Hello everyone, I'm back! Life has been really busy towards the end of last year but I'm happy to report I'm back to writing, I just finished chapter 19 and have begun chapter 20, which means its time for chapter 17! I hope you all enjoy and I wish you all a very happy new year!
295 A.C
Pentos
"We should get back to the ship," Arthur advised once they had packed up the eggs, sword, and a consequent amount of gold.
Aemon sighed, they had been there for hours already, looking for any other treasure that ought to come with them. To little success, not that three dragon eggs and the ancestral sword of their house were inconsequential, but he had figured that if the Magister had those things, maybe there was something else. He had been wrong, for besides the mounds of gemstones and piles of gold, it had been all they could find.
"I need to find out what he planned to do with them,"
"And do you remember what happened the last time we did something like that and then interrogated a man?" his kingsguard asked with a raised eyebrow.
The young Targaryen winced, last time they had done that had been in the Manticore's nest, and they had had to flee without doing everything they had meant to. "So what?" he still challenged his faithful knight, "I'm supposed to ignore what he planned to do with my aunt and uncle?"
"It is not what I said, your grace," Arthur raised his hands, placating the anger Aemon felt. Had the magister not interfered then maybe his uncle would still live. "Simply that a man like Illyrio Mopatis will not disappear,"
"So, we wait?"
"Indeed, do not think you hide your intent of visiting Old Valyria very well,"
Aemon spluttered, completely unaware that Arthur had figured out such a thing. There was no doubt in his mind that he had to visit, there was no other way, but he knew that everyone would object. "Fine," he admitted, "we will go to the Freehold after getting Daemon, and that's not up for discussion,"
"Then may I suggest we get on our way? Winterfell is still a few moons away, and both you and your brother will soon be men grown, I do not know how long he will stay there,"
The purple-eyed teen groaned; Arthur knew exactly what strings to pull to make him agree to his terms. He had been dreaming for years to be finally reunited with his twin, he had never been closer to it happening. And with every day that passed, he was growing more impatient. But never had he considered Daemon could leave Winterfell's safety. And should he leave, then finding him would suddenly get a whole lot harder. Especially since they had crossed the Narrow Sea, he was finding it more difficult to stay focused while using the glasscandle, as if the magic there was not as potent as in Westeros.
"Alright," he sighed, "we'll stop here on the way back south, take my arm,"
Arthur nodded before narrowing his eyes, though the kingsguard had grown used to the magic, and to apparition, it did not mean it was more comfortable. Still, he took his arm, and without further warning, Aemon turned on his heels, disapparating with a crack.
295 A.C
Narrow Sea
Aemon climbed down the ladder leading to the inside of his trunk, only for him to arrive at a sight that had him automatically smiling.
Daenerys had fallen asleep, with Rhaenyx's triangular head resting on her stomach and both were snoring, though one much louder than the other. The purple dragon cracked one of her golden eyes open, following him as he approached and sat next to them.
Over the past fortnight, Rhaenyx and his aunt had spent most of their time together.
However, what was even cuter were the three kitten-sized dragons, sleeping around their much larger purple sibling, or cousin really, given that Daenerys had been the one to hatch them. Finding three criminals vile enough to deserve being sacrificed had been much easier in Pentos and his aunt had stood stoically when the time had come for the men to die, though he was at least reassured by the fact that she took no pleasure in it.
The first was dark as night, with its underwings and eyes a deep scarlet, much deeper than Starfyre's blood-red eyes. She had named him Balerion and already the small dragon had shown he was worthy of the name, being the feistier of them all and always ready to mock fight his brothers.
The second, Viserion, named after her brother, had cream-colored scales and golden underwings, to the contrary of Balerion, he was the laziest of his siblings.
And finally, the third dragon, Rhaegal named after the brother she had never met, Aemon's father, had deeply green scales with a bronze coloring for eyes and underwings. Rhaegal was the clingiest of them and spent most of his time perched on his mother's shoulder, when he was not eating that is.
Suddenly, Starfyre screeched above them, having no doubt seen him arrive and it had the misfortune of waking up Daenerys and Rhaenyx, who threw a scathing look at her sister flying high in the sky.
"Aemon," she widened her eyes, seeing him sitting next to her, and blushed. "I'm sorry I didn't mean to fall asleep,"
He could not help but chuckle, "If you knew the number of times I've fallen asleep in the same position… But it's a good sign,"
"Why?" she frowned, gently running her fingers against the purple dragon's twenty inches long horns.
"She trusts you, it's important she does for you to bond," he answered, his purple eyes not leaving the white shape of Starfyre, currently casting a shadow over them.
Daenerys stopped petting Rhaenyx, eyes wide as she turned to look at him. It caused the purple dragon to show some of her fearsome teeth, and Aemon chuckled, "I wouldn't stop if I were you,"
"But I don't want to steal your dragon…" she answered, tears forming in her eyes.
"Hey," Aemon gave her a comforting smile, "you're doing no such thing, Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor,"
"A dragon is not a slave," Daenerys translated, whipping her eyes clean.
"They are not," Aemon confirmed, "Only a dragon may choose its rider, not the opposite, and that's why you must build trust with her, she must trust you to make the best decisions for the both of you if she is going to let you ride her,"
"How do I do it?"
"You care for her, like you do now," he smiled, "you bring her the food she needs, I'll help you," he added with a wink. "And you are patient, she is big enough to be ridden it's only a matter of her choosing to let you,"
"Thank you," she smiled shily.
"Always,"
"But won't that mean I won't be able to ride my children," she asked, biting her lower lip. Much like it had been the case for him, she had immediately taken to care for the kitten-sized dragons, as well as calling them her children. It never failed to make him smile.
"It will," he nodded, "a bond between a rider and his dragon is for life,"
"Who will ride them, then?"
Aemon could only shrug in answer, "I hope Lyarax chooses Daemon, and maybe one day, there'll be other Targaryens able to ride…"
"When will we join him?" Daenerys asked and resumed stroking Rhaenyx's chin, making the purple dragon purr in happiness.
Ever since he had told her of Daemon, she had asked many questions about his twin, and to his dismay, Aemon had had few answers to give. The only things he knew was that they looked a lot alike, but for their eyes, that Daemon had grown up in Winterfell with the Starks, and that he was good with a sword.
"Soon," Aemon promised, "We just need to stop in Braavos to visit someone and then we'll make our way to White Harbor to head to Winterfell," he could not help but smile as he spoke.
Soon he and Daemon would finally be reunited.
295 A.C
Braavos
Steel sang as Aemon parried Brienne's sword with his dagger while jabbing his sword at Oswell, forcing him back.
He had to quickly duck, avoiding Oswell's axe by a narrow margin, and Aemon spun around, his sword raised in time to block Brienne's.
Suddenly, the two knights were upon him, teaming up to try and take him down.
Aemon could not help but smile as he avoided one strike, then another, and another after that one, to onlookers, he would have looked like a dancer, his mother had often made the observation. Not that it offended him in any way, but despite being taller than he had been as Harry Potter, his main advantage still relied on his speed and reflexes, not his strength.
As such, he felt little difficulty in evading the blows that would undoubtedly hurt if they were to make contact.
Aemon bided his time, watching intently how Oswell and Brienne worked together.
Having a lot of practice fending off his kingsguard helped him see coming blows before they could even come close to him, but Brienne was a fairly new addition.
Aemon winced as, to avoid a blow to his knee, he had to step into a strike coming for his left arm. Oswell's blunted axe struck his padded leather and Aemon was sure he could already feel a fierce bruise forming under.
With a snarl, Aemon kicked his kinsguard's chest, sending him tumbling down the deck of the ship. With only Brienne facing him, he went on the offensive, his dagger catching her multiple times as she parried his sword and Aemon began to lead her towards the guardrail.
In only seconds, he had her backed against it, his dagger beneath her jaw.
"I yield," she said and Aemon rolled as he heard the telltale sound of a steel slicing through the air, not a second too late, and he quickly righted himself.
"It seems it's only you and I, Oswell," Aemon smirked, and his kingsguard's blue eyes narrowed. "You think you're up to the challenge, old man?"
Aemon could not help but smile as it was enough to provoke the knight into attacking and they soon found themselves engaged in a fierce duel. Though not Oswell's preferred weapon, he wielded the axe fiercely, and with plenty of skill.
Enough to make Aemon's arm rattle each time he was forced to block a powerful blow. Clearly, Oswell was not concerned by his age at all. Still, Aemon waited, patiently warding off his kingsguard's attacks until the Black Bat overextended his axe and Aemon used one of Arthur's moves to disarm him, the move finishing with the tip of his blunted sword pointed against Oswell's chest and his axe clattering against the wooden boards.
"Perfect, as always," Oswell complimented, "I yield,"
Aemon chuckled as he lowered his sword, "If it was, I wouldn't feel my shoulder so much,"
"You were fighting multiple opponents, not unskilled ones at that," Arthur arrived at their sides, several jugs of water ready for them, "and you chose to take that blow to avoid another one, a much more painful one,"
Aemon conceded his point with a nod, it did not mean his shoulder did not hurt though.
"You were amazing!" Daenerys exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement. Whenever she was not in the trunk with the dragons, she usually was either with a book in hand or watching them spare.
"How would you feel about learning?" he asked, having gulped down his water pouch.
"I could?" Daenerys asked, her purple eyes widened almost comically. "Viserys always said it wasn't ladylike, that it would diminish my worth…"
Aemon closed his eyes, exhaling a deep breath as he got his anger under control. Mayhap his uncle ought to feel lucky he had died before he got his hands on him.
"Well that's horseshit, isn't it?"
Daenerys giggled at his language and shily nodded.
"I'd feel better if you at least learned how to handle a dagger," he continued, happy that she was at least interested, "but if you'd rather read books and spend time with Rhaenyx, it's also fine with me, it's your choice,"
Daenerys surprised him with a hug and Aemon was only too happy to oblige, "I want to learn," she whispered against his shoulder.
"I didn't hear you," Aemon smirked as they broke the embrace, "what did you say?"
"I want to learn how to fight," she nodded, determination in her eyes, "not just with a dagger."
"Good," he smiled, while there would be many ready to fight and die for her, Aemon preferred it if she could at least handle herself, if push came to shove. "We'll find a sword suited to you in Braavos,"
"Aemon, if I could," Arthur began and Aemon nodded and the knight turned to his aunt, "you should learn to shoot with a bow, as well, it's better if you can kill your enemies before they are close to you,"
Daenerys nodded excitedly at this, it seemed she had only waited to be offered the opportunity.
"I'm afraid I'm not that much of an archer," Aemon said, "but Ser Roland is a fine one, I'm sure he can teach you the basics,"
"It would be my pleasure," the older knight smiled kindly.
"Thank you, Ser," Daenerys answered his smile with one of hers.
"And between the rest of us, I'm sure we can teach you to wield a blade," Aemon winked.
"You'll surpass even Vysenia, princess," Brienne promised to her charge, she could not have been any more serious and Daenerys blushed.
"I'm sure of it," Aemon could not help but chuckle at the enthusiasm shown by the knights. "I doubt anyone will have had better teachers than you, Aunt,"
"Except you," Daenerys commented with a raised eyebrow.
"I didn't have me," he chuckled, and his aunt swatted his shoulder playfully.
As she was about to answer, Daenerys gasped, her eyes widening, "I didn't remember it was so tall…"
Aemon turned around and could not help but gasp in turn, the fog that had been surrounding the ship had begun to dissipate, enough to reveal the Titan of Braavos.
It stood three hundred feet high, guarding the only entrance to the lagoon, a small gap between two islands, one leg from the Titan emerging from each island, each carved from stone, a black, harsh-looking granite, built by generations of stone masons. The torso, arms, and head were made of bronze, and it was wielding a sword at least forty feet long with a very large shield that rested on its side.
However, the sword was not the weapon used by Braavos to strike down any invading force. Such was made clear as they sailed closer, dozens, no, hundreds of murder holes had been built all over its legs and waist, ready to unleash arrows, boiling oil, or any other type of weapon the Braavosi could come up with.
As they passed under, a deep grinding, mechanical, groaning noise resonated all around and though they had been warned, all but the sailors were startled by it and everyone on board was forced to cover their ears.
"Impressive, don't you think my lord?" the captain, Garrick, asked. His wooden leg, as usual, alerted him of his presence before he arrived at Aemon's side who could only nod.
"A true wonder of mankind,"
What was more impressive was the fact that unlike the High Tower or the Wall, it had not been built thousands of years ago with the help of magic. The Titan of Braavos was entirely man-made, and relatively recent, given that Braavos was only a few centuries old.
"We'll need to dock in Ragman's Harbor," the third son of House Rambton indicated, "all non-Braavosi have too,"
Aemon nodded, he had sent a letter to Lorenzo before they left Pentos, informing him he would be coming to Braavos shortly, and though they had left too soon to receive an answer, he could only hope the shipyard master would send someone to guide them to him.
It was high time he met the man, and for Lorenzo to learn his identity, and why it had been a good idea not to try and steal from him.
"I'll need transport to White Harbor in a few days," Aemon informed the captain who only nodded, all pretenses had been dropped once they had rescued Daenerys, and Garrick Rambton had been happy to continue pretending Aemon was just some lord.
As Aemon had thought, the man had been clever enough to figure out it could not be any further from the truth.
Still, Daenerys had agreed to have her hair altered to his color for the rest of their travels, the typical sliver-white hair of his ancestors was simply too noticeable.
"If you'll excuse me, my lord," Garrick bowed as they approached the dock, "We'll need to hurry if you aim to leave this soon,"
"Of course," Aemon nodded; he could imagine that unloading a ship this large took some time.
Especially given how Ragman's harbor was saturated with ships and people coming from all corners of the known world, ready to sell their wares or seeking one of the many services offered in the famed slave-free city.
Their group disembarked as soon as possible, leaving behind Jaremy and Roland to keep watch over the room containing the most precious trunk there ever was. Not that any could enter said room without his authorization, but in that case, Aemon believed it was better to be safe than sorry.
"My lord," a young man about Aemon's age called to their group with a thick accent, he was accompanied by half a dozen men, "My name is Firenze Marino,"
Aemon smiled, "you must be Lorenzo's son,"
"I am," the dark-eyed braavosi nodded, "my father could not make it here, but he's asked you to join him at the Arsenal and to share supper with our family this night," he gestured to a gondola, docked on the canal.
"It would be our pleasure, Firenze," Aemon smiled, "after you,"
They were led to a small gondola, docked on the canal nearest, and their group quickly embarked once more.
"My father told me he still ignores your name…" Firenze observed once the boat had begun to move, and Aemon could not help but chuckle. "I was under the impression that family names are important in Westeros, are they not,"
"They are," he nodded, "But I don't think your father would appreciate you learning before he does,"
"True," the young man smiled, conceding his point.
"Braavos is… impressive," Aemon idly commented, "I find myself curious,"
"Ask any questions you have, my lord,"
"I hear that no trees grow here, is it true?" he asked, throwing a glance at Daenerys who could not help but look up.
"There are some trees," Firenze answered, "it is a crime punishable by death to cut those on the islands around as they protect us from the harsh winds but inside the city? They are extremely rare."
"May I ask why?" a brunette Daenerys questioned.
"Water is very rare in Braavos, my lady, clean water I mean," he explained patiently, "and a lot is needed to grow trees, even more so for fruit trees,"
"So only the wealthiest would have say… a lemon tree?" Aemon asked the question he knew Daenerys wanted the answer to.
Alton had been convinced his aunt and uncle had been protected by the Sealord of Braavos, while it was a position meant to be held for life, one's life could find itself shortened by the same people that had elected him. And a change in Sealord had likely been the reason for their expulsion.
"I have never seen a lemon tree," Firenze shrugged, "but the Sealord's palace is said to have all kinds of animals, trees and flowers,"
"I imagine the Sealord doesn't receive visitors,"
Firenze snorted at this, "Apologies, my lord, no he doesn't, though he might invite those few remarkable water dancers who practice their art in the moonpool."
"Water dancers?" Aemon asked with a raised eyebrow. He had never heard the term before.
"Swordsmen," Arthur answered his question, but Firenze shook his head.
"Yes and no," the young man began, "they do wield swords, but not in a way you're familiar with, it is more a dance than it is a fight, and the best of them can fight without leaving a ripple on the surface of the moonpool,"
"Impressive," Aemon whispered, "is it possible to see them dance?"
"Every night around the moonpool," Firenze nodded, "But it is unwise to openly carry a weapon unless you wish to be challenged,"
Aemon could not help but smirk at this, perhaps he would.
"The arsenal," Firenze pointed at an island, slowly escaping the clutches of the thick braavosi fog, "My father should be waiting for us."
The Arsenal of Braavos was legendary, single-handedly responsible for the might of the braavosi fleet. It was said it could build a warship a day, and he had to admit he was curious to see how much time it took to build one of his ships if they dedicated their entire efforts to the task.
Thousands of workers moved around, their shouting and the rhythmic clanging of hammers created a symphony of industry. The towering cranes and scaffoldings were a sight to behold as well.
Ships, in various stages of construction, lined the docks, their dark timbers gleaming wetly in the muted light.
If anyone managed to bypass the Titan and attack the countless islands that made up Braavos, they would have to compete with the largest fleet in the world.
"Ah, there he is," Firenze pointed at one of the many docks, where a richly dressed man waited, along with another half-a-dozen men escort of scribes.
Their gondola was quickly docked and secured before their party began to disembark and Aemon found himself in front of the man who had made his first plans come to life.
He was easily in his fifties but still looked fit, and while he was dressed in luxurious fabrics, it complimented his dark hair and green eyes without being garish as so many lords and wealthy people were wont to be.
"Finally, we meet Lorenzo," Aemon smiled and offered his hand to the shipyard master.
"Aemon!" the green-eyed man exclaimed with his thick braavosi accent, "finally, indeed!"
295 A.C
Braavos
The Braavosi playhouse buzzed with excitement. Aemon, guided by the soft hand of Daenerys, found a seat, the plush velvet a comfort beneath him. As the lanterns dimmed, the stage came alive.
A grand throne room was depicted, with King Barros, exaggeratedly pompous, holding court. Beside him, Queen Lysandra fluttered her eyelashes with comedic intensity.
"Lysandra, my dearest, why do you keep glancing at the knight? Is he more handsome than I?" King Barros asked.
"Oh, my dear Barros! Every man in the realm is more handsome than you. But fear not, you have... other qualities." Queen Lysandra answered, patting the pouch dangling at the fat king's side.
The audience erupted in laughter. Daenerys leaned into Aemon, whispering, "Do you think they speak of the Usurper"
Aemon smirked, "Half the highborns in the world are like that I'd wager, but I hope they are,"
The play continued with Queen Lysandra and her secret lover, Ser Varyo, plotting in hushed, yet intentionally loud whispers.
"We must overthrow the king. But how?" Ser Varyo said, leaning over the queen and peppering her neck with loud kisses.
"A sleeping potion? Though, given his snoring, how would we tell the difference?"
More laughter came from the audience and Aemon chuckled, "They certainly don't hold back."
A drunken Septon stumbled onto the stage, a bottle of wine in hand. "I've had a vision!" he declared, swaying. "A dragon! No, wait... just a very large chicken."
Daenerys laughed heartily; her joy infectious and Aemon could not help but share in it.
The climax was a scene of comedic betrayal. As Ser Varyo tried to proclaim his love for Lysandra and seize the throne, he was constantly interrupted. Whether by a sneezing guard, a cat chasing a mouse, or his own belt coming undone.
"Can a man not betray in peace?!" Ser Varyo exclaimed, exasperated by fate's attempt to stop him.
"Clearly, not in this court." The queen answered, rolling her eyes.
As the play concluded, the actors bowed, the audience's applause deafening. Daenerys turned to Aemon, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Can we see another before we leave? Please?"
Aemon nodded, smiling, it was their first night in the city and though they would not spend much time here, there was surely enough to make sure his aunt got what she wished for. According to Firenze, there were a thousand playhouses in Braavos and at least a dozen where his father rented out a balcony.
"This way, Aemon," Firenze directed their group to the exit. Aemon had told him to use his name, even now that his father and he both knew who he truly was.
To say they had been surprised would be an understatement. Though it had been easy to see they had been far more impressed by the presence of the legendary Sword of the Morning whose feats had seemingly found their way across the Narrow Sea, in a city where martial prowess was extremely valued.
"Firenze, do you think I'd be able to learn water dancing?" Daenerys asked as they embarked on the gondola Lorenzo had left for their use.
To his credit, the young man did not burst into laughter, as so many others would have been prone to do. "Anything is possible to one dedicated enough, my lady," he gave her what Aemon guessed was his most charming smile with the most diplomatic answer he could.
It was amusing to watch Firenze try and charm his completely oblivious aunt, he had been besotted with her the moment she had stepped off their ship and was very obvious, and most of all harmless. Aemon guessed he would find it less amusing if any were to be any bolder in their attempts.
While Aemon was ready to sacrifice himself and marry for political reasons above all, he was not so willing when it came to his family. Whether Daemon or Daenerys, they would get the freedom to choose, to wed or not, and to whom. He already knew many would be displeased by this choice, some would feel it was their right to be rewarded with the hand of either his brother or his aunt for some perceived loyalty. He would teach them differently.
"What is this?" Aemon pointed at the ensemble of isles, standing in what seemed to be a lagoon inside a lagoon.
"The Isle of Gods," Firenze answered, "in Braavos, all gods are equal, and each is free to worship the god of their choosing,"
Aemon raised his eyebrows, it was incredibly progressive of them. "If they're all equal, why are those bigger?" he pointed at two of the largest temples they could see from afar. One a mighty mass of pristine white marble, topped by a huge silvery dome. While the other stood atop a small rock formation, the temple was simple in its design, made of the same grey rock as the one that stood beneath and it would have been unremarkable but for its lack of windows and its imposing set of doors, one black, one white.
"The first is the Moonsinger Temple," the braavosi explained, "it was the Moonsingers that told the former slaves of Valyria where to find a safe land," Firenze winced as he realized who he was talking to, but Aemon waved him off.
"Trust me, I'm not fond of the ways my ancestors built their empire," he sighed, slavery was a vile thing, and perhaps the reason he found himself to like Braavos so much. Unlike in Pentos, there was not a single collar in sight. And Aemon could more than respect going to war for such ideals. Hell, he might do it himself if there wasn't the issue of uniting the Seven Kingdoms and defeating the dead.
"The second is the House of Black and White," Firenze visibly shivered, "It is the temple of the Many Faced-God, a place where many seek peace to end lives of torment and where one must go if they seek to employ the services of the faceless men,"
Aemon's eyes widened, he had more than once heard of the faceless assassins, but only in rumors. They were said to be able to kill anyone, for a price, one so high those who paid never spoke of it.
"The Many-Faced God?" Daenerys asked, frowning.
"The faceless men believe that The Many-Faced God is the singular deity of death, manifested in many forms, many faces," Firenze explained and this time, it was Aemon's turn to shiver.
Death.
It was perhaps the one religion he could personally attest to not being funded on the pride and greed of men, for he had met their god.
"They believe death is a merciful end to a life of suffering, that it is a gift to be bestowed on those willing as well as those unwilling…"
The only thing he was not sure he could get behind was the whole assassination thing. He was not sure where Death stood on the matter. But on the whole, they were right, death could be a gift for some, and others simply deserved it. Death was a part of life; it was simply inevitable.
He could not help but wonder what their reaction would be to the title afforded by uniting the Deathly Hallows. Master of Death. It was a ridiculous thing to think anyone would be able to master death. To his surprise, the relics had been made by Death, but they afforded no such power. As far as he was concerned, the only way to master death was to understand and accept its inevitability, it was not something most men could do. Though having died twice certainly changed one's perspective. Hopefully, the third time would indeed be the charm.
The Isle of Gods soon left their sights as the boat entered one of the narrower canals, making its way across the habitations of the wealthiest of the braavosi. Here the stonework was intricate and sturdy looking, there would be no sinking for the inhabitants of this part of the city, not like there had been for some of the poorest parts.
"We'll have to go on foot from here," Firenze had the gondola dock. "Remember, no weapons if you do not wish to be challenged, we should reach the Moon Pool shortly,"
Firenze led the way expertly as he guided them through the narrow streets, on the way, they met many a young man, all dressed in vibrant colors, seizing them up and down, looking for a challenge.
However, they had chosen to leave their swords behind, tonight they would observe.
But that did not mean they were not armed, that would have been foolish.
"It's beautiful…" Daenerys whispered as she lay her eyes on the vast expanse of water that was Moon Pool, its surface reflected the moonlight as dozens of challenges were taking place across it.
The fighters moved incredibly fast, their movements were complicated, yet all purposeful. Two attracted Aemon's gaze, they moved with a grace that seemed almost otherworldly. They were water dancers, their slender blades glinting in the moonlight. Each step, trust, and parry was fluid and precise as if they were part of a choreographed dance rather than an improvised challenge. Their movements were swift, their footfalls barely causing a ripple on the pool's surface. Aemon watched in awe, it was simply beautiful, and it seemed the gathered crowd agreed with him as slowly but surely, the two fighters took center stage of the night.
For how long it went on, Aemon had no idea, the sight of those water dancers practicing their art was simply mesmerizing. Finally, one of them drew first blood and the crowd erupted in cheers.
"Impressive," Arthur commented, an interesting gleam in his eyes, and they all echoed the same sentiment.
"You were lucky," Firenze said, "it is not all nights such dancers duel, shall we continue?"
Aemon nodded, he had asked for him to show them the sights after all. "I assume this is the Sealord's palace?"
"It is," Firenze nodded, "the largest in all of Braavos,"
The palace stood as a testament to Braavosi power and opulence. Its tall, slender towers reached skyward, crowned with purple and gold domes that gleamed in the moonlight. The carving on its walls depicting the rich history of the city as well as its many maritime triumphs. Beside the grand edifice, the famed menagerie gardens sprawled, where exotic creatures from distant lands roamed, their calls echoing faintly. Aemon could only imagine the wonders housed within the palace walls, the secrets it held.
"What about this one?" Daenerys asked, pointing at a building on the other side of the Moon Pool.
"The Iron Bank, my lady,"
The Iron Bank was without a doubt the second most impressive structure in the city, its austere, grey stone walls stood in stark contrast to the lively surroundings of Braavos. The bank's imposing façade, punctuated by narrow windows, hinted at the immense wealth and power contained within. Even amidst the city's wonders, the Iron Bank demanded respect, a silent sentinel guarding Braavos' vast riches.
They were one of the many reasons that made attacking Braavos extremely foolish, and they had been known to be able to shift the balance of power for Kings, princes, and lords both in Westeros and in Essos. It was not an abuse of language to say this was probably the most important building on the other side of the Narrow Sea. And Aemon knew that making them pick his side in the coming war was as essential to victory as his dragons or his magic were.
Though the moment had not come yet, he knew that it would, and either they would get in line or he would make them, that was how important it was.
295 A.C
Braavos
My sweet boy,
Even though we will have the occasion to write to each other during your travels, in no small part thanks to those inventive little books of yours. I still wanted to make sure your nameday this year would not seem any less important than the others, whether I am there or not.
I hope my gift pleases you and that you soon find a use for it.
With all my love,
Your loving mother
Aemon could not help the tear that escaped his eye as he ran his fingers across the soft fur of the black cloak his mother had sent with Arthur. The two sides had been decorated with different designs, one marking him as a son of House Dayne, the other as a Targaryen.
Ashara had been right, as always, her gift did please him and he would very soon find a use for it, given they would be departing for White Harbor in only a few hours.
"It's your nameday?" Daenerys broke him from his train of thought, and Aemon nodded with a small smile. "I didn't know…"
"It's alright," he shook his head, "having you here with me is more than enough gift,"
Daenerys beamed at his words, though her frown quickly came back, "I still want to get you something, you've given me everything in the past moon…"
"Then we shall try to find something," he smiled, if offering him a gift made his aunt happy, it was a very small price to see a smile on her face.
"I don't have any gold though…" She lowered her eyes and Aemon raised her chin, meeting her purple eyes with his.
"I told you Dany," he sighed, "what is mine is yours, that's how family works,"
"But I don't want to take your gold away…"
Aemon gave a dry laugh, "Perhaps I should show you how much we have, I doubt any gift you can find will make a dent in our fortune," he pulled out one of the many bottomless pouches he had created over the past year, and wand in hand, Aemon directed the gold contained within to start pouring out of it.
Daenerys could not help but gasp as it began to pile in front of them, there were tens of thousands of gold dragons, the entirety of the wealth stolen from their family by Amory Lorch, as well as thousands of dragons and gemstones coming from Illyrio's vault, nothing that the Pentoshi magister would miss.
"How much is there?" Daenerys asked, wide-eyed.
"Give or take fifty thousand dragons," Aemon shrugged and there was all the gems and precious stones, though he had no idea what they were worth. Then there was all the art he had reclaimed, though if asked a value for it, Aemon would give none, it was his family's legacy, or in other words, it was priceless. "So, you see, we won't miss a few dragons," he added with a chuckle and a wink before conjuring a small leather pouch and filling it with gold.
"I can't…" she began but Aemon waved her off.
"I told you, it is as much yours as it is mine," he handed her the pouch, "and do spend it, yes? I'm sure you'd enjoy having a few clothes that were not picked by your nephew,"
Daenerys shily nodded, a small blush playing on her cheeks, "thank you,"
Aemon winked, "Take Brienne and Oswell with you, Arthur and I still need to see the ships and we'll wait for you on ours, make sure to buy some furs for the North as well,"
"Impressive, no?" Lorenzo almost had to scream to cover the noise made by the construction of a dozen three decks, all in various stages of construction. "This one is destined for your fleet, my friend,"
He pointed at the third on the row, the most advanced, it already had a full hull and would soon have to be taken out to hoist the masts.
"Very impressive!" Aemon said loudly, "How many have you sold so far?"
Despite his rather extensive experience, it was the first time Aemon saw how ships were built and he could not help but feel grateful for the contact the healer, Alanis, had brought them all those years ago. He had no idea how he would have gone about it without the shipyard master, nor how he would have hidden his efforts from the Crown without Braavos' undirect aid.
"Other than those you have," Lorenzo scratched his chin, "Twenty have been delivered and I have orders for the next fifty,"
"Business is booming I take it," Aemon smiled, running the numbers in his head, that meant that Lorenzo would owe him over fifty thousand gold dragons once the price of his fleet and the training of the sailors were deducted.
"Very much so, my friend, very much so," Lorenzo's voice boomed with laughter, "your ideas will make me one of the wealthiest men in Braavos,"
"Would it be possible to build a dozen for Westerosi lords?"
"I take it you do not mean to wait long?" Lorenzo asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Wait?" Aemon frowned.
"To stake your claim,"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Aemon shrugged with a small smirk.
"As you say, my friend," Lorenzo winked as he led them out of the large warehouse.
"I intend to meet some lords soon." Once they were back from the North they would head south again, to the ruins of Old Valyria. On the way were the lords of the Narrow Sea, men he knew were still loyal, and a lord in particular that he intended to inform of his son's demise. "And those ships are a fine token of my esteem for them,"
"Will those lords pay for them?"
Aemon chuckled, trust a businessman to not forget about gold. "I shall take part of it, whatever you owe me, and they will pay what is left,"
"Then I shall have them built," Lorenzo offered his hand, and they sealed the agreement with a shake.
They soon arrived at the docks where the ship was waiting for them.
"Thank you again, Lorenzo," Aemon gave the braavosi a warm smile. "For your friendship and all you've done, but I'm afraid I must join my aunt on our ship and sail once more,"
"None of it would have been possible without your mind, my young friend," the shipyard master bowed, "Your ideas have changed my family and my name for centuries to come, though mayhap it is to be expected of those carrying the blood of the Dragon,"
"You give me too much credit," Aemon smiled, in just a few years, the man had bought up some of his competition, growing the capacities of his shipyard to unprecedented heights. "Until next time, Lorenzo,"
"Valar Morgulis, Aemon Targaryen," Lorenzo offered another bow.
"Valar Dohaeris," he answered, using the customary Braavosi salute, before joining the rest of his travel companions on the HMS Victory, and soon enough, they could watch Lorenzo's figure get smaller on the horizon.
295 A.C
Myr
The sun was a molten gold, casting long, stretching shadows across the entire camp of the Company of the Wolf. Ser Alliser Thorne, commander of the mysterious company stood outside of the wall's protection, with a hand resting on the pommel of his sword and a hundred men behind, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His archers, silent sentinels in the waning light, were positioned strategically on the wooden wall that encircled the camp, their presence a quiet promise of protection.
From the distance, a rhythmic cadence of footsteps grew steadily louder, announcing the approach of a significant force. They had been watching for over an hour, witnessing as the large group of men was led across the land, walking slowly but surely to their encampment.
At the forefront was a red priestess, resplendent in her flowing crimson robes, a pendant at her throat capturing the dying light and reflecting to the camp.
Alliser had been warned of her arrival, though he had not been given any timeline, nor had he been given a number for how many men the Lady Kinvara would bring with her.
A ragtag group of over a thousand men walked behind her in a loose column. Completely undisciplined, but numerous enough that the Myrish had sent word for them to protect the city if needed.
Alliser stepped forward, "Lady Kinvara," he offered a small bow of his head.
Having lived on Essos for over a decade, he knew the priests and priestesses of the Lord of Light were not to be underestimated, nor were they to be disrespected.
Kinvara's vibrant green eyes met his. "Commander," she offered a nod. "Our king sends his greetings,"
"I was not expecting so many," he signaled for his men to open the gates.
"R'hllor will provide his chosen, the prince that was promised with all that is needed to ensure victory in the coming war,"
Alliser could not help but narrow his eyes as she spoke, he would never trust this so-called Lord of Light, but he was not one to say no to a thousand more men.
As they spoke, the vast retinue began to file into the designated areas, his men helping to efficiently set up additional tents. Among the throng, a particularly imposing figure caught Alliser's attention. A large, bald man with a pronounced belly, carrying a curved arakh, was conversing animatedly with a few of his smaller companions.
Noticing Alliser's gaze, Kinvara gestured towards the man. "Ah, that is Strong Belwas. A formidable fighter and loyal to our cause."
Alliser raised an eyebrow, "I can't say I've heard of him before,"
Kinvara smiled enigmatically, "He has a certain reputation in some circles. He has a... unique way of making his presence felt."
As the last of Kinvara's men settled, another figure approached his bearing that of a seasoned warrior. The sigil of a bear was evident on his worn armor. "Ser Alliser," he began, extending a hand, "It seems our paths have been destined to cross again."
Alliser, taking in the man's grizzled appearance and the weight in his eyes, refused the offered hand. They might be far from Westeros, but he had heard of the disgraced Mormont Lord, hunted by one of the Usurper's dogs for the crime of slavery.
There were few things he despised more than slavers, having lived in Essos for over a decade, he had seen much of it first-hand. And who better than the thousand unsullied that had joined them to talk of the true horror of slavery.
They had been freed the instant that damned whip had touched his hand. Only a dozen or so had chosen to leave, the others were more than happy to continue doing what they had been raised to do and getting paid for it.
Still, he was not one to refuse the help of a talented knight, even if it meant keeping an eye on the man.
"So, it seems, Mormont. Let's hope it's for the betterment of the company,"
Kinvara, sensing the undercurrents of tension, interjected, "Sers, we have much to discuss and plan. Let's not delay."
There you go, I hope you enjoyed, don't hesitate to leave a review, I'll be back soon with chapter 18 and we're getting closer and closer to Winterfell, and just to be clear, Aemon's business in Pentos and with the Magister or anyone affiliated to him is far from over, see you soon ;)