Hello everyone, I hope you like this chapter, it's time for us to leave the protection of Starfall ;)

As always I own nothing,

294 A.C

Starfall

"Protego Totalum, Fianto Duri, Repello Inimicum," Aemon walked in a circle, whispering the spells under his breath with the elder wand aimed toward the sky, with each repetition he could feel a wave of heat wash over him.

Nothing was apparent to the inexperienced eye, but after each spell was cast, Starfall became even more of an impregnable castle. Taking Starfall was no mean task, being situated in the middle of a river, they held the advantage against any enemy force. Only Nymeria and her ten-thousand ships had managed to give House Martell the advantage so many years ago. And even then Starfall had not fallen, they had knelt and House Dayne had maintained its power over the Torentine and the Prince's pass.

He could make it even more so, after all, some spells would make the castle disappear, others would make the land unplottable or forbid non-magicals to even approach.

Though given most did not have magic, that would mean a large part of the population of Westeros, including his mother and kingsguards.

Starfall was also well known, making the fidelius harder to cast, as it was easiest with locations only known to a few. And though there were other spells to hide a large building, people would notice the sudden disappearance of a castle.

Still, as of now, any who meant harm to its inhabitants would find it extremely hard to get in. Impossible if they were not gifted with magic and then there was him.

Though Aemon had never been one prone to arrogance, in this case, with apparently none other that could compete with him, he felt his confidence was justified.

Besides, he had long stopped refusing to acknowledge he was above the average when it came to magical ability. As a teenager, he had tried to hold onto anything that made him normal, more average. Only he was never meant to be so.

It was just the nature of the world, some individuals were born with better odds in life than others. Whether it be magical power, noble birth, talent, or intelligence, it had always been and would always be so.

The fact was that he had simply never been made for the simpler aspects of life, whether he sought them or not.

Both as Harry Potter and as Aemon Targaryen, he was meant to use the advantages he had been given to see the world did not fall to evil, no matter if it was Voldemort or another.

Though he was not foolish enough to think it would be easy, first of all, he had to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. Both to unite them to face a common enemy and to avenge what had been taken from him as well as to protect what could still be taken.

He had family after all, a family that was nowhere near as proficient as he was in protecting themselves and dealing with threats to their persons. There were five Targaryens left alive, and Aemon would be damned if either was to come to harm before their time.

Sadly, even now they were beyond his reach.

His great-uncle was thousands of miles north, and likely only a few years away from breathing his last. His brother, Daemon, was closer to their great-great uncle and though they would soon depart from Dorne, it would take quite some time to reach this far north.

His uncle and aunt, Viserys and Daenerys, were closer, though how close no one knew.

From Alton's last report, they had been spotted in Lys, for the second time, and for the second time as well, they had evaded his spies.

It was frustrating, to say the least.

He had power at his fingertips, far more than he'd had in over three and ten years. He could apparate from one place to another with barely a sound, and yet Aemon was able to do little.

Apparating required knowing where you were going, and while he could do so easily in Starfall and the surrounding area, the rest of the world was unknown to him.

As such, he could only hope his last family members kept themselves safe and survived until he was able to reach them and offer his protection.

His, and that of his children.

After all, he doubted many things could hurt them still.

Starfyre kept growing, in just a moon she had added a few feet to her wingspan as well as a couple of hundred pounds, easily.

Her flames followed the same path, and the fire she was able to produce was fiercer and stronger with every day that passed. He would wager she would be able to melt stone in the next year or so.

With her size, however, came a large consumption of meat.

So much so that they had begun buying cattle to have their exploitation, dedicated only to feed the dragons.

Thankfully, he was finally making some gold to his name, half was kept as a reserve and the rest went to reimburse his still-growing debt to the Daynes.

It had been the subject of more than one argument, both Ashara and Arthur saying there was no need to repay, but Aemon was determined to do so.

It was the very least he could do and with every ship that was delivered to him, it only added to his wealth. There was no reason to see Edric's House defunded because of him.

Lorenzo had delivered seven so far, two more than what had been planned for the first year and a half. It was telling of how business was booming for the Braavosi.

Though Aemon allowed no house to procure a ship in Westeros as of now, merchants and nobles alike in Essos were all vying for one for themselves. This led to Lorenzo buying up some of his competition and extending his shipyard's capabilities.

The thirty ships he had ordered would all be delivered in the next three years and by the time it was done, his monthly income would rise above ten thousand gold dragons.

As well as an operational fleet able to take on even the Redwynes.

A roar pulled him out of his thoughts and Aemon looked up into the night sky only to see the large white mass of his dragon plunging towards him.

He barely had the time to react before Starfyre flapped her powerful wings and slowed her descent to land next to him.

Aemon chuckled as she bumped him with her huge head, the fearsome horns close enough to pierce him, and when he looked inside her blood-red eyes, Aemon knew what she wanted, and his eyes widened.

"Truly?" he could not help but ask and she nodded.

Aemon threw a look behind him to check if Arthur was there and found himself alone. She lowered herself to the ground and in just a few seconds, Aemon was seated on her neck, right above her wings, feeling his heart beat faster and faster.

This was finally it.

She rose and he had to hang on to the spikes on her neck not to lose his balance and fall before they had even taken flight.

"Sovēgon," he spoke, and Aemon had to hang on even tighter as she began to rise into the air, his heart beating faster than ever and before he knew it, they were flying over Starfall and Aemon whooped in joy, feeling the sheer power of his child as she flapped her wings.

Flying truly was the best feeling in the world.

294 A.C

Starfall

"Master Waters," Aemon nodded to the man who entered the garden he currently enjoyed the peacefulness of. Unlike the one at the top, it was not populated by very large, fire-breathing lizards.

"Your grace," the man bowed, and Aemon took the time to observe him as he took the offered seat.

Since he had first met him, he had not changed much, only gaining a few crow's feet to show for the passing time. Still, one could see some of the Valyrian traits shared by his ancestors' portraits. Notably the high cheekbones and brilliant blue eyes.

It was no wonder given the Celtigars were of Valyrian descent.

"I trust Ser Arthur has informed you of our plans,"

"He has, your grace," his master of whisperers nodded, "May I speak true?"

"Always," Aemon said, "I might not always take your advice, but I would prefer you speak your mind,"

"It is dangerous, your grace," he said, "the company grows well, it only needs a few more years to reach a suitable size,"

"I am aware," Aemon breathed out, it was not the first time he had argued, and in the end, it helped he was the king, admittedly not the king of much but enough to have his kingsguard follow his words, even if they did not agree. "But it is not to grow the company I seek to travel, nor to claim the throne, not right now at least," he smirked, the day would come but there were quite a few things he wanted to do before, and he had to give the time to his dragons to grow much more.

Then and only then would they be ready to stake his claim.

"I need you to tell me of the latest developments in the Realm," Aemon instructed and though he could see the man was reluctant to give up, he obeyed.

"Prince Oberyn has returned from his exile," he began, and Aemon rose his eyebrows. He had heard of the Dornish prince accused of killing a Yronwood with poison, it had been some time ago though. "But he might not get to stay as long as he wished,"

"No?" Aemon asked surprised.

"Willas Tyrell was injured in a tourney in King's Landing two moons ago, left crippled by the red viper's lance,"

"The Tyrell heir?" he asked for confirmation.

"Indeed, your grace," Alton confirmed and already Aemon was making plans.

While it was true it would further strain the relationship between Dorne and the Reach, something that was hardly needed, it left him with an opportunity.

There was no doubt that with the elder wand, he could fix Willas Tyrell's leg, as long as a wound was not caused by dark magic, it was simple for him to treat. Though it would undoubtedly be very painful.

The Tyrells had the largest army of the Seven Kingdoms, but most of all, they held the key to the food of the entire realm. And while he was conscious that simply treating an injury would not buy their loyalty it was always good to have the future lord of a great house indebted to you.

"There are rumors the heir of the hand is a very sickly young boy," Alton continued, "already ten different maesters came and left, not one finding what is wrong with the boy,"

Aemon nodded, remembering the birth had been announced a few moons after he hatched Starfyre. The Vale was one of the kingdoms he knew he could not bring to heel with diplomacy. Not when its Lord had been one of the instigators of the Rebellion. For it mattered not whether he agreed with deposing Aerys or not, it had gone too far, they had taken too much for him to let it slide.

Whether it was the Vale or another kingdom, examples would need to be made.

Though it would be better if the knights of the Vale were left mostly intact, such a powerful force would be painful to reconstitute, and he would rather have them in his service than diminished. Only time would tell what opportunities he had when it came for the Vale to kneel.

"The Usurper continues shaming his wife daily according to Ser Barristan, most of the ruling is done by the Falcon while the debts keep piling up,"

"How much?" Aemon asked, it was a subject of great frustration for him.

While the debt owed to the Lannisters would never be repaid, neither by Robert nor by him, such a choice was not offered when it came to the Iron Bank.

"4 million, your grace, three to the Lannisters, one to the Iron Bank,"

Aemon clenched his jaw, the fools, while they made payments it was no issue, but one day they would no longer be able. And the Usurper showed no signs of slowing down his spending.

"And the prince?" Aemon asked, no need to say which one.

"Getting worse, your grace," Alton sighed, "he is truly a monster, Ser Meryn Trant has repeatedly been seen disposing of bodies,"

Aemon could not help but finger his wand, while he was not one to hurt children, the prince was no child, he was already a psychopath. He guessed what Voldemort would have been had he been born a prince. A truly dire prospect. And the psychopath was hurting the people he would one day swear to protect.

No, while he would keep his word to Jaime Lannister regarding his two youngest, Jeoffrey Waters could not be kept alive.

Though it would be no surprise to Aemon if he was to meet his end before he could ever meet said prince. Behavior like this was bound to attract enemies and some did not care for the position the bastard occupied.

"The Old Lion has not stopped looking for word of his son, he offers ten thousand gold dragons for a location and a hundred thousand for his son to be delivered to the Rock, safe and unharmed,"

Aemon nodded, Tywin Lannister was not one to stop and while Alton knew they were responsible, he still had no idea why.

"Does he have suspicions of where his son might be?"

Jaime Lannister simply had to die. Not for killing his king, that Aemon understood, and faced with what he had, any should have slayed the mad king. That was something his father, Arthur, or any other in capacity should have done. Though not many would have in the end, and while he had seen learning the truth had affected Arthur, Jaime Lannister had still sat on the Iron Throne while his charges were raped and murdered. That was not something he could ever forget.

"I do not believe so, your grace, Kevan Lannister has visited each of the Great Houses and their important bannermen, finishing with the Martells and the Yronwoods,"

Aemon rose an eyebrow at this, "And he left?"

It was surprising a Lannister would visit Dorne, even more so if he had survived. Such was the animosity between House Martell and the Lions.

"He did, your grace, though he found no help in Dorne," Alton smirked. "I also learned that Gerion Lannister has left to lead an expedition to the Valyrian Freehold?"

"Really?" Aemon asked surprised, "What for?"

It was not every day a man claimed to leave for Old Valyria, after all the land was said to be cursed, so much so that it was said it only took laying eyes on it to find one's life forfeit.

"Is his grace not familiar with King Tommen the Second?"

"I am not," Aemon answered as he frowned, he could not remember the name, though he had hardly paid attention to Lannister's history before the conquest when reading.

"It is a well-known tale, your grace, a cautionary one," Alton began, pausing to empty his cup. "After the Doom, during the century of Blood, King Tommen II of Casterly Rock decided to sail to plunder the ruins of the Valyrian Freehold, as many that came before and after him, in the hope to gain the great wealth and secrets of the Dragonlords."

Aemon sat on the edge of his seat, after all, he hoped to do the same thing, anything he could learn about what to expect was of great importance.

"King Tommen set sail with his golden fleet, by promising half of what he would find, he secured the aid of the Triarchs for the final part of his expedition, only he never returned, taking the valyrian steel sword of the Lannisters, Brightroar, with him, and it is known that Tywin Lannister wishes dearly for it,"

"Even if he has Nightfall now?" Aemon asked, valyrian steel swords were all named, while he knew only a few, there were those he paid more attention to. Like Blackfyre and Darksister, the ancestral swords of House Targaryen, both lost. Still, it had not escaped his notice that Tywin Lannister had claimed the sword of House Harlaw, after wiping it out.

"Even more so, your grace, last I know he stopped in Volantis and was never seen again,"

"When was this?"

"A few moons ago, your grace,"

Aemon simply nodded, traveling to Old Valyria was no mean task, that much was clear. Even during said travel, one had to sail through waters infested with pirates, slavers, and if his books were to be believed, krakens. And that was before arriving in the cursed land.

"On happier news, your grace," Alton smiled as he changed subjects, "word in White Harbor is that the Lady Stark is with child once more,"

"She is?" Aemon asked surprised, smiling as his master of whisperers nodded.

"It is to be her fifth,"

It was enough to make all thoughts of traitorous lions leave his mind, his aunt and uncle had been blessed with many children, Robb, Sansa, Brandon, and Arya. His direct family was still relatively small but with a new arrival, his extended kept growing.

It also made him happy to think that Daemon was not alone, he had cousins, that were probably closer to brothers and sisters. Or at least he hoped so, children could be cruel, Aemon knew that first-hand. While he was long past the time of needing other children to develop, he remembered easily enough how hard it was to be friendless as a child.

Their first stop would be Oldtown, to visit the Citadel and hopefully find some knowledge about the magic of this world and the threat he was supposed to face one day. From there they would make their way north, it would take some time to reach Winterfell this way but with every place they visited, he added a spot from which he could apparate and disapparate.

Something priceless given how long it took to travel the length and width of Westeros.

If Aemon was honest with himself, he could probably conquer the Seven Kingdoms with nothing but magic. After all, he could simply apparate inside keeps with a few men and slaughter everyone, with nothing but a word, he could make entire lands submit to his will.

The Statute of Secrecy was not only for the protection of witches and wizards but of muggles also.

Magic was simply too powerful of a tool against those with no means to defend against it.

But magic did not offer legitimacy, nor did birth for that matter.

No, armies and conquest offered legitimacy. As well as dragons, not that any would expect him to have this wild card to play, after all, they were supposed to have gone extinct over a century ago.

Still, it did not mean he would not use his magic, just discreetly, but to do that, there was a conversation he needed to have, one that did not appeal the least to him.

Aemon pulled out an empty booklet from his enlarged pocket, handing it to his frowning master of whisperers.

"Your grace?" he questioned.

"To contact me," Aemon smirked, after all, magic had many uses, some much more discreet than even needed, "simply write in it and I'll write back,"

With the elder wand, it was almost too easy to make something like this, it was after all very similar to the coins Hermione had made for Dumbledore's Army. And the benefits were immense, simply having a way to communicate over large distances was a great boon when fighting a war against people who had to rely on ravens to communicate.

He could see the doubtful look on his spymaster's face and so, Aemon pulled his own out and dipped a quill in a pot of ink, scribbling some nonsense on the first page.

As his book was meant to communicate with several others in time, he had to first write the name of the person he wished to write to, and soon enough, the words erased themselves to appear on the first page of the other one.

This way, even if the books were lost or stolen, no one could know what their use was, not without a wand anyway. And as expected, he watched as Alton rose his eyebrows to his hairline in surprise.

294 A.C

Highgarden

"Mace," Olenna greeted her son as he was led by Left.

"Mother," he nodded, his eyes already fixated on the plate of cheese. Still, he waited until she had nodded to take a seat.

"Please, help yourself," the queen of thorns sighed, knowing it was best to get it over with. She gestured for a servant to pour some more wine.

As she tried her best to ignore the disgust she felt at seeing her son pile enough food inside his mouth to feed half of King's Landing, her thoughts wandered to the grandchildren he had blessed her with, perhaps the only good thing he had done with his life.

And even then, he had managed to muck it up. Had it not been for his father, Willas would have never taken part in that tournament, not at his age. But as boys were wont, he had only wanted to please his father. And now the heir of Highgarden was a cripple, all for an accident.

It would not hamper his ability to lead their House when the time came, but many would look down on him for it. Olenna would have to find him a good match, a girl able to bend the lords to her will.

One much like Margaery if she was honest with herself. Her golden rose had the entirety of the Lords of the Reach wrapped around her finger, even the sour Tarly could not help but smile in her presence.

No doubt did he hope for a match as well, not that it would ever happen, her Margaery was not going to spend the rest of her life as the Lady of Horn Hill.

It was simply not good enough. As much as she despised the words of her House, Olenna knew there was wisdom in them, and a match with House Tarly was as far from growing as she could see.

"You asked for me, Mother," her oaf of a son interrupted her thoughts, having finished gorging himself.

Olenna did her best to mask her annoyance, he had finished it.

"We've received word from King's Landing," she began and once more contained her sigh as he leaned forward, completely unable to mask his interest. "It seems they have finally exceeded the goodwill of Tywin Lannister,"

He frowned, apparently not realizing what she was speaking of.

"They want our gold, Mace," she snapped, having little patience for her oafish son.

At once, his eyes widened and she could see the many foolish thoughts entering and leaving, thankfully just as quickly, her son's mind. "Finally," he rubbed his hands together and rose from his seat, ready to leave.

"Sit down," she snarked at him and he complied immediately.

"But mother…"

"We will give them what they ask for, for now," she began, they did not offer enough for her to commit more than that, and the fact that they were willing to trade with the Iron Bank told her much. That they preferred to take loans from the Braavosi was foolish. While they might not ask for a Queen, they were more than willing to see the Baratheon dynasty buried if they were to fail making payments. "You are to assume the position of Master of Laws,"

"Was it not held by Renly Baratheon?" he asked, frowning.

"It was," she answered simply, for some reason the youngest brother had been sent to Storm's End. No doubt he would be called back in time but it left her to ponder what may have happened.

There had been rumors for years concerning the prince's proclivities. None confirmed but given how little attention he bore to the ladies at court, it was more than enough to confirm it for her. Much like her youngest grandson, Renly Baratheon was a sword swallower.

"You are to bring Willas with you, and Alerie," she continued, some experience would do some good to her grandson, "You are not to negotiate deals or betrothals without my saying, you will not shame our House, nor your wife whilst you hold this position, yes?"

"Yes, Mother," he acquiesced immediately.

"Good, you leave in two days, at dawn," she instructed, and he rose from his seat, at least he understood a dismissal, she could not help but think. "And have my granddaughter sent Mace,"

He nodded and was soon out of her sight, while she feared what damage he could do whilst in King's Landing, she also knew she could trust her grandson and his mother to keep Mace in line. Her presence was not yet wanted in the capital, not that it would stop her, but it was not the right time. Let them ruin themselves, then and only then would they be finally willing to give her what she sought.

"Grandmother," her granddaughter's voice pulled her out of her thoughts, and as she lay eyes on her golden rose, Olenna could not help but smile, it felt like she had not done that for days, ever since receiving the loan request.

"Let us walk," she said, unable to take her eyes off the beauty that was her granddaughter. Her wavy brown hair danced with every step she took and her hazel eyes alight with a kindness Olenna felt she rarely saw these days.

As she looked her over, she could see the signs of a slender but womanly figure beginning to take shape.

She would see a great many hearts break before a suitable match was found, and there was only one she would be satisfied with.

"Tell me of your day, my sweet child," she said as they walked between rows of roses, Left and Right following closely behind.

"It was wonderful," Margaery smiled, "Loras and I went to the market, I bought so many fabrics, even some from Myr, but…" her granddaughter marked a pause, frowning.

"What is it, my child?" Olenna asked, something had disturbed her precious granddaughter.

"We visited the orphanage, grandmother," Margaery sighed, her eyes looking down, "they have so little, and we have so much… We bought toys for them and a little girl cried in my arms…"

She smiled sadly at her granddaughter, despite all the promise she showed, Margaery still had too good of a heart. One too pure for the Great Game, not that Olenna held any illusion, life would take care of having her understand the reality of the world they lived in. But not before she allowed it, for now, her granddaughter still had some time.

"Could we help them? Send some food perhaps…"

Olenna barely had to think before she acquiesced, and the beaming smile and hug she was rewarded with were proof she had been right.

"Thank you, thank you," her granddaughter whispered on her shoulder, already taller than her.

"But I would advise you to find other solutions, more permanent ones, yes?" Olenna proposed and there was no hesitation in her granddaughter's almost golden eyes as she nodded excitedly.

And it only reinforced her resolve, Margaery truly deserved the best.

294 A.C

Starfall

The silence of Starfall's godswood was undisturbed but for the noise he and Ashara made as they walked, leaves and twigs cracking under the weight of their steps.

Not another sound could be heard as the animals residing inside all scurried away at their arrival, and so, mother and son walked without speaking, respecting the quietness of the godswood.

Arthur followed, as usual, but unlike them, and despite his armor, his feet made no sound. The kingsguard stopped at the entrance of the clearing, leaving both to stand in front of the Old Gods.

And as expected, both Ashara and Aemon found themselves standing beneath the blood-red leaves of the weirwood tree.

Much like the first time he had come here several years ago, he felt himself being watched. The magic here was undeniable, so much so that it felt like the world was muted in comparison. Even if as Lady Kinvara said, magic had come back.

Unlike the first time, however, Aemon did not kneel in front of it, leaving his mother a few minutes to pray to her gods.

While he would never worship, he had no trouble admitting there was something to this place, though whether it was only the magic or something else, he did not know. It did not help that his mind was running wild with scenarios of the conversation to come.

For years he had wondered how to breach the subject, how to explain who he was and what he was capable of.

"Aems?" his mother pulled him from his thoughts, having finished her prayer.

"Right," Aemon sighed, he could lie, of course, spin a tale about how the old gods had gifted him magic and a wand. Though he knew from experience that such a lie could spin out of control as he would constantly need to reinforce by adding more lies as he used more of his magic. And while he could prevent most from learning of it, hiding it from those closest to him was dangerous. "Could you come closer, Arthur?"

The lord commander of his kingsguard approached, keeping his hand closed around the hilt of his sword and wearing an intrigued look in his indigo eyes, Aemon gave a simple flick to silence their conversation to any unwanted ear.

"You once told me that to lie in front of a weirwood was to forfeit your life to the Old Gods," he began, looking for confirmation in her purple eyes.

"I did," she nodded, keeping her eyes on the slender piece of wood in his fingers, "what is this about?"

"I have magic," he stated simply as both frowned at the stick in his hand before Ashara began to laugh.

Though she soon grew serious again as she noticed neither he nor Arthur laughed along.

"The cloak?" Arthur asked.

"Is part of it," he nodded, seeing his mother's frown deepen, he realized he had to give them something more.

He flicked the elder wand and conjured a single white rose out of thin air, handing it to his mother, he enjoyed the way her eyes widened almost comically. With nary a thought, he conjured a glass and filled it with clean water, proceeding to empty it.

Both Arthur and Ashara were now gaping, seemingly left speechless.

Yet they had seen nothing, and he turned on his heels and disapparated only to reappear behind Arthur. Making sure to be far enough as his kingsguard's reflexes kicked in and Aemon had a milky white blade a few inches from his face.

Arthur's light indigo eyes widened as he realized what he was doing and he quickly sheathed Dawn as Aemon chuckled.

"It's probably best if I start at the beginning,"

Both nodded at this and Aemon took a deep breath.

He told them of how he had lived in a different world from this one, that his name had been Harry Potter, born to James and Lily Potter. Aemon spoke of the wizarding world, this secret society of wizards and witches that lived hidden from the sight of the non-magicals. He left the details unspoken but for the fact that his life had not been easy and that at one point there was nothing left for him to be worth staying behind.

"It is…" Ashara began but could not find the words and Aemon could only give a small smile. It was a lot to take in.

"Unbelievable…" Arthur completed, "And yet, I do not think such a tale could be invented,"

"It could not…" his mother nodded, "were you happy?"

Aemon could not help but be surprised by the question, he had expected many, but not this one.

"I…" he began, searching for the right words, "at times I was, as in this life, my parents were taken from me early on, only I was luckier this time around," he said, smiling at the woman who was mostly responsible for that. "But I was happy with my friends, the family I chose, and then with the family I made," he smiled in remembrance of the many good times they had shared and pulled out one of the drawings with his best friends and his wife, all looking happy and young.

"You were wed?" his mother asked, a tear rolling on her cheek.

"I was…" Aemon whispered, "To Ginny," he pointed to the beautiful redhead, his own eyes welling with tears. "She was everything I ever wanted…"

Not a second later, he found himself in the embrace of his mother and he felt himself relax. They were not rejecting him, though he had little doubt they would, there would always be this small insecure part of himself that whispered in his ear that they would not stand his magic, that they would find him to be a monster.

"I'm so sorry, my sweet boy," she whispered, "no matter who you are, or what you're capable of, you'll always be my son,"

"Thanks, Mum," Aemon mumbled back before they separated.

"What is this cloak Arthur mentioned?" she asked, and her brother smiled sheepishly.

"His grace let me borrow a cloak, to infiltrate the Lannister camp on Harlaw," Arthur began, a questioning look in his eyes directed at him and Aemon nodded, there was no use hiding the truth anymore. "It made me invisible, sister, truly,"

"A cloak of invisibility?" Ashara crossed her arms, disbelief clear on her face and Aemon chuckled, they had yet no idea what magic was truly capable of, he tapped the elder wand on his head and felt as if an egg had been cracked and he slowly disappeared from view.

"I do not need a cloak, anymore," he answered, "but the cloak is an heirloom from my previous family, they have had it for a thousand years,"

"Are there limits?" His mother asked as she recovered from her shock and Aemon cancelled the disillusionment charm. "To your magic, I mean,"

"Some," he admitted, "I cannot conjure edible food, nor can I resurrect the dead or transfigure gold, transfigure means changing the nature of one object to another," he explained seeing their lost looks. "But I can heal almost any wound not inflicted by dark magic, the only limit to healing is blood, if too much is lost, there is nothing I can do," yet, he thought, he would need to find a solution for this potion at the very least.

The blood-replenishing potion was perhaps the most useful of healing potions, a broken bone was easily set, and the same could be said for an open wound, but blood, like gold, could not be transfigured nor conjured. While he had never been an expert potioneer, this one had been amongst those he used the most, along with Polyjuice and a burn salve.

The ingredients were pretty simple as well, honey water, powdered valerian roots, nettle leaves, red rose petals, dittany leaves, and silverweed extract. All were relatively easy to find or replace with plants sharing properties, all but one, fairy wings. That was one had had no idea how to find or substitute.

Still, finding some dittany to extract its properties into an essence, it could seal almost any wound without the use of magic. Though the true prize when it came to healing was the tears of a phoenix. But so far, he had read no mention of the legendary bird that would indicate there was even a chance to find one in this world.

"But it takes only a word to take control of someone's mind, and two to inflict instant death," He continued and flicked his wand, summoning a wandering and unlucky spider to his hand.

With a tap of his wand, he immobilized the spider, and both Dayne siblings watched on as Aemon whispered his next word, "Imperio,"

He unfroze the spider and it did not move, staying perfectly still in his hand.

Clenching his jaw, Aemon began to direct it, both Ashara and Arthur watched with a somewhat morbid fascination and mounting horror, realizing the true power of magic.

"You can take control of a man's mind?" Arthur asked, shocked.

"I can," Aemon nodded, "though one with a particularly strong will can resist, especially when doing something he or she would find unnatural, or evil, and it takes a large amount of focus from my part,"

He had only ever done it to one person at a time, and each time he felt dirty for it. But there were those with great skill with the imperius curse, able to control many at a time. Though Aemon was not sure if it was something worth being proud of.

"You-You said you can kill with two words?" His mother asked, stuttering.

"I can," he confirmed, "there is a spell, the killing curse, but to cast it one must truly hate the target, and I mean hate beyond measure, otherwise it will not work."

He stayed quiet about the torture curse, while he had never used the killing curse, mostly out of disgust for the spell that had taken so much from him, the cruciatus was much worse. And this one he had cast several times.

Still, the killing curse was not very useful all things considered. For one it carried an automatic life sentence in all magical countries back in his old world. It was also very unimaginative. There were so many ways to kill without having to resort to the Dark Arts.

It only took a levitation charm from a high enough tower, or a cutting curse to the throat, or with enough practice, one could even summon the air from another's lungs.

But the usefulness of the killing curse remained in its discretion, especially in a land where magic like this was unknown, as it would be natural to assume the cause was a simple heart attack or some other birth defect.

"But there is a reason I chose this place," Aemon continued, now that he had a wand, it was safe to do it.

"Oh?" his mother asked, still reeling from the revelations.

"Don't you feel watched? In front of the weirwood, I mean,"

"Everyone does, your grace," Arthur answered, "it is why many believe they are the eyes and ears of the Old Gods, and why it is cursed to cut or burn one,"

"Exactly," Aemon smiled and dispelled the Muffliato charm, it might only be a feeling or perhaps it was something more, but precautions were necessary. "It wants me to touch it,"

He walked slowly towards it, the elder wand in his right hand while the left was reaching for the white bark and its carved face.

As soon as he made contact, his eyes widened as his mind was invaded by images without him being able to offer any resistance.

A wall of ice, hundreds of feet high, stretching for hundreds of miles on the horizon.

A forest, large beyond measure with trees as tall as those of the forbidden forest.

A Weirwood which dwarfed the one he knew with roots thicker and taller than castle walls.

An intricate network of tunnels inside the Weirwood's roots, stretching for miles underneath the frozen soil.

An old, emaciated man with white skin, long white hair, and a single red eye staring at him from his seat among the roots, and his lips moved.

FIND ME!

And Aemon's world went black.

294 A.C

Oldtown

"Impressive, isn't it?" Garrick Rambton asked Aemon as he approached with his wooden leg, clunking on the ship's deck.

The third son of House Rambton had been among those injured during one of the earlier contracts of the company, with his left foot amputated he could no longer serve as a fighting man, but it seemed the man had found purpose in his new duties.

"It is," Aemon answered, his eyes not leaving the Hightower looming on the horizon as the ship sailed the Whispering Sound, coming ever closer to the seawall of Oldtown.

"Some say it's taller than the Wall itself," Garrick commented, and Aemon raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"Truly?" he asked, he had read much on the Wall, knowing he had family residing there, and it was often said to be the tallest structure in Westeros. Still, he shuddered at the mention of it, remembering the images the weirwood had shown him.

"So, they say," the captain shrugged, "I wouldn't know, and I don't plan on finding out," he chuckled.

Not many wished to find out, those that did often did so not of their own volition, but because the only choice they had was death or the Wall. Many men fighting for his family had been sent there, as they preferred to keep their heads attached to their necks. Luckily, a dozen or so had been rescued by Ser Oswell, skilled and leal fighters that now led his company from victory to victory on the other side of the Narrow Sea.

Still, many had not been so lucky. Once seated on the Iron Throne, he would have the power to see those men freed from the oaths they had been forced to take. House Targaryen owed them that much.

"You should gather your stuff, my lord, we'll try to unload quickly and set sail again,"

Aemon nodded, like most men, the captain had no idea whom it was he truly transported. Maybe he had doubts, Aemon knew he would if he was in that situation. But everything had been done to make it seem like this ship was a regular one.

Especially as both Alton and Arthur insisted spies were almost everywhere in Westeros. That was why his kingsguards only referred to him by his titles when they were in private, where none could hear.

It was also why his children would stay have to stay in his newest replication of a once common suitcase. One much like the one Newt Scamander had invented in the 20s to transport magical creatures in their natural habitats.

Truly a wonder of magic, and while Scamander had oft been the subject of jokes in his early life for his eccentricity, he had, in his later years, become one of the foreknown masters in the study of magical creatures and had revolutionized the field. Hagrid idolized the man for his accomplishments.

And his suitcase had become a standard in this field of study.

So much so that Aemon was able to replicate it, somewhat, as it only had one compartment and took the shape of a trunk, much more common in this world.

It had everything they could ever want, enough space to fly, a forest, a pasture, and a few caves in which they could make their lairs. As well as an often-replenished cattle, which was more than enough to keep them satiated.

He had to thank the elder wand for that, as many of the spells required were unknown to him, but in many ways, the legendary wand made up for the unknown through his intent.

Though Aemon would have preferred for them to stay free, the fact was that the entirety of the realm would learn of them way sooner than he wanted them to. It did not aid that their first stop was the second most populous city in the Seven Kingdoms, and according to his kingsguards, a nest for spies.

Still, as they approached the Hightower, he could not help but be awed by it.

The black rock on which it stood was something Aemon had never seen, a material unlike any other, a stone dark as night. But what awed him the most was the building atop.

A tower so high it seemed impossible to consider magic had not been used to build it.

Even the muggles of his world would have struggled to build something quite as high, even with all of their technology.

And coincidentally, like most impressive structures in Westeros, Brandon the Builder was supposed to have had a hand in its construction. Much like the Wall, Winterfell, or Storm's End, the ancestral seat of the Usurper.

And at the top of the Hightower, a large flame served as a beacon to guide merchants and travelers to safety.

As they passed the seawall, his attention was caught by a great many things. Like the overwhelming number of people present on the docks, more people than he had seen in decades. As well as the many different ships and colors they sailed. There were swan ships from the Summer Isles, carracks flying Myrish and Lyseni colors as well as another three-deck ship, with a flag he could not recognize but not of Westeros. Galleys and a few dromonds were flying Tyrell and Hightower colors as well as many other houses that Aemon could recognize, like the red grape of House Redwyne, the bull of House Bulwer, or even the golden lion from House Lannister.

The ship docked and Aemon found Sers Jaremy and Roland loading the most important trunk of the seven kingdoms onto a horse-drawn cart as the sailors did the same with their leathered bags. Along with Arthur and Oswell standing guard around, all knew the importance of what they carried.

All had been clued in on his magic, though not to the extent Arthur and Ashara had, it had been needed to change the color of hairs and beards. All four of them wore one, and though only Arthur and Oswell were truly famous, they could not risk being recognized by anyone.

Oswell was the oldest, at over fifty namedays, and so his black hair had been greying for a few years now. With a few flicks of his wand, his hair and beard had turned completely grey. Arthur's dark and also greying hair had become red and his light indigo eyes had turned blue, while Jaremy and Roland, both brown-haired by nature had become light blonds with reddish beards.

"Ser Jaremy will go find accommodations for us," Arthur informed him, and Aemon nodded as he disembarked.

"Perfect, I want to see the Citadel first," It was the true reason for their travel here. And most of all the knowledge it held.

He had not forgotten Death's warning, the reason why he needed to bring magic back, and it would not do to go into battle uninformed.

And on this subject, Starfall's library was lacking, so much that the only references he could find were only that, references.

There were no mentions of dark wizards in those few passages he could find. Only of others, sometimes wights, and even once, a white-walker, but this had looked like more of a children's tale than anything else.

The Citadel was perhaps the likeliest of places where he could find information on such a subject. It was said to hold all texts known to man, the foremost place of knowledge in this world, and the center of learning. It was also the place in which all maesters were formed and forged their links.

The order of people his father had distrusted so much that he had refused to have one present for his wife's pregnancy.

And knowing what he did, Aemon could not help but feel uneasy that every lord worth considering benefited from the services of a maester, whether by listening to his advice or being healed by his precious knowledge of medicine. It was an awful amount of power to have for a single organization.

Still, they had what he needed the most, and so for now, he would play by their rules and seek what he had come for. There would be time to reform the way Westeros functioned.

294 A.C

Oldtown

Oldtown was truly a radical change, Aemon thought as they finished breaking their fast.

Arthur, Oswell, Jaremy, and Rolland all stayed in the rooms adjacent to his in the Quill and Tankard Inn.

According to his protectors, the largest Inn in Oldtown, one where they were able to lose themselves in the mass of people staying, drinking, eating, or whoring their way through the day.

People usually did one of those things anyway.

It was a shock to him, while he had seen the brothel in Starfall's harbor and had known that the Dornish people were usually considered quite free with sexuality, he had not expected to see so much of it for all to witness.

As Harry Potter, he had studied various periods to learn more about muggle military practices, he had never bothered with other aspects of their societies. Certainly not with how sex was viewed, but he had always been of the idea that people in that time were quite prudish.

He was wrong, he thought as he laid his eyes on the particularly revealing dress of a serving wench.

"You only need to say the word, milord," the woman smirked at him as she caught his look and Aemon could not help but blush as his guards minus Arthur began to chuckle.

"Maybe later," Aemon smirked, he was not a green boy contrary to what his looks told, even if he had not given any practice to seduction in the past decades. But now was not the time for the busty blond who only leaned even more, offering an even better sight to him and his companions.

"Then I'll be sure to stop by, milord," she winked and took away their plates, Aemon could swear she was adding a bit more sway to her hips, and sure enough, she turned once more and gratified him with another smirk.

"Come on," he chuckled to Arthur's raised eyebrow, "we've got a lot to do,"

The door of the Quill and Tankard Inn creaked as it closed behind them, not willing to lose any more time, they quickly moved, Arthur taking the lead while the others walked around, making their protection almost seamless to the inexperienced eye. Both Sers Jaremy and Rolland had been training with his kingsguard in the past moons in preparation for the departure.

The tall and crooked wooden building stood on one of the many isles resting on the Honeywine River, its main bed divided into many side rivers forming a beautiful ensemble.

In the distance stood the Hightower and closer was the Starry Sept, the original seat of the Faith of the Seven before the construction of the Great Sept of Baelor. And even if it was the second most populous city in Westeros, it did not feel like so.

Where King's Landing was said to be filthy and dangerous, Oldtown was clean and safe.

The green cloaks of the city watch patrolled the streets at any time of the day and night, ensuring it was kept safe for the many travelers and merchants bringing wealth into the city and the smallfolk and highborns who lived there.

He could understand why so many found their way here, people of all lands, from Summer Islanders to Northmen and everything in between.

There was little diversity in Dorne, most had olive skin with black hair and eyes, a heritage of the Rhoynar and Queen Nymeria. Only a few Houses like the Daynes still bore the heritage of the First Men south of the Neck, most notable being the fair skin they shared. Which in turn had allowed him to look the part of the bastard son of Ashara Dayne.

But the diversity of Oldtown was not only visible in the people present but also in the wares that were offered, from Dornish spices to gold jewels of the Westerlands and many more from the Free Cities.

But that was not the reason he had come to Oldtown, Aemon thought as he laid eyes on the entrance of the citadel after crossing yet another bridge.

The impressive complex lay too on the Honeywine, its countless domes, and towers connected by bridges of stone that had been added over centuries.

Two sphinxes guarded the gates, one with the face of a man while the other looked like a woman if one made abstraction of the bodies of lions, the wings of eagles, and the tails of snakes.

Aemon snorted at the sight as if they admitted women inside.

Though he had been unaware, learning required a cock.

Something, he was sure that many of the women he had known would find trouble with.

Hermione, most of all, would have been one to prove them wrong and hide who she was to learn all she had to. Ginny would have had a far more entertaining reaction as Aemon doubted that any of the Archmaesters would have been left untouched by her bat-bogey hex.

But also, Ashara, his mother while not maester educated was smarter than a lot of people he had met in both his lives. As well as Lily, who had been called the smartest witch of her generation by many, and Aemon guessed it would also offend Lyanna, who though he had little knowledge of, was by all accounts smart, brave, and talented, as well as not one to obey by the norms of society.

Still, he pushed on, entering the Scribe's Hearth, and was surprised to find it already filled with people.

The courtyard was dedicated to the Acolytes and Novices selling their services to smallfolk and highborns alike. They provided books, translated text in foreign languages, answered and read for the uneducated as well as many other services that could be of interest to fund the cost of their studies.

Being of high birth did not mean one was wealthy after all, and studying at the Citadel was expensive.

Roland and Jaremy parted from their group then, as taking four men inside for protection was both excessive and suspicious.

With Oswell and Arthur following, Aemon passed the next set of doors, arriving in a great hall, the shatter of the courtyard died down quickly against the utter silence reigning inside.

Behind a desk, a lone man was seated, his attention firmly fixed on the large grimoire in front of him.

Aemon and his guards approached, their steps resonating loudly in the otherwise empty hall. Still, the man, probably a maester considering his grey robes and the necklace of links around his neck, was not bothered to look up.

Aemon coughed to attract his attention.

"Letters," the man extended his hand without looking up and turned pages, as he continued to read.

Oswell handed him three scrolls enclosed by the seal of House Dayne.

A letter of recommendation from a lord or lady was the only requirement to study inside and his aunt by choice had been happy to oblige.

Pausing his reading, the maester broke the seals and began to read each of the letters with a sneer on his face.

"Which one are you?" he asked narrowing his eyes, the sneer still firmly etched on his traits.

"Aemon Sand," Aemon answered, not letting the rudeness of the character bother him.

"I'm Arthur Sand," though the same could not be said as his lord commander answered the same question through clenched teeth.

"And Oswell Rivers, I assume," the maester finished and said man nodded. "You lot are quite old to begin learning…"

"I wasn't aware there was an age you could stop learning," Aemon answered the rat-faced man with a raised eyebrow, obviously they were not going to get along.

"Indeed, there is not…" this time the narrowed eyes were directed at him but Aemon stared back, unwilling to submit to such men.

The contest lasted for another half a minute and from the corner of his eye, he could see Oswell reaching for a sword that was not there. Weapons were forbidden inside the Citadel, unconcealed ones obviously, it was not like maesters were going to search everyone entering their doors.

"Paying or working?" the maester lowered his eyes, seemingly returning to his grimoire.

The only answer he gave was a jiggling leather pouch containing enough to pay the fees for more than a year, though he doubted he would be there for long. He had no ambition whatsoever to earn any link or even become an Acolyte.

"The main library is behind those doors, they close at the hour of the eel and open at sunrise,"

Aemon nodded and without another look, walked past the annoying maester and he pushed the gigantic golden doors open. They revealed shelves filled with books and scrolls.

But the true sight was only a few feet away, and none of them could do anything but gasp at the hundred-foot-wide hole that revealed the true content of the building.

It was huge, larger than it had seemed from the outside and it contained many levels, more than Aemon could count, all filled with more knowledge than he could ever remember seeing.

'Definitely the right place' Aemon thought with a smile.

I hope you enjoyed it, don't hesitate to leave a review and follow, even if I rarely answer, I read them all, sadly answering every one of them would mean less writing time... See you next week for the tenth chapter,