mind and a formidable sword hand. It is no secret he already makes plans for reforms in the Seven Kingdoms, to help his people, all of them,"
Barristan smiled, he had been right to put his trust in Oswell all those years ago.
293 A.C
Starfall
Steel clashed against steel and sparks flew as Aemon redirected another strike from his kingsguard, his bastard sword redirecting the greatsword the knight used.
They often changed weapons, which added difficulty to something that Aemon was unsure he would ever manage, beat Arthur. But he knew that the ability to fight with and against different weapons was priceless.
He used his position to pass behind his opponent but before he could deliver a strike, Arthur flipped around and blocked, using his superior strength to push him back and Aemon had to strongly grip his sword to avoid losing it.
His lord commander lost no time and attacked, his sword becoming a blur as Aemon did his best to parry, redirect and avoid the coming blows.
Despite his best efforts, he felt the sword hit his armor several times, with enough force to leave bruises on his shoulders and thighs.
Still, even under the unending attack, Aemon did not falter, he would have tried looking for a rhythm to exploit but he knew better. The sword of the morning was nothing if not unpredictable.
Feeling his muscles burn and sweat roll down his brow, he knew he had to do something, thinking fast, he feigned a cramp on his left leg and as he had thought, his opponent took the bait.
Seeing the incoming strike, Aemon shifted his weight and used his previously injured leg to push back the swiping strike aimed at his knees, Arthur was immediately destabilized by it. Aemon was thankful Dawn was not in play, or he'd have lost his foot, losing no time, he used the opportunity to deliver a strike with the pommel of his sword to the knight's left cheek, a deep gong resonating at he hit the helm.
That would also leave a bruise, but before he could ready another attack, Arthur shook his head and his sword became a blur once more and Aemon was forced back, step after step until his back hit the stone wall of the courtyard.
Only seconds later, he was disarmed and found himself with a greatsword under his chin.
"I yield," he said and the sword was taken away.
"Are you hurt?" Arthur immediately enquired after taking his helm off.
"Only bruises," Aemon shrugged, but noted with some satisfaction the already darkening cheekbone of his kingsguard, it was not the first blow he had managed to deal in their spars, but it was the first that would leave a mark, for a fortnight at least.
"You're getting stronger," Arthur noted once Aemon took off his helm, "I can feel it," he rubbed his cheek, winking at the same time.
"Well, all that training has to do something, right?" he asked with a chuckle, while he doubted he would ever beat Arthur, or at least not any time soon, he did not mind.
It was not like he was fighting with all his capabilities after all, the spells he managed wandlessly alone would help a lot, but the goal was not to rely on his magic.
"You will make a formidable warrior, my prince," Lady Kinvara stated as she entered the courtyard. "You have asked for my presence,"
"My lady," Aemon greeted the red priestess, thanking the maid, Agatha, with a nod as she handed him a towel to wipe his brow.
It had taken time but he had finally figured out a use for her. One that got her and her damned prophecy far away.
"I have, how do you find your stay in Starfall?"
"Enjoyable, my prince, R'hllor has blessed the Dornish Lands with much of his light, but I believe you have found a use for me?" she asked smirking.
"How… Right, the flames," he said frowning, it must have been some sort of divination, though one he had trouble getting his head around. "I remember you telling me your faith has many followers across the Narrow Sea?" he half-asked, half-stated.
"There is, my prince," she gave him a true smile, "many follow the Lord of Light,"
Aemon nodded, satisfied with her answer, the truth was he had not foreseen several issues his ships posed. As for the unsuited docks, he had not thought about the fact that many men would be needed to operate said ships.
If he wanted all posts manned and all ballistae ready to fire he needed at least two hundred men per ship, with thirty ships that meant six thousand sailors.
While he could do away with half of them by having men from the company man the scorpions, it would mean his fighting force was reduced by that many.
Adding to the problem was the need to train the man to sail such a ship.
Thankfully, Lorenzo had come through, for a price of course. The Braavosi was nothing if not business savvy and it seemed he had foreseen the issue.
He would form the men provided to him for which Aemon would pay a thousand more dragons for each of the thirty ships as well as for the food and accommodations of the men training. Well, House Dayne would pay but he had a few thoughts on how to set about repaying the House he owed so much to. Still, the first issue was getting the men.
"I would ask you to use your voice to recruit men," he said to her waiting look, "for my ships and my army, if R'hllor truly wants me to succeed, then I need those men,"
"And what will my prince reward me with?" she asked and it was impossible to ignore the suggestive tone in her voice, the fact that her dress hid little of her figure did not help at all.
Aemon coughed, "I was of the impression your god wished for you to do my bidding," he tried, already knowing it was for naught as the words crossed his lips and she only answered with a raised eyebrow. "What is it you wish?"
"Why only your word that we will truly discuss on my return and that my prince will heed my words," she smiled and Aemon sighed, already knowing what she wished to discuss, and yet he was left with little choice but to agree.
"You have it, my lady," he said through clenched teeth, it seemed Fate was determined to play with him. "But while in Essos, you will act in my name," he narrowed his eyes, he had become aware of some of the most distasteful practices of their faith. "I will not have people burnt alive in my name, certainly not to fuel your magic, is it understood?"
"My prince," her smile grew even wider, "sacrifice is no longer needed to accomplish magic for it has awakened at last, can you not feel it?" she tilted her head and Aemon gulped.
He could feel it, which was perhaps not as positive if many people now found themselves able to practice magic. He simply nodded.
"I will set sail on the morrow," she smiled and gave a curtsy, "my prince, Sers," and with it, she was gone and Aemon breathed a sigh of relief, he knew not why but she had him on edge.
There was nothing for it, he would have to keep his word less he lost a visibly powerful supporter.
"Aemon," his mother greeted with a smile as she crossed paths with the red priestess."We've received reports from the battle in the Disputed Lands," his mother said, a few rolls of parchment in her hands.
"And?" Aemon asked, ever since Lyarax and Rahenyx had hatched he found himself with even less time for other still important matters, thankfully, Starfyre had also become less needy. Seemingly taking on the role of a very big sister.
With over nine moons having separated their births, the difference in size was considerable. And while the white dragon now stood at the same height as Balerion, the horse, of course, the younger ones were slowly reaching the size of a wolf.
As such, his mother had first taken over managing the trade they were slowly starting to build up, notably with the arrival of a second ship, named Ashara's Pride, which had docked here on its maiden trip just a few days ago.
But she had quickly taken over many more duties, assuming the role of what Aemon guessed a hand was supposed to.
It appeared she had a keen mind for numbers though, and while she enjoyed her new duties, she truly thrived when handling the business side of things.
"The company lost two hundred men and fifty horses, around five hundred men were injured but will recover while a hundred won't recover enough to fight again,"
Despite the losses, Aemon breathed a sigh of relief, word of the battle taking place had reached them far too slowly for it to matter and he had only been able to hope the company would not lose too many men. It was another thing he needed to find a solution for. His best guess was a variation of the protean charm, like the one Hermione had used for the D.A but it would require some experimentation to figure out exactly how it was done and such a thing could only be accomplished with a wand, preferably the one gifted by Death to his ancestors.
"However, they were paid handsomely by the Magisters of Myr," she smiled, and not for the first time, Aemon could understand why so many men lost their tongues in her presence.
"How much?" he asked.
"Not in gold, your grace," her smile turned to a smirk, "the Magisters paid them with five-hundred unsullied,"
Aemon rose his eyebrows, it was a singular way to pay, but he frowned as he remembered reading about those soldiers.
They were said to be raised from childhood to adulthood by their masters, turning them into formidable fighters, incredibly well-disciplined. But what he remembered most was how they became eunuchs, or how they had to prove their mettle to their masters. For they were slaves and nothing but that.
"Slaves?" he asked through clenched teeth, there were few things in the world he despised more than slavery. A large part of Essos ran on slavery and there was nothing he could do about it, still, that did not mean he would own slaves, no matter how indirect his ownership was.
"Ser Alliser burned the whip the moment they were back at camp," Ashara answered and to his unasked question, completed, "They use a whip to control them, they were offered to leave but…"
"They've never known anything else," Aemon finished for her, "fine," he nodded.
Part of him wished to abandon his plans to put an end to the shameful institution, even though he knew it would not be easy.
Aemon could not simply decide to end slavery, for one it would require conquering the entirety of Slaver's Bay and a few other cities, many would rise against him, and he would face conflict for years to come. And then there was the matter of the slaves. He was not naïve enough to think all truly wanted freedom, simply because they would not know what to do with it, especially when they were treated relatively well by their masters. Which he had no doubt was the case for some.
And then he would have to spend decades weeding out every lasting trace of it, he might as well kiss the Iron Throne goodbye if he chose to go down this path.
And that was even with the elder wand in hand, which he did not have.
It had failed to show up on his nameday almost a year ago, and he could only hope it would show, not this year but the next. He had never heard anyone mention the number twelve as having any kind of significance, thirteen though, it was magical.
If it was not that, then he knew not what to think, but Aemon knew he could hardly afford to wait any longer.
"See that those who can are offered a place to train on the ships," he instructed, and she nodded, while a sailor's work was not easy, he was sure at least a few would jump on the opportunity. "And those that cannot…" he marked a pause, thinking of what could be done. "See that they're educated, we'll need learned men if they wish to, and if not, compensate them well,"
Yes, it was a good solution, he thought. For some reason, Rhaegar had not trusted the maesters.
None knew why.
But he could not simply ignore it, his father must have had some reason not to. Otherwise, why endanger the birth of his sons when the Citadel would have been only too happy to provide their services to the heir of the Iron Throne?
It was one of the many reasons for which he needed to find his way to Oldtown, they had yet to talk of it, but it was not like he would change his mind. The Citadel was the foremost center of knowledge in the entire world.
Aemon could not deny it made him uneasy to know a single group of people controlled knowledge to such a degree. And if Rhaegar had been right not to trust them, then he would need learned men loyal to him and only him.
293 A.C
Starfall
His vision was tainted with a reddish hue as Aemon stalked through the trees, crouching down as his powerful sense of smell tracked down a sheep.
He could feel everything, from the soft soil and tickling grass beneath him to the slight breeze caressing every inch of his scales, and the light provided by the moon and stars was more than enough to light the way.
He advanced slowly, almost crawling as he approached his target.
The smell of his next meal only growing stronger with every step he took, before finally, he poked his head through a few bushes and could feel himself smirk at the sight of the grazing sheep.
Less than a second later, he pounced, snapping his jaw around his target's neck, and heard a satisfying crack, the sheep's corpse fell limp and Aemon took a few steps back before raising his head as high as he could and letting lose a stream of fire that quickly burned the meat.
Not waiting for the flames to die down, he pounced again and closed his teeth deep in the sheep's flesh.
The smell and taste were overpowering and Aemon found himself unable to stop until a screech had him step away to leave some place to the other dragons.
Aemon woke up with a gasp, the taste of burned meat still on his tongue and his eyes widened.
'What had just happened?' he could not help but ask himself as he realized where he had fallen asleep, his neck soar from the tree trunk he had slept against.
Never had he dreamed like that, it was like he had been with Starfyre, inside her, he shuddered, he could remember invading another animal's mind once before.
But with Nagini, it had been nothing like it, he had not felt like himself then. He had been Nagini.
Was it even real? Or was it just a dream?
There was only one way to find out, Aemon thought as he rose and cracked his neck and shoulders.
The gardens inside the castle were large, almost like Starfall had been built around them and not the other way around. Still, not large enough that he ignored where his children were at all times.
His jaw dropped as he arrived upon the scene, finding Starfyre already wrapped around herself and fast asleep as Lyarax and Rhaenyx were still gorging themselves on the sheep's carcass.
It had not been a dream then.
Was it something that had to do with having a dragon? Were riders able to see through the eyes of their dragons? He had no idea, none of the books he'd read mentioned such a thing, knowledge on dragons was sparse generally speaking.
And it would make sense for dragonriders to have kept a few secrets.
Maybe he could ask his great-uncle if anyone knew it was him.
But getting a letter to the Wall was hardly easy. Last time it had taken almost a year for an answer to come. And it was not like he could think of a way to ask without plainly talking about dragons.
Letters were far too easily intercepted to risk so much for so little.
Hopefully, the maester at the Wall could hold out a few more years until he was able to go there himself.
The only source of knowledge he could think of was much closer, the Citadel was supposed to be much like he pictured the library of Alexandria before it burned.
It was the foremost center of knowledge, equaled by none other, the place where second, third, and fourth sons could go to learn.
Education was not cheap though, which easily explained how this world had stayed stagnant. As far as he could tell, they had been stuck at the same stage for thousands of years, it was baffling when he thought of the muggles of Earth for whom it had only lasted a few centuries. And education was key to developing an industrialized society.
But was it something he wished for? Aemon knew not. The fact was that by being stagnant, they avoided the trappings their counterparts in his previous world had fallen to.
Sure, trees were cut down, and man sought to dominate nature, such is the nature of mankind, but they were not destroying their planet. And whatever weapons they built, none could equate with the destructive power of a nuclear warhead.
On the other side, living conditions had improved greatly, the average human's life had only gotten better and longer the more they destroyed the planet.
In the end though, maybe they would have wished to keep living a poor life instead of none.
Still, that did not mean he could not try and improve them.
He would just have to be careful enough not to start some age of discovery, not that Aemon knew enough to achieve that. But he was willing to bet his magic could solve a lot of issues if only he just had the elder wand already.
Still, the elder wand could not solve everything.
The fact was that Aemon was a mortal man, something he took great relief in, but that also meant he had to think about the future, and what would come after he passed from this world.
The power of the elder wand would pass with him, of this there was no doubt.
And having dragons now did not guarantee his descendants would in a few centuries. One thing was sure, his ancestors had relied too much on their dragons, Aemon could hardly fault them and yet, they could have prevented much of what had befallen them had they anticipated. Even more so when one considered that dragons had disappeared a long time ago. The Targaryen dynasty had been doomed to fall without them as they simply did not have enough resources or men.
The Crownlands and King's Landing relied entirely on the Reach and the Riverlands for their food supply, and Dragonstone, while Aemon had no doubt it was an impressive ancestral seat, it offered little more.
The only way he could see to ensure such would not happen again was to carve out land in the other kingdoms that would answer only to the Crown.
They would not take it well, none of them, but as looked upon his three growing dragons, Aemon found he did not care much for their consent.
The Seven Kingdoms would either kneel voluntarily or be forced to their knees.
294 A.C
Starfall
Aemon could only chuckle as he watched as both Rhaenyx and Lyarax chased their older sister who herself was chasing the flying ball. Starfyre made sure to remain ahead, not by much but enough to let her siblings keep chasing, much like he did with the ball.
Given the nine moons that had separated both hatchings, the size difference was obvious. It was even more given the white dragon grew faster.
The records he kept of both their growth were telling enough, the younger ones now reached the size of a large horse when Starfyre had been the same height a moon earlier than them and she was now twice as big, almost as large as an elephant.
Her wingspan was close to forty feet, and from tail to head, she measured close to five and ten. Only her eyes and the underside of her wings differed from the otherwise pristinely white scales.
Starfyre had even taken her first true flight a moon before Lyarax and Rahneyx did comparatively, and she had been able to burn her meat a sennight before her sisters.
It was yet another subject he wished to discuss with his great uncle at the Wall.
But so far, Aemon had come up with only two theories. Either sacrificing Jaime Lannister instead of a man he did not even remember the name truly mattered, unlike what Kinvara had said. Or it was the fact that he shared a deeper bond with Starfyre than he did with Lyarax.
The white dragon's emotions and feelings somehow coming out stronger than the pale blue or the purple ones. He was also understood better by the former, words in High Valyrian being almost unnecessary, unlike with the younger dragons.
He could not help but feel it made sense, while there was a bond probably caused by both his blood and the hatching, everything he had read about the Dragonlords of old stated that one only rode one dragon until death parted them.
And even then, there were those like Viserys I who had not bonded to another dragon after Balerion's death. And the opposite was true as well. Some dragons had even gone feral after losing their riders.
"Aemon," his mother called out from the garden's entrance, and quickly, Aemon had to stop the game, much to the disappointment of his dragons. Though they quickly got over it and continued to fly in the night sky.
He was not ready to reveal his magic, there was no doubt in his mind it would change nothing for his mother nor his kingsguards, revealing that piece of information came with another though, namely how he had gotten that magic.
The tale alone was one he would have hardly believed had he not lived through it.
"Yes?" Aemon called as his mother appeared from the tree line. Immediately the flying dragons changed directions and landed a few seconds later. The ground shook under their combined weight.
He had no idea exactly how much they weighed, but one thing was sure, long gone was the time either could climb on him.
Starfyre was the only one to approach Ashara, welcoming her into her garden.
Otherwise, his children kept clear of other people and though they now tolerated his kingsguards and mother, it had taken time.
"She will be ready soon, no?"
"I think so," Aemon nodded and did not miss the worried look on her face, though it was quickly gone.
"How long?" she asked.
"A moon or so, I expect," he could not help but smile, soon he would fly.
If he was honest with himself, Aemon could not wait, it had been decades since he had been able to take to the skies.
He had never felt freer but on his broom and he expected it would be the same atop Starfyre.
"Then it is good I had this made, don't you think?" She said and Aemon frowned as his children tensed, before both Arthur and Oswell appeared, carrying a large crate.
"Happy nameday, my son," she whispered in his ear as Arthur opened it to reveal a saddle.
Only it was one unlike anything he had ever seen, it would certainly not suit a horse given how large it was. It was made mainly of leather though the handle was black as night, and at the back was a metal plate carved with the three-headed dragon of his family. It also had several chains hanging loosely and enough bonds to be tied around a very large creature.
His purple eyes widened as he realized what it was for and at that moment Starfyre roared in happiness.
"Thank you," he turned around and hugged his mother with all he had.
"You're welcome my little dragon," she answered and he could feel her smile. "But I believe it is time to go to bed, is it not?"
He nodded and they broke the embrace. Flying would not be for today.
He was nudged by Starfyre and both mother and son chuckled at the dragon's antics.
Aemon took her head between his hand and stuck his forehead against her considerably larger one.
"Sȳz bantis ñuha riñar," he wished a good night to his children.
It took a few moments for them to reach his chamber.
"Sweet dreams, my son,"
"You as well, Mother," he kissed her on the cheek.
He closed the door and turned, holding his breath in as his eyes slowly roamed over his room.
Everything was in its place. The piles of books were all where he had left them, the hearth was as unlit as it had been before he got Starfyre's egg and his silk bedsheets were undisturbed, but for one thing.
A long wooden shaft rested on said silk, one from which he could feel the magic oozing off. One that called to him.
The Elder wand, the Deathstick as it had been named by some.
Still holding his breath, Aemon closed the few steps almost as if in a trance and he only stopped holding his breath once his fingers closed around the wand.
And Aemon felt power coursing through his body as it had seldom happened in both of his lives.
"Expecto patronum," he whispered and barely had to concentrate on the happy feeling before a dragon leaped out of his wand.
Only it was not any dragon, the almost solid patronus looked exactly like Starfyre.
I hope you liked it, see you next week for chapter nine, time to leave Starfall!