Hi everyone, time for chapter 19, I hope you enjoy ;)
295 A.C
White Harbor
Wyman watched as the mysterious party left White Harbor, easily following their movements from the top of the New Castle with the help of a Myrish eye he had won from a braavosi captain a few years ago.
Six men, accompanied by two women, though he had first mistaken one for a man, given her stature and equipment.
Brienne of Tarth, he had learned. The lone child of the Selwyn Tarth had been slowly but surely building a reputation in tournaments across the South. Up until a moon or two ago, when the King and his entourage had publicly shamed her.
Unlike most northern lords, Wyman Manderly kept up with happenings south of the Neck, where his line hailed from. While his ancestry played a part in his interest in Southron politics and otherwise general happenstance, he would not deny it was mostly done to protect his interests. As the main hub for trade in the North, it was essential. And if he came across a piece of information he thought beneficial to the family that had given so much to his, then Wyman Manderly was all too happy to be leal and inform his liege lord.
But while he found the subject of a potentially very competent warrior being shamed by the crown disgruntling, Wyman was not ashamed to admit he had paid little care to something that was on par with the shameful ways of the man that sat the Iron Throne. If anything, it was rather mild compared to other events that he had been made aware of.
He had even forgotten about it if Wyman was honest with himself up until the moment that said warrior had arrived on the docks of his town. To be met by someone Wyman was far more familiar with. Lord Howland Reed.
Wyman had met the Lord of Greywater Watch only twice, in Harrenhal, all those years ago when the very fabric of the Seven Kingdoms had been altered. And a second time, when he and Ned Stark had stopped on their way back North, accompanied by bones, a wetnurse, and a babe.
As such, he had been ready to invite the crannogman and his guest to at least dine with his family. Only to be alerted of the presence of Brienne of Tarth's companions.
Ones she seemed to have picked up on the way.
The first alert had been the appearance of the young man. A close double to Jon Snow, Eddard Stark's sole taint on his honor. Or so his liege lord had claimed. But the differences had been evident as well, especially to Wendel, his son, who had been far more than he to Winterfell in recent years.
"Purple eyes, you said?" he asked, letting go of the myrish eye.
"Aye, father," Wendel confirmed, "but it's not only that, I mean, it could have been a trick of the light,"
Wyman nodded, the thought had crossed his mind.
"He carried himself differently, Jon's a good kid, you can tell, but whenever he's in a room with his family, especially when Lady Stark is there…" Wendel sighed and his father hummed, he had heard all about the lady wife of his liege lord. "It's like he's trying to hide, to disappear."
"He behaves as many bastards are wont to do," Wyman offered, he could not imagine it was easy to grow up knowing you were lesser than your siblings for circumstances not of your making.
"Aye," his son acquiesced, "but that one, it was the opposite father, head high, shoulders broad, they might be around the same age but he looked much older. His guards needn't even have to open the way, the smallfolk parted for him."
Wyman fidgeted with the ring that hung on a loose chain around his neck, the first one he had gifted his dear wife.
The guards were a subject onto themselves, for a moment, he could have sworn… No, it was foolish to entertain the idea. He had only met the man once and over a decade had passed. Wyman had changed much over that period, especially since his wife's passing. Besides, it was impossible.
Or was it? After all, Eddard Stark had not told the entire truth. Mayhap an arrangement of it, or as it more likely became the more he thought about it, a complete fabrication.
The rational part of him insisted his liege lord had a right to his secrets. And while it was true, as the party disappeared into the horizon, Wyman could not help but feel a sense of unease course through him.
295 A.C
Along the White Knife River
Aemon stood silently, smiling as he observed Daenerys' efforts in magic, unwilling to disturb her focus.
"Does it not burn?" Howland questioned, taking place by his side.
While the North was vast and barely inhabited, magical training was kept inside the chest, where he knew only those he allowed could see.
In the past sennight, since they had left White Harbor, he had gotten a measure of what kind of man Howland Reed was.
Aemon had known of the circumstances of his and his mother's meeting, how she had defended him and then laid waste to her opponents with a but a tourney sword. The tale alone brought a smile to his lips every time he thought of it. But hearing it from one who had lived through it had been priceless. He could understand why it would spurn such loyalty in a man so few considered.
Crannogmen were usually mocked for their sizes and perceived backwardness, but Aemon knew better. They had adapted to their environment, grown to suit it, some legends even said they were the progeny of the First Men and the children of the forest. Whatever it was, evolution or magic, it had worked, and they survived in an environment hostile to all but them.
After all, since the children had tried to break the continent in half a second time, the Neck had only bent the knee once, to the Starks, as the rest of the North had. The swamps had served as a barrier against any would-be southern intruder and Moat Cailin was there to ensure no large host could simply pass through the swamps.
"It wouldn't be much use if it did, would it?" Aemon chuckled. It was the kind of thing you tended to forget when doing magic every day. "But it is not why I brought you here,"
The smaller man looked at him quizzically, until a screech rang in their ears, marking Starfyre's descent from the skies and making Howland jump, his face flush with fear.
Aemon basked in the sound, knowing it meant his children were close, "they will not hurt you," he said as one by one the dragons landed. The eldest ones made the ground tremble under their combined weights while the youngest kept into the air, happily chirping as they had come to learn what his arrival often meant. Immediately, Starfyre joined his side, seeking his touch and Aemon happily complied, smiling as her ribcage rumbled with a powerful purr.
"I'm happy to see you too, girl," he laughed, caressing her increasingly larger snout. Her jaw was now large enough to swallow a sheep whole.
"They are…" Howland had his mouth wide open, his eyes unblinking as fear was replaced by astonishment and soon, wonder. "Magnificent,"
"Let me introduce you to Starfyre," her red eyes came to rest on the Lord of Graywater Watch who instinctively froze. Seemingly content with what she found, the white dragon puffed smoke through her nostrils and turned away.
"Then you have Lyarax," he gestured to the blue dragon, unsurprisingly, she did not approach, remaining her usual aloof self and she refused to even bat an eye at the unusual presence. "And the one that's going to break Daenerys' focus is Rhaenyx, I suspect they are bonding," he pointed to the purple dragon sneaking up, as much as her enormous size allowed her, on his aunt.
"The Old Gods have truly chosen you then…" Howland whispered, and as he had predicted, Rhaenyx bumped Dany with her triangular head, making the ball of flame she had been manipulating vanish, though she could not help but laugh and give the attention Rhaenyx requested.
"Because of the color?" Aemon questioned, he had wondered if it meant anything, that Starfyre shared the coloring of a weirwood. His mother had been convinced it meant something, but it was also possible her perspective was skewed by her beliefs.
"Indeed, Your Grace, I believe it will help with the Northern Lords, possibly more than your First Men ancestry,"
"Truly?"
"Belief in the Old Gods is strong north of the Neck," Howland nodded. "It is clear they favor you, and such signs are not easily dismissed, nor should they be,"
Aemon let a small smile tug at his lips. If the Northmen needed that to feel better about supporting his claim, then so be it.
"And then the three Dany just hatched, Balerion, Rhaegal, and Viserion," he successively named the black-, green- and gold-colored dragons.
They were barely a moon old, growing fast as they were now as large as a small dog, but not as fast as Starfyre had. Adding Rhaenyx's recent growth landed credence to his theory that it was the bond between a rider and a dragon that made them grow faster. Starfyre would always be bigger, by virtue of being the first hatched and the first to bond. And Rhaenyx was now slightly bigger than Lyarax, though it was possible it would change upon meeting Daemon if Aemon's hopes about his brother bonding with his third child came true. But the younger dragons would have to follow a normal growth rate, at least until they could find their riders.
"I felt it," Howland said, "when you hatched her,"
"Yes," he sighed, "I've been informed those sensible to magic would have felt it, and I'm told the glasscandles lit when Starfyre broke through her eggshell."
The smaller man nodded beside him, his eyes not leaving the dragons who were getting impatient.
"Alright, Alright," Aemon chuckled, pulling out the shrunk animals. Seconds later, normal-sized sheep, cows, and a few goats began to run, doing their best to escape the six apex predators they were meant to feed.
The eldest three immediately pounced on said prey, leaving no chance to the cows and sheep but the goats, being faster, managed to escape only to find themselves chased by the smaller dragons.
Their attempted escape was short-lived, and soon enough Balerion and his brothers teamed up to take down their prey, and one by one, the goats were felled.
Knowing their flames were not yet strong enough to fully cook the animals, Aemon began to approach only to be surprised by a jet of flames, coming from Starfyre who had bothered to take her head off the cow she was currently devouring to offer some help to the younger dragons.
Aemon could not help but raise his eyebrows, while they knew how to work in teams to take down their prey the larger dragons tended to stay far from the excitable young ones who kept bothering them.
"I understand now why you are so confident war is not an issue…"
"And yet, dragons can only do so much," he turned to the small lord, "It is not my intent to see the realm burn, after all, nor its people,"
"I never doubted, your grace," Howland still smiled.
It was not something he could blame the smaller man for, while Aegon had brought peace along with fire and blood, his descendants had not been all inclined that way. And the power afforded by the dragons had been terrible in some hands. It was likely many more lords would share the same reaction.
"In White Harbor," Aemon changed the subject, "you mentioned how you believed I could be a warg,"
"I did,"
"Would you be willing to teach me?" he asked curiously, since their first conversation, he had thought much about the weird visions and feelings he sometimes had. Considering what the lord of the Neck had said, he had no doubt he was a warg. Even if according to the crannogman, his powers were limited.
That much made sense, it was true nature needed balance, and it was a different kind of magic to his own. Despite his considerable experience in magic, despite all he had learned, he had never heard about any wizard or witch being able to enter the mind of an animal and control it. Well, there was one but a horcrux was in no way similar to this.
"I would," Howland nodded, "though as I said, you will not be a powerful warg, your grace, your natural magic, and your dragon blood are too strong for it and nature must have balance, but such is not the case with your brother,"
"How so?"
"Even as a babe his potential as a warg could be felt,"
Aemon hummed, did that mean Daemon's magic, or natural magic as the crannogman called it, would be lesser than his? Mayhap it was for the best if his brother was blessed with other, not less useful, talents. "They said Brynden Rivers could bend a thousand animals to his will…"
"Exaggeration, I assume," Howland answered, "but the greatest of skinchangers have been able to command dozens of animals at a time,"
Aemon whistled, "And Daemon could do that?"
"If he's properly trained and dedicated to the art, he will, as will some of your cousins I assume,"
And the Maesters said magic was dead, Aemon thought with a smile. You could not get any more magical than skinchanging, well that and dragons.
"But I'm afraid we will have to go back outside to train, your grace," Howland gestured to the ladder, "we will need animals, and I do not believe dragons should be attempted to be warged in, even for a dragonlord, and especially not for his first time,"
"How so?" Aemon frowned, he could not help but have hope to commune with Starfyre in such a way, and he remembered sharing her mind before, though never intentionally.
"Dragons are magic, your grace, they are fire-made flesh, and I can feel their power, I would not hope to take over their mind, and I assume they must give their permission for one to enter, much less gain control."
"Right," he agreed, all of that was true. And he followed the smaller man up the ladder, knowing Daenerys was in good hands or claws.
"Come," Howland urged as they reached the surface, gesturing to the half-dozen horses they had purchased in White Harbord.
"There are two ways to warg," Howland began, keeping to his side, "one is to force one's way onto an animal's mind, you must impose your will and keep an iron grip on it, less your control slip,"
Aemon could not help but feel disgusted at the method described. It sounded a lot like rape.
"The Gods frown upon those who use their gifts in such a way," the Lord of Greywater Watch continued. "The other is to form a bond with the animal, either a temporary one or a permanent one,"
"A temporary bond?"
"Indeed, though once you have been inside their mind, you will find it easier to come back."
"And how do I build a permanent bond?" Aemon questioned.
"As I believe you did with your dragon," Howland smiled softly, "by gaining trust, by caring for them, you will find them willing to let you share their mind, though once again I would caution you."
"How so?"
"Warging is not without risk, your grace," the crannogman answered, "to share a mind at the moment of the animal's death can be fatal to a warg, that is why you must always remain in control, to warg with a creature as powerful as a dragon, as willful would undoubtedly see you lost in its bloodlust, in its power."
"What else must I be wary of?" Aemon asked, he had an inkling that his practice of Occlumency could protect him somewhat, but he would heed the more experienced warg's warning, for now at least.
"Warging as all practices, even though it is one long forgotten by the people of the Seven Kingdoms, comes with its taboos, a warg should never mate while skinchanging, nor should he eat human flesh or warg into another human being,"
Aemon felt sickened by the mere thought of someone doing such. "It's possible?" he asked, horror plain to see his widened eyes, "to take control of someone like that?"
If he was honest with himself, the imperious curse was in the same range of disturbing magics, there was a reason why it was classified as unforgivable.
"It is," Howland nodded, "Skinchangers have gone mad because of such practices."
"Right," he acquiesced without an issue, "I won't."
"Close your eyes," Howland instructed, "let go of what shields your mind,"
Aemon obliged, even if he had to contain another question. He relaxed and made sure to leave his mind unprotected, something he had not done in decades.
"Feel the life around you," his teacher continued, "feel the grass beneath your feet, the birds flying from tree to tree, and the fish swimming in the river, feel the world buzzing with life,"
He took a deep breath, trying to push away the doubts and fears that clouded his mind. As he exhaled, he felt a strange sense of expansion, as if his consciousness was spreading out of his body.
"Good," Howland's voice was a distant whisper. "Now reach out with your mind, feel for another heartbeat, another soul,"
Aemon's mind wandered, drifting through the trees and leaves, he could feel dozens of animals around. Birds chirped in the trees whilst fishes swam in the river, but what he could feel most were the horses in front of him. One in particular that shined through an ocean of life, and he focused on it.
Suddenly, Aemon could stare at the grass, from the horse's perspective. He could feel his mouth swallow the green grass, and he could feel the power in his muscles.
"Very good," Howland's distant voice was filled with pride. "Now let it guide you, let it show you how it views the world we live in,"
Said young man was captivated by what he was feeling, the pounding of his large heart reverberated throughout his body, and the sheer power of the creature he was connected to was almost overwhelming. For a moment, he was wild and free, unbound by his responsibilities, by the limitations of the human body.
But as quickly as it came, the connection was gone and Aemon was back in his own body, his heart racing and the taste of the grass still on his tongue, and just for a moment, he wished he could have stayed within the horse.
295 A.C
Castle Cerwyn
Aemon was lost in his thoughts, his senses lulled by the rhythmic clatter of hooves and the gentle swaying of his hips that accompanied the horse's movements, a reflex trained by hundreds of hours spent in a saddle.
He could remember hating it, it had seemed like he could simply not get used to riding. Especially considering the closest he had gotten to a horse before was riding a thestral, both were very different species. And every time he dismounted Balerion, the sand steed Ashara had gifted him, he could be sure to have a sore bottom and sore thighs for at least a day, if not more depending on how long they had spent on horseback. But now, he had grown used to it. He knew how to behave on a horse, how to make his hips move along and to keep his back straight. It made the travel much more comfortable, especially now that they spent day after day on their horses.
If he was honest with himself, it could simply not compare with riding a dragon. Doing so without a saddle was much, much harder and he had to squeeze for dear life, hoping his sticking charms would work. And he already knew he could not keep doing that for longer flights, especially with Starfyre soon growing too big for Aemon to wrap his legs around her neck or for his hands to be able to hold on to her.
Watching his aunt, he could not help but be reminded of himself when he had first ridden a horse, though the past fortnight had seen her improve far faster than he ever had. By the time they would reach Winterfell, she would undoubtedly seem like a natural to all. Though she still had to suffer the sore thighs and bottom every day and night they rode through the largest of the kingdoms.
For five and ten days now, they had followed the White Knife River, seeking to join the King's Road that served as the main artery of the North. Despite its size, or perhaps because of it, the North was sparsely populated. Since White Harbor, they had only encountered a few settlements, some farms, as they were still south enough that some land could be cultivated, and a few trading posts.
Part of him could not help but be reminded of Scotland, where he had spent many of his formative years during his first life. The North was wild, sometimes barren, sometimes trees filled the horizon, Howland had told them that the further up they got, the likelier it was they would see summer snows. Even Scotland had not been that cold. And he had come to truly appreciate his mother's last name day present, warming charms only did so much and he was truly grateful for the cloak, even if he had no choice but to wear the side displaying the sigil of house Dayne for now.
Even in the wilderness of the northernmost kingdom there were people, few and far between yes, but enough that the presence of someone displaying the Targaryen sigil would reach King's Landing one way or another.
"We will be arriving at Castle Cerwyn soon," the Lord of Greywater Watch interrupted his thoughts.
Unable to see any castle on the horizon, Aemon frowned, "you warged?"
Howland nodded, "a raven is flying above us, try to join with its mind,"
Aemon obliged, closing his eyes as he let himself be carried by his horse, letting go of the magic that shielded his mind, his senses immediately expanded. As he had many times in the past days, he could feel the life around him, the horse beneath calling louder than any other, and yet, Aemon resisted the temptation, knowing he was looking for something else.
He focused upward, and soon enough, found the raven Howland had been speaking about. As the smaller man had said, the raven was already open to the connection, and it took no effort on his part to suddenly see through the bird's eyes.
The freedom of flight was almost overwhelming and not for the first time, Aemon wished he had tried to become an animagus, if only because he believed his inner animal would have been a bird as well.
Sadly, the opportunity had never presented itself. And he doubted it would now.
Still, he focused his mind and stared ahead, and sure enough, Castle Cerwyn came into view. Its stone walls were sturdy and imposing, surrounded by lush green fields. Among the last the North could hold during Summer.
The banners of House Cerwyn fluttered in the wind, and even from a mile away, he could spot the black battle-axe that confirmed their location.
He circled above, taking in the sight of the castle and its surroundings, feeling a sense of freedom only matched by what he felt riding Starfyre, freedom and exhilaration. He found their small group slowly advancing. The bird's sharp eyes even allowed him to distinguish Arthur, Oswell, and Howland by his side, closely guarding himself, as well as Brienne, Jaremy, and Roland, the first by his aunt's side, and the other two closing the group.
And just for a moment, he felt part of the sky, unbound by the earth below.
With a final glance at Castle Cerwyn, Aemon pulled back, regaining his consciousness and landing in the middle of a conversation.
"How long did you stay on the Isle of Faces?" Daenerys asked Howland, joining their side.
"After my coming of age, princess, I sailed the Green Fork from the Neck to the God's Eye, and the Greenmen granted me access for the winter,"
"How did you know they would not kill you, my lord?"
Aemon did nothing to hide his interest in his aunt's question. It was known that the inhabitants of the Isle of Faces were more than a little hostile and there were many cautionary tales warning children never to step foot on the island.
"I didn't, princess," Howland answered with a small smile, "they chose not to, though I'm afraid I took a vow not to speak of what they taught, nor much of what I saw,"
Aemon frowned, there were so many legends about the Greenmen that it was hard to separate the truth from the myth. And it seemed that Howland would not be of help in that area. He could respect a man holding to a vow, besides, there was no way to know what kind of magic the inhabitants of the Isle of Faces practiced to protect their secrets.
"Does my uncle know of your true allegiance?" Aemon asked, he had been meaning to ask but other subjects had taken precedence during their travels, and they would soon part ways.
"He does not," the crannogman grimaced, "Lord Stark and I had more than a few disagreements on our way north…"
"About what?" Dany voiced his thoughts.
"On what he intended for your other nephew, princess," Howland sighed, and Aemon raised an eyebrow.
"What about my brother, lord Reed?"
"Unless he has changed his mind, I do not believe your uncle to have told the prince who he truly is…"
The entire group fell silent at this, being only disturbed by the sound of their horses' hooves hitting the ground.
"What?" Aemon asked coldly, feeling his anger bubbling under the surface. "He still thinks he's a bastard? After all this time?"
"I believe so," the Lord of Greywater Watch winced, knowing they had reached a contentious subject, "though I have visited Ned only once since,"
Aemon clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to reign his anger in.
He could have sworn he heard his dragons roar from within the trunk, expressing the anger they felt, and judging by Daenerys' small jump of surprise, he was not the only one to hear it.
What right did Stark have to hide such a truth?
Aemon felt his heart ache for his brother, unaware of who he truly was, thinking himself a bastard when in truth, he was a prince of the Blood. Unaware of who his parents even were.
Even as Harry Potter, he had not had to suffer such for so long.
Did Stark imagine that he would just forget about his twin? That he would never make the trip north to reunite?
If so, Eddard Stark was a fool. For there was no way in hell that he would let his brother suffer under such a lie for any longer than necessary.
Aemon could understand not telling a child, a secret like this one was extremely dangerous, not only for Daemon but for every Northman and woman. It would mean war if discovered. But Daemon's childhood was long past, in fact, he was all but a man-grown.
Would he even accept the truth after having lived a lie for so long?
Aemon found he did not care for the answer, but if Daemon resembled him in any way, there would be a price to pay for the Warden of the North's transgression.
And if his brother was not ready to exact a price on someone he deemed kin, Aemon was not bothered in any such way. The Starks may be family, but they were nothing compared to his brother or aunt.
Daenerys' hand found her way to his shoulder, calming his mind as she offered him a smile. And Aemon forced himself to inhale and exhale large gulps of air, settling the anger he felt.
Despite everything, he and the Starks would have to get along. If he could not convince kin to follow him, it was unlikely he'd be able to convince anyone else. That did not mean Eddard Stark would not regret his lies though.
"I am afraid this is where we part ways, my king," Howland bowed his head as they reached the junction to the King's Road, a mile below Castle Cerwyn.
"Are you sure you won't join us?" Aemon tried one last time to convince the crannogman, knowing how useful he could be and that if Daemon was as talented as he made it seem to be, he would need a teacher who could do better than enter a single animal's mind at a time. Still, he would not force the smaller man.
"I must go back to my people," Howland shook his head, "my son still needs my guidance, even if it shall not last long,"
Aemon nodded, accepting the man's words even if the meaning was not always clear.
"Then I bid you farewell my lord," they shook hands, "May the Old Gods watch over you and grant you safe passage to your home,"
"They will," Howland nodded confidently, "Farewell your grace, remember what Jojen said,"
Aemon nodded, if a greenseer was telling you to go beyond the wall before sailing to Old Valyria, then you did. "I will, I hope we meet again soon,"
"We will," Howland smiled, before bidding his goodbyes to the rest of the party, and soon enough, they watched his diminutive figure, looking rather ridiculous on the much larger horse, get smaller before he was nothing but a dot.
"Come on," Aemon urged, turning his mount due north, "my brother awaits us,"
295 A.C
King's Landing
Willas could do naught but watch on in glee as his cane slowly disappeared in the fire. The creaking wood and sizzling of the embers were melodious to his ears.
He flexed his leg, hardly believing how easily it had healed in the past couple of moons. As foretold, his recovery had taken time, time for him to grow back the muscles in his leg and to get used to putting weight on it once more.
For days he had been yearning to burn the walking stick, the symbol of his past weakness. No matter what many may have tried to tell him, no matter his little sister's reassurances, he had known it would always be perceived as a weakness. What lord worth their time could not even handle a sword?
Getting back to even his previous level would take training, Willas knew that, and he would likely never be as good as he could have been with years' worth of training missing.
But mayhap it was for the best.
While he had always been rather clever, he doubted he would have spent so much time reading and feeding his mind if he had not been injured.
He would not have met Aemon, and if information was a weapon, knowing of someone able to heal wounds, summon objects to them and likely much more was as good as having a dragon.
Perhaps in more ways than one.
Those eyes, this face. There were differences of course but…
He had been a child when the Targaryens fell, not old enough to have ever had the chance to meet any of them, but enough to remember what they looked like in portraits.
High cheekbones, straight nose, and proud chin, all in all, regal-looking traits. But their most distinctive features were definitely their silver-white hair and purple eyes.
Of those, he only had one.
Had it been only that, he might have dismissed it. After all, the Dragonlords were known to have often strayed from their marital beds. And there were others in Westeros or Essos with purple eyes.
But there was also his name. Aemon.
Few but those of Valyrian descent were ever named this way. It was quite uncommon in this part of the world, even more so when no king named Aemon had ever ruled.
And despite all that, it made no sense. As far as he knew the only Targaryens alive were Viserys and Daenerys, the last children of the Mad King.
And then there had been his grandmother's inquiry, hidden as a letter from his sister, though he knew his grandmother's words when he read them. It had been entirely coded and he had had to memorize each word perfectly before burning it.
Willas,
Tales of a secret wedding between a dragon and a wolf have reached me, and the journal of the former High Septon confirms it, I trust you understand the implications.
Beware, such tidings may prove as sharp as thorns or as bountiful as the fields of Highgarden. And should these rumors bear fruit, we must be ready to harvest.
Keep your ears to the ground and inform me of anything you unearth.
It had been succinct and to the point. And it had offered the piece of information he missed.
With it, it all made sense. And if Willas was right, then it changed everything.
Lyanna Stark had never been kidnapped by Rhaegar Targaryen, instead, she must have gone willingly, and they had wed.
Eddard Stark had not found his sister dying of a fever as he had told the realm, but instead, she must have died of childbed fever.
For days he had been pondering what other lies could have been told, for surely those were not the only ones, only those he was aware of.
The Warden of the North was said to have slain three members of the Kingsguard, but not just any, Ser Gerold Hightower, the White Bull, Ser Oswell Whent, the Black Bat, and finally, the most legendary of all, Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.
He had cursed himself for not realizing sooner, and it seriously reinforced his grandmother's belief that the entire realm was made of fools. What could those three kingsguards be doing but protecting their future king?
Nothing, there was no reason to justify the presence of almost half of the kingsguards, certainly not the second wife of the crowned prince, even less the girl he was supposed to have abducted. Except if they had been indeed protecting the heir to the Iron Throne, and then the King himself.
For as long as Robert Baratheon claimed his right to rule came from his Targaryen lineage, he could never be the true king while a true Targaryen lived. Which was why the Crown had deployed so many efforts in killing the young Targaryens across the Narrow Sea. And ultimately, it made Lord Stark's ploy even more impressive.
While Robert Baratheon was focused on Aerys' children, he entirely missed the threat that was right under his nose.
And so, for days, Willas had pondered whether or not to inform his grandmother of the possible identity of his healer.
He had not been told to hide his identity, but neither had he been told of it, only to silence the magic he had witnessed that night.
Feeling his leg under him, supporting his weight as the last of his walking stick burned away, he knew he could not renege on his word. Still, he had a duty to his house, and Aemon, whether he was a Targaryen or not would undoubtedly play a large role in its future.
As such, he turned away from the fire and returned to his desk, to begin penning a letter that would set in course events he knew would shape the future of House Tyrell and of the Seven Kingdoms as a whole.
295 A.C
Starfall
Dearest mother,
I trust this letter finds you in good health and high spirits. As I pen down these words, we have safely navigated past White Harbor. Daenerys grows stronger and more vibrant with each passing day. I am filled with a quiet confidence that you will find her as endearing as I have.
Our journey, though filled with the usual rigors of travel, was graced by an unexpected yet most welcome presence as Lord Howland Reed awaited our arrival at the docks of the northern port. His presence, though surprising, has proven to be a boon. He has shared with us invaluable knowledge about the North and the ancient blood of the First Men that flows through my veins alongside that of the dragon.
I am endeavoring to persuade Lord Reed to accompany us on our journey, though I must confess, the task proves challenging. He is bound by duties in the swamps of the Neck, and I sense a deep-seated responsibility within him.
In the midst of these revelations, another piece of news has reached our ears, one that pertains to your current guests. Indeed, a betrothal has been signed, aligning Viserys with Arianne, and uniting the Targaryens with the Martells once more. I leave the implications of this to your wise judgment, trusting that you will act as you see fit. However, I extend an invitation, through you, for us to convene in the city which saw my uncle breathe his last in three moons' time. It is my hope that we can discuss these matters and more, face-to-face.
Until then, know that you are in my thoughts and prayers.
With all the love in my heart,
Your son,
Though Aemon's words warmed Ashara's heart, her lips formed a thin line as she finished reading her son's latest update. With a practiced motion, she secured the leathered book inside her desk and locked the relevant compartment. Only when it was secured, she allowed herself to sigh deeply.
If anyone had told her what her position would evolve to be before Aemon's arrival, over five and ten years ago, she would have laughed in their face, no matter how unladylike it would have been.
As the daughter of a noble house, even a Dornish one, her fate was always predestined not to be defined by her, but by her lord, whomever that may be. As many before she had, and many after her would, she had been resolved to have her hand sold to any that would further her house's position. Such was the game they all played after all.
Her only pretense then was to at least be somewhat attracted to the man she would have to marry, if not physically then at least emotionally. After all, her parents' wedding had been arranged but not unhappy. And it was the case for many across the land. However, many could only despair their lord's choice and support whatever humiliation their husband could put them through.
As the sister of Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning and most talented knight in the Seven Kingdoms, she had known such would not be her fate. Few men would even dare to cross Arthur, much less harm his sister.
And then she had found Brandon… He had been the answer to many of her prayers. And they had shared a single night of passion, one that bore many consequences. None she regretted.
For as much pain as she had been put through, it had put her in the position to care for a babe whose mother had not survived childbed. One who before he had even taken his first breath, had had a death sentence placed on his head. A babe, that should any learn the existence of, would mean the end of her house.
And yet, never once had it crossed her mind to refuse. And more than once, she had been proven right to have done so.
But as expected, the situation had not become any easier.
Still, Aemon had made her life better. He had made it worth living when all she could think of was how to end it.
Where she had expected a dull life, excitement had been the norm with a dragon living under their roof. And now, she was at the very helm of a movement seeking to place the rightful king back on the Iron Throne. A place from which she knew her son could do wonders.
With every day that passed, the moment got closer, Ashara could feel it in her bones.
Yet there was still much to do.
The fleet was still a year away from being finished, even though the twenty ships they had at their disposal were bringing in consistent revenue.
The company too, was going well, with the recent arrival of Lady Kinvara and a thousand men, they were almost at a force of ten thousand. Not a large army by any westerosi standards, but a very well-trained one, experienced in combat and well armored.
Though there were many successes, there were also failures and challenges.
She had just sent instruction for the captains of the three decks to avoid conflict at all costs but the reports of attempted boarding by both Ironborns, pirates, and slavers kept coming in and left no doubt that avoidance would not always be the way.
And despite having met the prince only a few times, Viserys' loss had been felt in Starfall. Ashara had wept thinking of her son and his aunt, having to recover from the loss of another of their kin.
As if enough Targaryen blood had not been shed already.
"Agatha," she called the young servant Oswell had rescued a few years ago.
"My lady?" she asked, entering her study.
Ashara could only be pleased by how much good had come from it. Though it had taken time for the young woman to move past the terrible events she had been put through, she had blossomed in Starfall, finding a secure and safe home in an otherwise dangerous world. It was more than most could say.
"Could you ask if Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria would break their fast with me in the garden?"
"Of course, my lady," she bowed, "the usual garden, my lady?"
"Please, Agatha,"
Just as quickly as she had come, the maid disappeared from the study. Though she requested out of politeness, she very well knew that the Martell prince and his paramour would join her.
Thus, she quickly made sure to hide the important papers in her locked drawers. Though she trusted those who served her family, Ashara could not discount the fact that many were no doubt trying to find out what was happening in the usually reclusive House of Dayne.
It was sooner than they had expected. But then again, Aemon had not made many efforts to be discreet. Still, they had to play the hand they had been dealt.
The roses of Highgarden were proving dangerous, and no doubt Willas Tyrell would figure out who he had been dealing with at some point if reports of his intelligence were not mistaken at least.
Having done so, and feeling secure that her son's correspondence would not go amiss, Ashara made her way up the castle's many stairs.
Her steps echoed through the silent home of the Daynes, with only her sister, the last year had been very quiet. That would hopefully change when Lord Dondarrion came back, with a much-changed Edric.
It had been years since she had last seen her nephew. Hopefully, he would still recognize her.
However, thoughts of her remaining kin were discarded as she found Oberyn and his paramour already waiting for her.
"My prince, my lady," she offered a slight bow of her head as the Dornish prince greeted her with a smile. "I trust your sleep was restful,"
Oberyn raised an eyebrow as he opened his mouth, but Ellaria tugged on his arm. "As always, my lady," she answered in his stead, "our stay in Starfall has been nothing but,"
"You consider me restful, my love?" Oberyn smirked, "I did not think that was on your mind as I fucked you through the night,"
Ashara rolled her eyes at the Prince's antics while Ellaria whipped his chest playfully. "I'll assume you're famished then," she gestured for the table the servants had just finished setting.
"You know me well, Ash," he winked but was unceremoniously pulled into his seat.
Her stomach rumbled as Ashara took her seat, waiting in front of her was an assortment of fruits, eggs, bread, cheeses, and olives, the traditional Dornish breakfast.
Not ones to stand on propriety, they broke their fast without any fuss, and true to his word, Oberyn wolfed down as much as Aemon did on any normal day.
It fell to his paramour to make small talk, Ellaria had not been around the last time Ashara had seen the Dornish Prince, though it had been a very long time ago indeed. A few moons before his exile, while he had been visiting his sister in King's Landing.
It was obvious that they loved each other deeply. Both from the information she had gotten about her and the eight daughters she had come to care as her own, even if only half hailed from her womb, and from the time they had spent together in Starfall.
Ashara could only be happy that her best friend's brother had found happiness despite the horrors that had befallen his family.
Not that it meant Oberyn had forgotten, nor that he had forgiven.
Neither could be further from the truth. It showed in the fire that burned in his eyes each time some sensible subject was brought up. Whether it be the Lannisters, their dogs, or his missing family. The Prince of Dorne yearned for revenge, of that she was sure, and that was something she could work with.
"I've received news from my son,"
Oberyn's eyes snapped up, meeting her own. "No rider has come," he observed, his black eyes narrowing.
"We have our ways," she nodded, smirking though she quickly schooled her face, the news she had to deliver was not cheerful in any way. "But it's important you're informed of something,"
"Oh?" Ellaria laid her glass down, and Ashara was once more made aware that Oberyn's lover was more than a pretty face, her posture had shifted entirely, her own black eyes sharpening.
"Aemon has managed to reach Pentos, where he found Daenerys," she began and Oberyn's eyes widened, a smile forming on his lips. "But he arrived to find Viserys dying, lured in a trap by the Usurper's hired blades."
Oberyn slammed his fist against the table, some plates tipped over and spilled whatever remained on the ground. Immediately, Ellaria had her lover encased in a hug, whispering low enough that Ashara could not hear what was said but Oberyn slowly but surely calmed down.
"He and Arthur slew them, but nothing could be done for the prince," she bowed her head, saying a small prayer for Viserys. She quieted the reason for which Viserys had been lured. Maybe something could have been done for him, had he not been put through what he had, perhaps with a mother. But while ifs and maybes could remake the world, the truth was better left with his ashes.
"Are they safe?" Oberyn asked, "he and Daenerys?"
Ashara bit her lip, but still nodded, "they're making their way north, to the Wall,"
Once more, Oberyn raised his eyebrows, "The Wall? I'd beware if I were him, I hear the cold is so intense it'd freeze a dragon's balls in minutes,"
Ashara had issues containing a snort at his answer, though Ellaria was in no way constrained and expressed her amusement for the both of them.
"And I imagine he hasn't heard about the vow of the Night's Watch, chastity, a terrible fate for any man, especially one his age." Oberyn continued, shivering at the mere thought of abstinence. "I'd last about as long as Dornish wine in King's Landing!"
This time, Ashara could not help but chuckle, it was true after all, even if crudely expressed. "I do not doubt this, my prince," she teased him with a smirk and Ellaria only rolled her eyes, expressing a similar belief. "But Aemon is a dragon, and I know my son, he'd light the Wall on fire for trying to freeze him, but it's not the only news I've received from him, he's agreed to meet you."
All previous thoughts were forgotten immediately at this, and Oberyn straightened, his attention now fully focused on her. At that moment, Ashara could not help but be reminded of her old friend. Elia too had this capacity to make you feel as though the world around you had stopped revolving, that time had somehow taken a break from its duties while she listened intently to every word that came from your mouth.
Still, she carried on. "In three moons' time, in Pentos,"
"Perfect," Oberyn smiled, showcasing a row of gleaming white teeth. "I know of plenty of brothels where we can get to know each other,"
"I hope you don't intend to keep him all to yourself," Ellaria purred on his side, stroking her lover's thigh and Ashara had to make abstraction of the fact they were talking about her boy.
"Of course not, my love," he leaned into her touch, "I'd expect a dragon is plenty enough for the both of us, will you be joining us, Ash?"
"I will," she answered, unable to keep a smile from forming on her lips. She would see her son again, after almost over a year apart, Ashara could not wait.
I hope you all liked this chapter, in the next one, Aemon and co arrive at Winterfell. I'm hoping to post it before summer but as I move along, the story gets more complicated, both in scope and to write so I ask you all to be patient. See you soon,