Hi everyone, time for Chapter Eleven, I hope you enjoy ;)
As always, I own nothing
295 A.C
King's Landing
Blacksmiths and their apprentices hammered away and worked various metals, making armor, weapons, and other various steelworks as Alton waked the red streets of the capital, the clanking of the street of steel resonating in his ears.
Still, the noise was not as unbearable as the stench was.
He could only guess one got used to it when living in the capital, but he felt no urge to do so. As a child and a young man, Alton had only visited the capital once when the Dragons held it, to see a tourney in honor of Prince Viserys' birth with his father and his heir, and though it had been almost twenty years, he could have sworn it had not been so bad.
And it seemed that with every visit he paid to the city, it got worse.
"My lord," the blacksmith greeted him, raising his head from his current work, as he stepped inside the stifling heat of one of the many forges in the street. "I'll join you soon,"
"Jon," Alton greeted with a smile as he took a look around, "I've told you, I'm no lord,"
The blacksmith only grunted in answer as he continued working.
His tree-sized arms hammered what looked like a bastard sword as Alton waited for his contact to finish.
He had never imagined he would one day become the master of whisperers of a Targaryen King in hiding.
The Celtigars had always shared close relations with the last of the dragonlords, still being a bastard, he stood to inherit nothing, no name, no gold, no keep, and no lands. As such, as a child, he had often dreamed of entering the service of the Targaryens. His hopes had been dashed when he was three and ten, when Rhaegar Targaryen fell at the trident, along with his half-brother, his father's heir.
Only for Ser Alliser to show up on Claw Isle a year or so after, searching for the last of the loyalists to recruit for a company in Essos, in service of the hiding Targaryens.
Claw Isle had lost a lot during the war, with many brothers and sons perishing for the Targaryens, his father had had little to offer other than gold and his bastard son, having only one other legitimate son.
But Alton had not hesitated a single second, what did he have to lose?
It turned out he had a lot to gain, he had ascended higher than any bastard ought to, or at least he would once his king sat on the Iron throne.
From the moment Ser Oswell had recruited him from the company's ranks, he had been met with revelation after revelation.
Contrary to what most believed, they were not serving Viserys and Daenerys Targaryen, no, instead it was Aemon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar and Lyanna.
It was without a doubt the best-kept secret of Westeros.
Most believed Lyanna Stark had died of a fever, after having been abducted and possibly raped by Rhaegar Targaryen. Instead, she had died a Targaryen, after having given life to two sons, the rightful king and his heir.
There was no doubt in Alton's mind that one day soon, Aemon Targaryen, the first of his name would sit on the Iron Throne and rule the Seven Kingdoms. The child, no young man, he corrected himself, was unlike anyone he had ever met.
Focused, extremely intelligent, and equally skilled with a sword. But also, with an innate kindness and generosity, which was itself doubled with a ruthlessness that befitted the blood of the dragon.
It had only made him work harder in building a spy network worthy of a true Targaryen King, one that would learn everything there was to know. Needless to say, such was not built in one day or one year, but with each year that passed, it extended, and his information got better.
Only two moons ago he had almost caught up with the king's family, Viserys and Daenerys having only been a few hundred feet away on the docks of Volantis, so close, and yet far enough for them to evade him once more.
The time it took to find a ship sailing after theirs was enough to lose them.
Still, it was proof his network functioned, that the common folk, the wenches, the smiths, the artisans, and the merchants he paid were reliable.
Having been born a bastard, he knew firsthand how the highborns ignored those of lesser birth, ready to divulge important information only because it was beyond their imagination that the Smallfolk would find any way to use it against them.
"I'm good," Jon broke him from his thoughts as he plunged the sword into the water creating a large cloud of vapor.
"How are the wife and sons?" Alton asked as the blacksmith took off his protective leathers and began to wipe the sweat off of him.
"Good," he grunted, and Alton refrained from the urge to snort, Jon was a man of few words.
"Anything to report?"
"Aye," Jon threw the towel on one of his workshops, "the Fat cunt has been raising taxes again,"
"For the blacksmiths?" Alton raised an eyebrow.
"For everyone," he snorted, "us, the wine sellers, the inns, even the fucking spice merchants,"
Alton could not help but frown, "not the whores?"
"No, but that'd be raising the Crown's expenses, wouldn't it?" Jon snorted.
"It would," Alton chuckled, the Usurper's bedroom activities were well known.
Still, if they wanted to raise taxes, then all the better. The people would only be that much more willing to embrace a Targaryen rule once more.
"Has my friend arrived?"
"Aye," he answered, pointing to the door behind him, "two doors on the right,"
"Thank you," Alton smiled and flicked a dragon to the now grinning blacksmith.
"Pleasure doing business with you, my lord, as always,"
The spymaster only nodded as the blacksmith went to get back to work and he moved toward the true reason of his visit.
"Must you change places every time?" was the greeting he received from Barristan the Bold.
It was another advantage of his position, he had met true legends, men like the Black Bat and the Sword of the Morning,
"I must," Alton answered as he closed the door behind him.
Though at times he was thankful the older man did not do anything beyond listening and reporting interesting conversations, he would otherwise be a very poor spy.
"You asked for me, Ser?"
For the first time, he noticed the knight was nervous, or as much as he would show. But bereft of his armor and white cloak, there was little to hide his crisped hands and stiff shoulders.
"I have no proof," he began, "only guesses, but, well I spend a lot of time waiting, there is little to do but think,"
Alton nodded, he could only guess a kingsguard did a lot of waiting. It was far from what young boys across the realm imagined, the only times it was exciting was when the royal family was in danger, not something a kingsguard of sound mind would wish.
"And I have recently been given a seat on the small council,"
Alton nodded, it was to be expected with Jaime Lannister still missing.
The crown is five million in debt, three to the Lannisters, one and a half to the Iron Bank, and five hundred thousand dragons with the Tyrells,"
Alton clenched his jaw, the debt kept growing. While the debts owed the Tyrells and the Lannisters could be set aside, the Iron Bank would always have its due.
"Though I cannot make sense of it, I admit I am not a man for sums and numbers, but there were millions in the treasury when they fell, and Aerys did not deprive himself of anything,"
"What is your point, Ser?" Alton interrupted the man's rambling and Barristan sighed.
"I believe someone is stealing from the Crown, the King and Queen spend more than Aerys or Jaehaerys did, sure, but not enough to explain so much gold disappearing,"
"Are you sure, Ser?" he asked, though he found little issue with people stealing from the Baratheons, he would still need to find the missing gold if it was true.
"I cannot be certain, but…"
Alton nodded, even if it was only a hunch, it was worth investigating.
295 A.C
Inside the trunk
Aemon snapped his book shut with a chuckle as Starfyre interrupted his reading, bumping her large head against his back.
He rose from his seat on the ground, groaning as he had just spent hours reading and enjoying the presence of his children as they rested after the meal they had just consumed.
Thrice a day he brought a new shipment of goats, cows, and sheep, as usual, Lyarax preferred the roasted sheep contrary to her siblings who stuck with cows and sometimes goats.
It had also been the occasion the make a stock of bezoars, in case that first attempt at poisoning was not the last, which he doubted it would.
Though his children weren't going to refuse eating if he could only bring them those, so far Oldtown's market had proven more than enough to keep up.
Still, that was not why Starfyre had disturbed him from his reading, he shrunk the old grimoire and pocketed it.
He had yet to read most of it, but he had been wanting for over a moon to look if it contained growth charts from previous dragons, finding no time to do so as busy as he was cataloging the books he had liberated from the Citadel's vault.
To his relief, there had been. And to his amazement, Aemon had found that his children were growing faster than even Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, one of the first hatchlings that came after Aegon's conquest.
Starfyre was growing close to twice as fast, Lyarax and Rhaenyx followed a more sedate pace but still faster than what had been recorded.
Though he would have liked to have been able to compare her to Vhagar or Balerion, it seemed that the grimoire had only been edited with a few dragons, all hatched past conquest.
It posed the question of who exactly had written these pages to have such intimate knowledge but that was not something he would ever find out, the author having probably died hundreds of years ago.
It also made him wonder what was responsible for this accelerated growth, was it something he had done? Or was it something outside of his control?
He did not doubt that keeping the dragons locked up didn't help, as the maesters advanced. After all, they weren't meant to be caged creatures. Though he could not help but think that surely there was more to it, after all, everything he was reading had been written by maesters. How hard could it have been for them to lie and write what was convenient?
In only a few decades, what had been written would be accepted as common truth, especially when humans lived very short lives and so many were illiterate.
Writing History was certainly a lot of power to have for a single order.
Again, that was not something he would figure out any time soon. Maybe his great uncle at the Wall would know? But it would be quite some time before he could make his way there anyway.
Starfyre bumped him again and this time sent him tumbling forward. Aemon did his best to stay upright but, in the end, finished on his hands and knees, laughing at her lack of patience.
"All right, all right," he chuckled getting up, "you're really impatient, you know that right?"
She stared at him with her blood-red eyes, her entire attitude screaming 'And?'
Still, she lowered her neck, offering him a place above her wings, Aemon barely had the time to send a sticking charm to his legs before she had taken flight. Her powerful wings had them ascend quickly and they were soon flying high above the grass and trees contained in the trunk.
It was far from his first time mounting Starfyre's back since she had first thought herself ready, but he had yet to try the saddle that his mother had gifted him, the more she grew the more he understood its necessity, in a couple of years, he would have no choice but to use it.
That was why he enjoyed it as much as he could for now, and knowing he was secure, let go of his grip on the pikes before letting out a whoop of pure joy, and Starfyre roared in agreement.
Feeling the wind on his face, and the powerful wings beneath him, were amongst the best feelings in the world.
In truth, Aemon had missed flying.
He heard another roar and chuckled as both Lyarax and Rhaenyx flew over and under them, and Starfyre followed. One after the other they engaged in complicated figures and Aemon had to trust in his sticking charm as he found himself upside down more than once.
He did not doubt that if anyone could see them, they would think his children were dancing.
295 A.C
Oldtown
Aemon stood completely still as he flipped through the pages of a small, black-leathered book.
He had found it stuck between two other larger books as if hidden, which it probably was.
It was old, the parchment had been torn in a few places and there were marks of rodents taking some pieces of it for themselves.
It had drawn his curiosity, and rightfully so.
The contents of the Vaults had revealed, as expected, a true well of information, on dragons, on the different magics that had been known to be practiced all over the known world, like the runes used by the First Men, the shadow magic of Asshai, or even passages about the blood magic of the Valyrians.
There was a lot of speculation, a lot of theories, from maesters and archmaesters long dead that had not felt the same towards magic as those of now. But it was still more than he had ever suspected, having read a few books in the past moon, he could not even imagine how the ancient order could consider magic a thing of the past.
It was supremely arrogant to think that because they lacked the ability, so did everyone else.
But one of the books he had happened upon while robbing the Citadel had taken another big part of his attention for the past moon.
'An Account of the tales and legends of the Long Night'
It was aptly named, considering it contained nothing but that, myths and legends, stories that had been passed down orally through the generations until one Septon decided to write a compendium of them.
According to the texts, thousands of years ago, during the Age of Heroes, a winter longer than any other came, a winter so terrible that it lasted for years, children were born, lived, and died without seeing a flower bloom or the sunshine, nobles froze inside the walls of their castles as did the smallfolk in their wooden houses, and old men went hunting only to never return to spare their families the need to feed another mouth.
Only then came the Long Night, brought down by the White Walkers and their wights, as they descended upon the land, laying waste to towns, villages, and keeps, riding ice mammoths and ice spiders, dead things.
While it painted a vision of horror, Aemon had no idea where the truth ended and where the myth began.
For a story to have survived so long left little doubt in his mind that it was true, in some capacity at least, but the fact that it had survived over thousands of years meant that this version was probably very different from what had truly happened.
One thing was sure however, the Wall was key in these legends, for it was rumored that after the Last Hero and his armies forced the Others back from whence they came, a wall was built, and an order was created.
The Night's Watch, sworn to protect the realms of men, to stand for this night and all nights to come.
Countless men had dedicated their lives to protecting, manning, and adding to the Wall over thousands of years. And while they now guarded against wildlings incursions, the savages and cannibals from the Far North who sought to raid and rape their way through the North, there was no doubt in Aemon's mind that the hundreds of feet high wall he had seen in his vision was not built to guard the Seven Kingdoms against mankind.
No, it was meant for something far scarier, far more dangerous than bone-wielding raiders.
Sadly, it also gave him little information as to what was supposed to come. What he could do to prepare.
The Wall was the obvious answer, he had already meant to visit, only to see his great uncle and feel the magic that was undoubtedly imbued in it.
Still, it was not the only revelation that Vault of the Citadel had provided him with. That little black book, quite innocent looking at first had been filled with revelation after revelation, starting with the ominous message written on its first page.
Fellow Archmaester,
You will find an account of every action our Order has ever taken against the filth that is magic and for the advancement of knowledge and science.
Since our foundation, we have been working towards the same goal.
The End of the Dragons.
While at first contained in the East, after the Doom, the incestuous Dragonlords of House Targaryen took the Seven Kingdoms for themselves.
It has been our duty to rid the world of them and build a world of science and logic. And this book along with Blood and Fire will help light your path.
What had followed had chilled him to the bone. It was a deeply detailed account of every action the Citadel had taken against Dragons.
It recounted how they had managed to infiltrate the royal herds to poison the animals the dragons ate, thus rendering their ploy unnoticed and resulting in dragons growing smaller and less ferocious as the years went past. But it was far from their only action, shortly after the Dance, Aegon the Third ascended the Throne when he was ten. Thus, the realm had been ruled by a council of regency, one that had seen many members pass through its ranks, all either resigning or dying as they served the Crown and their interests, all except Grand Maester Munkun. For five years, the man, and by proxy the Citadel, had essentially ruled the realm.
It had simply been the perfect opportunity to poison all the eggs they could find.
It certainly did not help that Aegon the Third had perhaps been the only Targaryen to despise dragons, though he could hardly be blamed for that, having seen his mother get eaten by one.
After the Dance, only one dragon had hatched, it had been so sickly that it had to be put down, like a rabid dog. All because of the maesters and the grimoire he had liberated.
The events recounted in the little black book ended a few years after the Dance, likely because most of the dragons had been dead by that point, and those that were not, had not been long for the grave.
But he could not help the feeling that this was not all, even if it was enough to make his blood boil and fill him with the urge to mount Starfyre and burn the Citadel to the ground.
Though doing that would throw the entire land into chaos, such was the power of the maesters. Plus, he would never be able to end the entire order, not when there was a maester in almost every keep. And given the influence they wielded, whispering into the ears of lords and ladies across the Seven Kingdoms, it would make him a realm worth of enemies.
Besides, he had no idea if the conspiracy against his family and the dragons ran to this day. They despised magic and were willing to murder to prevent people from learning of it, but did that mean they still plotted when the dragons had been dead for over a century? He had no idea.
Aemon could not shake the feeling he was missing something, after all this book only detailed the actions, they had taken against the dragons, the literal ones, not his family.
There was also the fact that the Dance of the Dragons, perhaps the most damaging event to happen to his family, had been provoked by House Hightower, the protectors of the Citadel.
It was not a big stretch to assume the maesters had the ears of the Hightowers, not a big stretch at all.
But was there a way to find out if it was true without tearing through the mind of every maester and archmaesters of the Citadel?
He had no idea and that was not something he was willing to entertain, especially considering every man or woman responsible had been dead for a very long time. No matter how much Aemon disliked their accumulation of power, the maesters were still needed, and while a couple of deaths could be passed off as natural and coincidences, he could not start killing every one of them, not if he wanted to keep his anonymity.
Besides, what guarantee did he have that it would be enough? That others would not pick up the task where it had been left and avenge their fallen brothers?
It would make him a lot of enemies at once, people who had no need to learn of his existence for now and that if they did, would undoubtedly report it to the Usurper.
And should someone ever discover what he had done, he would be labeled a monster, as Aerys or Maegor. No, he would need to do something to protect his children but for now, he had no proof, only theories.
He needed to figure out if they kept to their path of killing dragons, and if so, who exactly was involved, then and only then would he be ready to take action against the Citadel.
Aemon was pulled out his musings by his brown-leathered booklet that softly glowed, he quickly untied the strings that kept it closed and smiled as he read the message that had been left for him.
The Mastiff was seen in Planky Town,
A.W
He was perhaps the man who could help him understand what the Citadel was up to, provided he could be trusted of course.
295 A.C
The Citadel
A knock sounded from outside his most recent room, Arthur having insisted they switched every few days after discovering the extent to which the Citadel had gone to hurt the dragons.
"Yes," Aemon called out, rising from his seat as his very much awaited guest entered the room, the clang of his valyrian steel rod accompanying him, a light-haired Arthur following right behind, his hand firmly clutched upon his greatsword, Dawn remaining hidden inside his bottomless pouch.
Archmaester Marwyn, the Mastiff, or simply the Mage, the man had many names, but none that seemed to truly do him justice.
Aemon had met some weird-looking individuals, mostly in his previous life, but the Archmaester was definitely amongst the most singular, short and squat with a head so large that in no way should it have held on to his shoulders, and yet, his thick and muscular neck allowed it. He had enormous hands as well, tainted with some type of red ink.
Of course, Aemon had done his homework, trying to find out as much as he could about the man, both through Alton and some investigation work around the whorehouses and inns of Oldtown.
Unsurprisingly, or maybe surprisingly considering maesters took a vow of celibacy, the information gathered amongst whores had proven far more valuable than that provided by the innkeepers and wenches they had talked to.
The archmaester had been on a long series of travel across the Narrow Sea for the past decade, it was said he had visited the far East, going all the way to very distant cities like Qarth, Yin, and Asshai, as well as the Shadowlands lying beyond. Not that it was shocking for a man who was supposedly learned in magic.
The rumors of magic unlike anything he had ever seen that came from the far East were enough to have Aemon filled with the urge to mount Starfyre and fly there to learn the truth of it.
Still, the archmaester's colleagues had revealed plenty as well.
The Mage was despised by many of the grey-robed men, it barely took a drink to have one spill everything they knew about the conflictual relationship Marwyn had with the other archmaesters.
So much so that there was even a saying making the rounds between Novices and Acolytes alike, 'The sea is wet, the sun is warm, and the Menagerie hates the Mastiff', he had to admit, he had chuckled when first hearing it.
"Well," the burly man spat a red glob on the wooden floor of the room, "are you just going to stare boy?"
"Pay care to how you speak, archmaester, none of your links will protect you," Arthur warned but Aemon raised his hand with a smile. Marwyn's question was more than legitimate given he had been brought to him by Oswell and Jaremy the second he disembarked from his ship, without having much of a choice.
"Please, have a seat archmaester," Aemon offered, nodding toward the pitch of Arbor Gold, and was only answered with a raised eyebrow.
"If you think I'm gonna drink anything, you're a fool," Marwyn chuckled, "but you don't strike me as a fool,"
"Right," Aemon answered with a chuckle, and poured two cups, knowing Arthur would refuse, before emptying his own. It was not meant to be gulped, especially not given its price, but Arbor Gold was far too delicious for Aemon not to enjoy the opportunity anyway.
"You could have taken an antidote,"
"I'm afraid I am not knowledgeable enough to try something like that," Aemon snorted before growing more serious, "If I wanted you dead, I would only need to ask Arthur, and your head would come off,"
"True," Marwyn shrugged before downing his cup, "For next time I prefer my wine from the Free Cities, harsher and spicier, but I admit I'm curious as to why Aemon Targaryen and Arthur Dayne would want with a lowborn such as me,"
Aemon's eyes widened, wider than he felt they ever had, with a hard shake of his head, he denied Arthur who had begun to pull his sword out.
"How?" he asked, his jaw clenched.
"That's for me to know, lad, and you to…" The Archmaester stopped himself as Arthur's greatsword came to rest on his shoulder with naught but a nod of Aemon.
"Mayhap you ought to reconsider your words," Arthur warned the archmaester.
"Mayhap," Marwyn grinned, showing his red teeth. "Glasscandles is how,"
Aemon frowned but nodded for Arthur to lift his sword, though he did not sheathe it, were they not unable to light them? "I thought the test to gain the rank of maester is to light a glasscandle, and that none have ever succeeded,"
"You don't know…" the Mage whispered, his eyes wide open, "the night your dragon hatched the glasscandles burned, from the Citadel to the Shadow Lands,"
"And you used them?" Aemon asked, so it was true, magic had truly come back with the dragons.
"I did," he grinned, but his grin turned to a frown, "though not always successfully,"
"Would it explain your brothers trying to murder anyone trying to learn about magic?"
"Aye," he grunted, "it would, I assume you had a run-in with a fellow of mine,"
"I did," both he and Arthur smiled, "Archmaester Benedict revealed much, but not all before he passed,"
It was the limit of legilimency with non-magicals, their minds could only take so much of the strain.
"But I thought you watched," Aemon added, perplexed.
"Think I have the time to watch you all day and night?" Marwyn snorted, pouring himself another cup of Arbor gold, "I don't,"
Aemon nodded, feeling himself relax, hopefully, there were some things the man had been left unaware of. However, he would need to find a way to protect himself from further onlookers.
"Have they tried to kill you for your interest in magic?" Aemon bluntly asked, nodding towards the rippling steel links on the man's chain.
"Many times," Marwyn chuckled, "but they were never as clever as they believe themselves to be,"
"They aren't," Aemon conceded with a chuckle, "If they were I'd assume they wouldn't have left that behind," he reached for the little black book and handed it to the archmaester who immediately opened it and began to read.
Aemon carefully studied his reaction, watching as his eyes widened and his thick eyebrows rose to what must have been his hairline once.
It was a gambit, but one that was not so risky given his abilities. Memory charms would be of use more than once, there was no doubt about this, but anyone with a strong will could break the charm, whether they had magic or not.
Once he had read the first page, Marwyn began to flip, through the pages, reading some passages and ignoring others while Aemon waited patiently, still watching.
"The fools," Marwyn barked a laugh as he lay the little black book on the table. "They left proof, it's even better than I thought…"
"Excuse me," Aemon snapped.
"You misunderstand me," Marwyn raised both his burly hands, "I have been trying for decades to find out who was involved,"
"Archmaesters and maesters of the past," Aemon waved off.
"Not only," Marwyn shook his head and opened the book, "see, Archmaesters Desmond, Crey, Alfador, Tragor, Farot, Venan…"
"What about them?" Aemon interrupted his pointing and listing.
"All Archmaesters for Ravenry, History and Medicine, some Grand Maesters, a lot of maesters who served the great keeps," Marwyn's red smile got wider as he listed, and Aemon's eyes widened.
"Does the name Lady Serala mean anything to you?" he asked, it had been bothering him since he heard it in the Seneschal's memory, what had been worth learning of their work against the dragons?
"It does," Marwyn nodded and turned in his seat, "I'm surprised it doesn't to you, Ser, the defiance of Duskendale,"
Arthur widened his eyes, "I remember, but I was not of the Kingsguard then, Ser Oswell was,"
"Have him join us," Aemon asked, and seconds later, his other kingsguard entered the room, he too keeping his hand on the pommel of his sword.
"Lady Serala, Oswell, does it mean anything to you?" Aemon asked, he had been a fool not to ask him.
"It does, you- Aemon," he caught himself, "She was the lady wife of lord Darklyn,"
"And it seems my former brother had been sent to aid her," Marwyn smiled his toothy red grin.
"For what?" Aemon asked confused. What could a rebel lady have to do with a maester soon-to-be archmaester?
"Surely you mean not…" Oswell's eyes widened in realization, "Aemon, I have often told you your grandfather was not always mad. It is true, he was not a perfect man, none can claim so, but after Duskendale…" he sighed, "If only we'd realized they treachery, but none thought they would dare, after that, his paranoia and jealousy grew every day, none of our swords seemed to assuage the king's worries, and he became…"
"He became the mad king," Aemon finished for him. "So, they have not stopped,"
"Stopped?" Marwyn laughed, "You thought they stopped?"
"They stopped writing in the book…"
"Maybe," he shook his head, "but they didn't stop, who do you think caused the tragedy at Summerhall?"
"Aegon the Fifth…" Aemon began but the Mage shook his head.
"He gave the eggs fire and blood, along with magic," Marwyn denied, "Now tell me, is it very different from how you did it?"
"It's not," Aemon confirmed without expanding on the subject, "but I don't see how they could have done something, given their obvious lack of knowledge on all things magical,"
"You're right, they wouldn't have been able to interfere with the magic," Marwyn conceded with a smirk, "but wildfire leaves traces, and there are many in the ruins of Summerhall,"
Aemon's eyes widened as he realized the true depth of the citadel's involvement in the horrors that had befallen his ancestors.
Besides the Dance, Summerhall had been one of the most damaging events to happen to the Targaryens and had all but nullified their chances to revive dragons. Aemon had to clench and unclench his fists to control the anger he felt, one of the best kings in Targaryen history had died because of them. Aegon the Unlikely was perhaps the one ancestor Aemon aspired to imitate, besides the Conqueror. But Aegon the Fifth had reformed the way Westeros considered the Smallfolk, and it was the reason he had been beloved by them and hated by the highborns.
While Aemon too wanted to favor the smallfolk, he knew he could not afford the mistakes Aegon had made. The changes had to take time, or the nobles would rebel, or worse, one of his descendants would have an easy time undoing his reforms, as Aerys and Tywin Lannister did. Whether it happened a year or a hundred after the time of his death, it did not matter, Aemon was simply not one to work for nothing.
"Summerhall, Duskendale, the Dance, what else?" Aemon listed and asked.
"Everything is possible," Marwyn chuckled darkly, "who's to say if Targaryen women truly had issues birthing babes, or if the Grand Maester had something to do with it? Daeron the Second and his two sons, Valarr and Matarys died of a spring sickness, there is proof they were sick but did the Grand Maester truly try his best? And there is also the subject of the Usurper's war,"
Aemon raised an eyebrow; it was rare to hear people refer to it that way. Once more it proved the power the Citadel had in writing History, for instead of the usurper's war, most knew and referred to it as Robert's Rebellion.
"What of it?"
"Are you bastard?" Marwyn asked bluntly and it was enough to have both Arthur and Oswell raise their swords, waiting for his word to strike but once more Aemon shook his head.
"I am not, my parents wed at a Sept near Harrenhall in front of the New Gods and on the Isle of Faces before the Gods of my mother, or so it is said in letters,"
"It is true," Arthur confirmed, "I bore witness for the ceremony at the Sept but only Howland Reed accompanied them on the Isle of Faces,"
"My mother confirmed she sent ravens to her brothers, her father, and even to Robert Baratheon, informing them of her wishes,"
"And who tends to ravens?"
Aemon nodded, "Yes, it is awfully convenient, but it is all theories, with no actual proof," he felt the need to point out, despite the dread he felt. One time was a coincidence, two could be chance, but three or four events added to those the little black book testified to, it was a lot. Too much for it to be anything but the truth.
"True," Marwyn conceded, "but I wonder if another book like this exists,"
"If so, it was not in the vault," Aemon said, he had looked through every liberated scroll and book, but none matched the contents of this one. "But I'm sure we could find out,"
"We?" the archmaester raised one of his thick eyebrows and Aemon smirked.
"I'd assume you'd be willing to topple a few of your brothers from their self-casted thrones, wouldn't you?"
"I would," Marwyn gave him a toothy, red, grin, "I certainly would, young dragon,"
295 A.C
The Citadel
"Can you feel it?" Aemon asked as he conjured a flame on the tip of his fingers.
The burly man kept his eyes closed, breathing steadily but slowly shook his head, and Aemon frowned. With a snap of his fingers, the flame disappeared.
"What about now?" he asked and whispered, "Accio." A book came flying from a nearby shelf, slapping against his open hand with a thud and Aemon winced, he had not thought that through.
"Something, but too quick," Marwyn grunted.
They had come to an agreement of sorts, in exchange for Aemon teaching him some of his magic, Marwyn would teach him how to use a glasscandle. But that was only the first part of their deal, he and the Mage had allied.
"And now? Protego," Aemon grunted as he summoned a basic magical shield in front of him, it took a lot from him though, to do it wandlessly, and he had to stop after half a minute.
"I felt it," Marwyn opened his eyes, smiling, "it was there, strong, it felt…" he frowned, "protective, was it some type of protection?"
"It was," Aemon confirmed after having recuperated. "A shield charm, able to stop most attacks as long as you can keep it up,"
"And that language, I have never heard of it?"
"Its name was lost to the author of the scroll," Aemon lied easily, Starfall and House Dayne were the stuff of legends, it was easy to make something up, "but the words are not so important, they merely help to focus the mind on the task at hand,"
"You should try the levitating spell first," he continued, "the words are Wingardium Leviosa," he demonstrated by then having Marwyn's cup gently float to his opened hand.
"I could feel it as well," Marwyn gave a toothy red grin.
"Good, now close your eyes, empty your mind, and search for it, for your magic,"
To his surprise, Marwyn had magic, not enough to compare with him, but enough to learn. Why that was the case, Aemon had no idea, maybe it was simply all that the Mage had done in his life, or maybe he descended from a particular bloodline, one gifted with magic. Either way, he doubted Marwyn would disclose the information.
Without a wand, there was only so much one could do. And besides the idea of taking weirwood branches to make the wands, he had no idea what to do for cores.
The only one he had nearby was a dragon heartstring and that was not an option.
It was said that unicorns lived on Skagos, an island close to the Wall, probably a place he would visit as only some tail hairs were needed to make a wandcore. But until he got there, there was no way to say if those were truly unicorns like the ones he knew.
Wands were hypothetical anyway, he had yet to meet anyone gifted with magic whom he'd want to give the power. Marwyn could not be trusted, not yet, perhaps if his service was truly invaluable, he could consider it.
"I can feel it,"
"Now focus on the quill, see it, touch it, feel it," Aemon instructed, "You must know it instinctively, and then, move it,"
Aemon kept his eyes on the quill, searching for any movement as he stayed silent.
And suddenly, the quill wiggled and Marwyn gasped before opening his eyes and gave a disappointed look to it, seeing it had not moved.
"I thought…"
"It moved," Aemon smiled, "only a wiggle but it moved, it'll take time, practice every day, every time you can,"
"I will," Marwyn nodded, smirking with his blood-red teeth.
"Here," he handed the archmaester a roll of parchment, "these are the spells I found on the scroll,"
The mage grabbed the parchment without further prompting and began to hungrily read through it.
It was not much, barely more than what a first or second year would learn at Hogwarts, but it was also more than Marwyn had probably ever expected to learn. Besides, without a wand, there were many spells useless. Most of all was transfiguration, as it required a level of focus unachievable without a focus.
Still, it was unlikely Marwyn would master them any time soon. Whereas magic with a wand was instinctual, almost easy, wandless magic was very much not.
"What are those?" Marwyn pointed at the bottom of the scroll.
"Potions," he answered, "one to replenish blood, one to grow bones, and one to force the truth out of any,"
The Mage's eyes widened for the last one, and Marwyn hungrily snatched the parchment back and began to read aloud.
"A cup of honey water, two pulverized valerian roots, five crushed nettle leaves, a handful of rose petals, five leaves of dittany undamaged as well as two fairy wings, and a cup of silverweed extract, it doesn't…"
"It doesn't what?" Aemon frowned.
"Feels magical," Marwyn completed, "apart from the fairy wings, the ingredients are common,"
"They are, but the method isn't," the wizard answered. The magical part of potion-making was in the brewing, where one pushed their magic into the concoction. "But some of the ingredients are not available anymore,"
Marwyn hummed and with a quill, began to make corrections.
"Heartwood sap could work,"
"Oh?" Aemon questioned, surprised, he had been trying to find a substitute for the fairy wings for years as with the blood-replenishing potion and his wand, there were few injuries he could not heal.
"It is known to have healing properties, to stop the blood from leaving one's body, and the sap from a weirwood heart tree is magical, we'll need testing to find the proper dosage of course…" Marwyn continued, writing notes down on the parchment, and left Aemon impressed.
Aemon's knowledge of magic was second to none, but obviously, someone like Marwyn who had studied the higher mysteries for decades would have ideas he could simply not have.
"What about the others?" Aemon asked, if they were able to make skelegro, along with the blood-replenishing potion, then there would be almost nothing he could not heal. Aside from death-inflicting injuries and those caused by dark magic.
"There is a plant that grows uniquely on the great grass sea," Marwyn suggested, "Dragon leaf, is known to help bones heal faster and the Dothraki often chew it before and after battle,"
"Perfect," Aemon took his notes, he had not expected that the archmaester would be able to help but he was not one to spit in the horse's mouth. After all, he had never been the best at potions, he knew how to brew, especially the potions he had most often used as Harry Potter, but to modify and adapt a potion with different ingredients was far beyond his skill. It was the kind of thing that used to get wizards and witches masteries in potion-making. But to desperate times, desperate measures.
"Though for the fanged geranium…" Marwyn narrowed his eyes at him, "I've never heard of such a thing,"
"What about the unicorns? I read they were magical," Aemon asked, feigning ignorance.
"It is rumored," the Mage nodded, "but I've never been to Skagos, though I hear they gut men for approaching them," he explained with a chuckle. "As for the truth serum," Marwyn gave a toothy red grin, his excitement about the potion clear for all to see, "dragon blood I assume is evident,"
Aemon clenched his jaw but still nodded, he was reluctant to even ask Starfyre or any other of his children. Still, the advantage of veritaserum was too important to pass up, this way knowing the truth would not involve tearing through anyone's mind.
"But I do not see what a jobberknowl is,"
"Neither do I, though given it asks for wings, I imagine it is a bird or an insect," Aemon said, jobberknowls were little blue magical birds that never made a noise until they died, when it would recite every single sound they had ever heard. Maybe that was something he could find a replacement for in Old Valyria, who knew what kind of creatures lived there besides dragons before the Doom?
"Were there others? Potions and Spells?" Marwyn asked, no doubt already knowing the answer to his question and Aemon only smiled, there was a lot more, though whether the archmaester would gain access was still in question.
"I believe there was another side to our deal," he nodded towards the long object wrapped in a cloak.
Marwyn grunted but still nodded and went to unwrap a dark as night glass candle, as tall as the archmaester. "Come," he instructed.
And as Aemon approached it, it lit. And Marwyn widened his eyes in surprise before he began laughing. The purple-eyed wizard could only frown, wondering what was happening.
"The Seven fuck me," Marwyn swore, "I tried to light it for over forty years, until one day it just did, when you hatched that egg, it only lasted a minute, but believe me a lot of people noticed."
Aemon took a deep breath, he had not expected something like that to happen, where he had done his utmost to keep maximum secrecy around his children and himself. All those who knew of magic knew someone had hatched a dragon. And if there were others like Marwyn able to look in the glasscandles, then there was a high chance many already knew about him.
He could only take relief in the fact that the Citadel did not use magic, meaning the lords of Westeros were likely all in the dark. Not that it would last.
Aemon could only guess that the day he let them out of his trunk would be the day rumors began. Alton's network would have to work full time in dissipating them.
Still, it was a matter for another time.
"And here you are, just standing near one was enough to light it," Marwyn chuckled, though Aemon could hear the bitterness in his voice. "It must be the dragon blood, only that…"
"Does it have so much power?" Aemon asked, it might have been simply his magic, not that he would mention it.
"It does, King's blood is powerful, but dragon blood is something else entirely…" Marwyn explained, "but to use a glasscandle, one must master his mind, it is easy to get lost in the possibilities it offers,"
"How do I do it?" Aemon asked as he began to put his hands around only to get smacked on one and he yelped in surprise more than in pain.
"As with dragons, a glasscandle can only bear one seer at a time,"
"I'll need to find my own?" Aemon asked, disappointed.
Marwyn only grunted in answer.
"The Citadel has three of them, right?" Aemon smirked; he remembered seeing them in the Seneschal's memories.
"It is said there were four, but the green one disappeared many decades ago, and now they have two," Marwyn smirked while running his fingers against the sharp edges of his glasscandle.
"Well, it seems one more is about to disappear," Aemon chuckled and the Archmaester gave him his usual toothy red grin.
295 A.C
Somewhere on the Narrow Sea
She felt cold, colder than she had ever been. And alone, more so than she ever remembered feeling.
There was nothing but darkness surrounding her, darkness and silence.
Daenerys tried to rub her arms to try and warm herself, but nothing seemed to do the trick.
It was as if all warmth was absent in this place, and though she walked, nothing changed. Just darkness everywhere she could lay her purple eyes on.
For what seemed like hours she walked, but without the Sun or Moon, there was truly no way to tell how much time passed.
Suddenly, the silence was replaced by the pained cries of something, something she could not identify, but something that called to her. Daenerys quickened her pace, trying to close in on the heart-wrenching cries she was hearing, and finally, the darkness came to an end.
She was in the back alleys of a city, ones she did not recognize, and she had seen the back alleys of all of the Free Cities, and then some.
The pavement was red, part of it because of the red stone used, but mostly because of the blood that soaked the street she was in.
Still, the pained cries continued, seemingly around the corner and Daenerys gasped as she came upon the creature that had been crying for help.
A dragon, a kitten-sized, purple dragon. It was hurt, blood black as night running over its scales from several stab wounds.
Before she could reach the small dragon, a growl came, not from the dragon, but from behind her.
The silver-haired girl turned around slowly to discover several beasts, hissing and growling at her and the small dragon.
Daenerys took a step forward, feeling bravery beyond what she had ever felt, and a protectiveness only like what she guessed a mother felt for her child.
The most threatening was the strange creature that resembled a scorpion, but far larger and with a weird, distorted human-like face which hissed at her threateningly, poised to attack.
Three dogs stood growling, all snapping their jaws against the air and with eyes filled with rabidness. Behind them stood a lion, doing nothing but watching dispassionately at the scene before him.
The lion barely nodded, causing the creatures to attack at once, and Daenerys screamed. But before they could reach her and tear her apart, the scenery changed.
She found herself in a new set of streets, this time ones she recognized, Pentos.
The dragon was still there, still hurt, and crying for help. But it was not alone. Alongside it, stood a wingless dragon, it slithered against the dragon and snapped its jaws against thin air.
It too was injured, but not more than the small dragon, and she could not help but feel a wave of disgust wash over her at its sight.
Its eyes had that crazed look in them, telling her it was only a moment away from attacking her and the small dragon.
But before that could happen, they were surrounded, not by animals, but by men, faceless ones.
They talked and she could not understand a single word, though it seemed the creature could, and it answered with its hisses.
The men answered with taunting laughs, swords were drawn, and before she could react, the wingless dragon was run through by the gleaming swords.
Before they could attack her, however, all raised their heads towards the sky and where Daenerys expected to find nothing as she did too, she found a milky white star streaking through the darkness. And one by one, the men fell back into the shadows, and the scenery changed once more.
This time she was in a field, with green grass everywhere she could lay her eyes upon and rolling hills in the distance. The dragon was there too, but bigger, larger, though still gravely injured. It no longer cried, instead, it looked defiant and proud.
It was a Dragon, fire-made flesh.
And once more, before she could reach it, a cacophony of howls, growls, and hisses sounded.
She turned around and instead of a few animals, she found a literal army of them. Lions, hounds, falcons, stags, and many others stood there, seemingly waiting for a signal to attack and tear them apart.
Wolves howled in the distance and Daenerys turned around to face the direction it came from, only to find another army of animals, ravens, howls, boars, horses, and wolves made up the bulk of it.
She stood in the middle, this side too snarled, but instead of at her, it was directed at the other army.
And at once, they charged and Daenerys felt fear, unlike anything she had felt before, and could only stare at the golden eyes of the purple dragon, trying to find some comfort, some reassurance that it was not the end. The ground shook as the armies made of animals charged but before they could meet in the middle, a roar tore through the air, and a white dragon, far larger than the purple one swooped from the sky, unleashing a stream of powerful white flames on the enemy, burning to ashes the stags, lions, and hounds facing them.
Daenerys woke up with a gasp. What had just happened to her?
I hope you all enjoyed, to keep you all updated, I'm currently writing chapter Seventeen, which means that for the moment I plan to post weekly until Saturday 23rd, though I hope that in the mean time I'll be able to write another chapter or more to continue posting weekly until the end of September, we'll see. Otherwise see you next week for chapter twelve