Pentos: 298 AC: 9 Years Later:
Aemon Targaryen
"Aemon."
"Aemon!"
Aemon was abruptly awakened, his blissful dreams disturbed by the gentle nudging of his leg by his Aunt Daenerys, whom he now regarded more as a sister due to their close age difference. He opened his hazy grey eyes to see her beautiful Valyrian features staring back at him, and that soft smile he knew so well from childhood. She was already dressed for the day, her toned body draped in a black and red dress with her silver hair neatly braided. Aemon also took note of the ivory-hilted dagger that clung tightly to her hip, the same dagger Viserys gave her years ago.
"What do you want, Dany?" Aemon grumbled, rubbing his eyes with his hands.
"It is late in the day and Arthur wants to know where you are. You're meant to be sparring with him." She blustered, her teenage voice showing signs of irritation. "I can't believe you slept this late."
"I had a long day yesterday, practicing my Valyrian." He sighed, his grey eyes watching her open the drapes of the windows, allowing the Essosi sun to shine in and causing his eyes to narrow at its brightness.
"Don't lie to me Aemon. We all saw you flying off on Vaedar yesterday and my mother is not pleased with you and neither is Viserys." She huffed, turning to face a bewildered Aemon who now sat up in his bed, the silk covers falling away to show his toned body. "Where did you even wander off to?" She asked, her violet eyes forever upon him.
"I only went to see Jon Connington," Aemon admitted, running a hand through his now long midnight-black hair.
"You were gone all day and well into the night. You expect me to believe you only went to see Jon Connington?" Daenerys questioned, an eyebrow raising as she did so.
"Fine, I flew across the Narrow Sea too and into Westeros."
Daenerys' mouth stood agape as she moved to sit next to Aemon, a delicate hand cupping his soft cheek as she did so, her violet eyes searching his own. "Sweet brother, you cannot be so foolish." She whispered, stroking his cheek with her thumb.
"I needed to see it once more, Dany, it is my home, the place of my birth." He whispered back, his grey eyes revealing the deep sadness within.
"I understand, but we have gone through great pains to keep the secret of the dragon's return hidden for so long. We cannot have you reveal it to our enemies, lest they descend on us, Aemon, and dare I not mention if something bad would have happened to you?"
"I have Vaedar to protect me, Dany, your fears are for naught."
"That's not the point, Aemon."
"I know, I know. I promise I won't do it again without telling you all first."
"You promise?"
"I do."
Her violet eyes narrowed as they looked into his as if they were searching for the truth. "Good. Now get up, before Arthur comes in here and drags you out of bed himself." She chuckled, as she stood up and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Aemon let out a heavy sigh and got up from the gentle warmth of the bed. He walked by Dark Sister which lay against the worn table beside his bed. His eyes lingered on it a moment as he pulled on a pair of black trousers and a white shirt. He then pulled on a black cloth jacket and began to put his black boots on. As he did so, his thoughts lingered on the monumental reprimand he would receive from Rhaella when he saw her, and he gave brief thought of just flying away on Vaedar to avoid it, though he knew that would only land him in more trouble.
Shaking his head, he began to tie Dark Sister around his waist, the blade hanging loosely as he did so, and he walked from his chambers. The Holy Hundred guards stationed outside his chambers gave him a respectful 'Your Grace' as he walked by them. He could never understand why they did so. He was the King of nothing yet and no matter how many times Rhaella and Arthur told him that he was the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms, he still had trouble coming to terms with it all.
Taking in a deep breath as he walked through the gilded halls of Illyrio's manse, he smiled at servants who bowed at his presence and nodded at guards who addressed him with 'Your Grace'. Eventually, he arrived at the familiar courtyard where he and Arthur usually trained together, the faded stones in the center of it wearing the story of countless training sessions they had done together.
Aemon felt the eyes of everyone staring at him as he walked to the center of the courtyard including the curious eyes of Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy, both of whom seemed amused by the disheveled appearance of their King. However, Aemon's attention was solely on one man, the fabled Sword of the Morning who now stood before him in all his glory, a slightly disappointed look displayed on his aging features.
"You're late, Aemon." Arthur simply stated, his deep blue eyes never leaving the Aemon's own.
"I overslept, Ser Arthur, I apologize," Aemon admitted, still using Arthur's title as a sign of respect.
"You overslept?"
"I was up till late last night, Ser."
"I know." Arthur sighed, moving away from Aemon and unsheathing the legendary Dawn from his back. "Shall we begin then?"
"Of course, Ser." Aemon smiled, releasing Dark Sister from its bounds and readying his stance. He could feel the curious eyes of Barristan and Jaime burning through the back of him and he prayed to his mother and father that he would not disappoint them.
Arthur smirked at him before beginning his attack. Aemon readied himself as he watched Arthur glide toward him with the grace of a gazelle and once more, Dawn and Dark Sister clashed in the air, the sound of the blades reverberating in the air. Arthur moved backward but Aemon had learned over the years not to let him dictate the pace of the bout, and so he pressed forward, looking for an opening in the Sword of the Morning's impregnable guard.
However, his impulsiveness turned out to be his downfall and before Aemon knew it, Arthur had lured him into a trap. The Sword of the Morning parried Aemon's harried attacks with relative ease before sticking his leg out in an attempt to trip Aemon up. However, the young King was wise enough to the knight's tricks by now, and years of sparring with Arthur had their benefit. Aemon saw the leg and jumped over it, slashing at Arthur's head at the same time.
The blow caught Arthur off guard, as he had hardly any time to block it before the power behind the strike sent him staggering back. A small smirk appeared on the face of the Sword of the Morning, one of recognition of the ingenuity and the creativeness of Aemon. He looked on as his King stood across from him, his stature one of confidence, before he rushed once more into an attack.
Arthur's smile vanished as their swords clashed again, the sound of Valyrian steel on Valryian steel causing the birds to flee from the rooftops of the manse. That moment, Rhaella and Viserys appeared in the corner of Aemon's eye, and he turned his head to look at them which proved to be a fatal mistake. Arthur struck him clean in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and dropping him to his knees, Dark Sister crashing down beside him. Aemon could hear the hissing of teeth from behind Arthur as Jaime and Barristan witnessed the force of Arthur's blow.
"How many times do I have to tell you not to be distracted, Aemon?" Arthur breathed, picking Dark Sister up from the ground with a deep reverence for the blade.
Aemon looked up at Arthur, his eyes watering. "Many times, Ser." Aemon choked, his arms wrapped around his stomach. He looked up to see Rhaella standing by Jaime and Barristan, her violet eyes glancing at him occasionally. "I believe my Grandmother wants a word with me, Ser Arthur."
"I believe it's more than a word, Aemon." Arthur chuckled, holding Dark Sister out for Aemon to take.
Aemon gripped Dark Sister and used it to help him to his feet before sheathing the legendary blade. He brushed himself down and walked over to his Grandmother and uncle, their disapproving gaze immediately upon him as he did so.
"Excuse us, Sers, we need a word with my grandson, alone." She smiled at the two knights, who immediately bowed and left her presence. Aemon felt Jaime's reassuring hand on his shoulder as the lion walked past him whereas Barristan gave him an acknowledging nod. He then looked up to see both Rhaella and Viserys staring a hole through him, their Valyrian features demanding his immediate respect and attention.
"Where were you all day yesterday?" Viserys asked, his voice mature and regal.
"I went flying, Uncle," Aemon replied, his voice still slightly hoarse from Arthur's harsh gut punch.
"Where did you go?" Rhaella asked.
"I went to see Jon, Grandmother,"
"Jon Connington? Why would you need to see him? You know he's busy with the Golden Company, Aemon." Rhaella asked, her eyes narrowing out of curiosity.
"I just wanted to see how our forces are doing."
"Aemon, Jon is not the Captain General yet, and we have our doubts if they would even support us." Rhaella sighed, a hand rubbing her forehead. "Did they see you?"
"No, we met in a secluded place," Aemon replied.
"I will be having words with Jon about this, Aemon, but where else were you? You were gone well into the night and I nearly sent Viserys to look for you."
"I went to Westeros," Aemon answered honestly, his gaze averting down towards his feet in embarrassment.
"By the Gods, Aemon, are you that reckless?" Viserys hissed, giving a quick glance at the three knights that stood a few moments away from them before turning back to Aemon. "Where did you go?"
"I only went to the coast...I just had to see it, Uncle, I swear I never went near land and I stayed high in the air." Aemon pleaded.
"I cannot even begin to tell you the dangers of what you did, Aemon. Not only to you but to all of us. Should Robert find out about the dragons then the whole Seven Kingdoms will come down on us." Rhaella chastised.
Aemon began to feel that their scorn was unjustified and he felt a deep burning rage fill up inside of him as his hands curled into fists before his anger got the best of him. "I do not know why we sit here on the other side of the world when we have four dragons! We could burn him right now and take back the throne he stole, and yet you would have us wait!"
"Aemon!" Rhaella snapped. "You think yourself the conqueror? That you can just burn anyone who gets in your way? I have told you countless times, Aemon, that we need the support of the other houses and you need to learn that if you wish to be King one day."
Aemon said nothing in return as the tears of anger began to stream down his face and drop onto his boots. He uncurled his fists and took a deep breath to steady himself. He knew Rhaella was right, but with each passing day they spent in Essos, he felt that his claim weakened and everything his mother and father died for, was for naught.
"I'm sorry, Grandmother, for my anger." Aemon breathed, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "I am just frustrated."
"As am I, Aemon, but we must wait a while longer before we can go home." Rhaella sighed, placing a reassuring hand on her grandson's shoulder. "Next time you wish to do something like this, come and speak to us first."
"I will, Grandmother, I promise."
Rhaella smiled reassuringly at Aemon before wrapping him in a deep hug. "I am only looking out for you, Aemon, as I always will." She whispered in his ear before releasing him from her embrace. Now, go and eat; I imagine you're starving."
Aemon nodded and walked briskly from her and Viserys' presence, his head hanging low whilst he did so. Rhaella turned her violet eyes to the three knights who stood nonchalantly in a circle in the courtyard's center, pretending they did not hear the conversation. "Don't you three have things to attend to?" Rhaella asked them all, a playful eyebrow raising as she did so.
"Yes, my Queen. Prince Viserys, how about a spar?" Jaime asked, drawing his sword.
"If you insist, Ser Jaime." Viserys smiled, as he unsheathed his gilded blade and walked toward Jaime.
Rhaella smiled and beckoned Barristan and Arthur to follow her inside the manse, and both of them were happy to do so. She smiled warmly as she walked alongside Barristan and Arthur through the opulent halls of Illyrio's manse. The gilded decorations and exotic scents filled the air, creating an ambiance that was as enchanting as always.
"I must say, Sers, I grow concerned over Aemon's temperament." She admitted to the two knights beside her.
"He is coming of age, my Queen and it is normal for a boy to grow...impatient," Barristan advised, his hand ever lingering on the hilt of his blade as they walked past servants and guards alike.
"I understand, but I cannot have him flying off on a whim or whenever he feels like it."
"He is a dragon rider, one of the first in over a hundred years, it is no wonder he feels antsy," Arthur smirked, his head held down so Rhaella could not see his small smile.
"That does not excuse him from being reckless." Rhaella sighed. "I just wish he was much more like Daenerys."
Daenerys Targaryen
"Come on, Willem." Daenerys laughed, as she ran through the streets of Pentos. "The Sunrise Gate is this way."
"Princess...I really do not think this is a good idea." Willem breathed, attempting to catch his breath, as he stopped and rested his hands on his knees. He looked up to see a hooded and cloaked Daenerys run through the gates of Pentos, and out into the open wilderness where there were no walls to protect them. Letting out a grunt of frustration, Willem followed her trail and found her standing out in the open ground, her violet eyes eagerly scanning the sky.
"Princess, your mother will have my head for this." Willem protested to a distracted Daenerys. "Princess-"
"My mother will do no such thing, Willem, as all we have done is go for a nice walk around the markets." Daenerys smiled, closing her eyes. "Māzigon, Frostfyre." She whispered, her eyes opening.
As Daenerys gazed toward the horizon, the sky seemed to grow darker, as if anticipating the coming of something ominous. The sunlight piercing through painted the heavens in hues of blue and silver. Through this celestial tapestry, a gigantic silhouette emerged, growing larger with each powerful wingbeat. Frostfyre appeared, cutting through the clouds with an otherworldly grace. She smiled at the sight of him and his beauty, his icicle-like scales reflecting the sunlight to the dusty ground beneath him.
As he descended, his wings kicked dust and debris into the air, as his weight nearly cracked the delicate earth beneath him. Daenerys stood before him, her cloak now having been blown off by his descent to reveal her dragon-riding outfit which is a masterful blend of elegance and durability, featuring a form-fitting, dark leather tunic adorned with intricate silver embroidery, paired with high boots and protective gauntlets. She also wore a silver chain around her neck, that dangled the symbol of her house at the end of it.
As the dust settled around her, she stood there a moment, her violet eyes being pierced by Frostfyre's icy blue ones. She held out her hand and walked slowly towards her dragon, who bowed his head in response, allowing her to touch him. "Kirimvose, Frostfyre." She whispered once more, walking to the side of her dragon.
Willem stood behind her, a stern look drawn across his features. "Princess, if your mother sees you-"
"Be calm, Willem, I'll only be in the air for a few moments. Besides, if Aemon can fly all day and night then I am sure I am entitled to." She smiled as she climbed onto the back of her dragon. "Be here when I return please!"
Willem shook his head discontentedly as he watched Daenerys take to the skies, his clothes billowing as she did so. "I am fucked..." He muttered to himself, kicking the dirt and dust beneath him with his boot.
As Daenerys flew higher into the pale blue sky, she wondered what she looked like to the people down below, if there were any people down there. For miles around, all she could see was the vast arid landscape that stretched across the face of Essos like a never-ending sea of sand. She turned her head to see the city of Pentos fading away in the distance, the speed of Frostfyre unrivaled by anything in the world.
"ñāqa, Frostfyre!" She yelled, shouting over the heavy beats of her dragon's wings. The only reason she wanted to fly today was so she could see the Rhoyne in all its glory. She had read about it multiple times in one of the many books that Illyrio had lying around his manse, as her thirst for knowledge grew with her age.
After flying for what felt like an hour, she could see the Velvet Hills coming toward her. She felt a small flutter of excitement in her stomach as she saw the waiting sun, bathing the hills in its light, the clouds almost parting as it did so. It was so beautiful to her, and in the distance at the foot of the hill, she could see the Rhoyne glimmering like a streak of silver in the sunlight.
A small tear of joy dropped down her cheek as she flew across the hill and followed the river as if it were a road, the beauty of it overwhelming her. She could feel Frostfyre purr in response to her emotions and she glided a gentle hand across his back to assure him she was fine.
Eventually, she saw the sun start to dip below the horizon and took it as her signal that she should make her way home, especially before her mother found out where she had been. "Lenton, Frostfyre." She sighed, as her dragon began to turn back west for Pentos.
By the time she arrived back to the place where she had originally taken flight from, the moon had arisen from its slumber and the dark of the night had descended and enveloped the city of Pentos in its darkness. As she landed, she could see a disgruntled Willem standing in the same spot she had left him with a torch held out in his hand. Climbing off of her dragon, she could see Willem approach her, the torchlight illuminating his furious face.
"You said you would only be gone for a few moments, Daenerys, and the next thing I see is you flying away to the east." He bleated.
Daenerys brushed herself down and smiled at Willem, her dragon taking back to the air behind her, as she did so. "It was only a few hours, Willem." She chuckled.
"I have been here for more than that, Princess. Never mind, where your mother must think you are."
"I know, I know, I'm sorry Willem, but I just wanted to see the Rhoyne."
"You went to see the Rhoyne? In that time? But it is leagues away from here?"
"Dragons are fast. I thought you knew this?" She smirked at a stunned Willem. "Did you find my cloak?"
"Yes, I have it here. Now put it on before we head back."
Daenerys smiled once more at Willem, as she threw her dark cloak over her dragon-riding outfit. As they walked back into the city together, she prayed that her mother would not ask her any questions when she arrived home, lest she faced the same wrath that Aemon had faced earlier in the day.
Rhaella Targaryen
Rhaella sat quietly in the courtyard, save for the clashing swords swinging in front of her, her eyes scanning a book earnestly as she sipped a cup of the finest Dornish wine that Illyrio had to offer. Before her, Viserys and Arthur were sparring, their bout had been going on for quite some time now as neither of them could get the upper hand over the other, though Rhaella felt that Arthur wasn't trying his hardest or her son would've been on the floor by now.
Her mind had been elsewhere, however, as she wondered where Daenerys was, her absence being noticed during their dinner earlier as well as the absence of Willem. She silently hoped that they were in the markets somewhere, like she promised her, and that they were only out this late because they had gone to eat food and had done nothing nefarious or gotten themselves into trouble.
At last her fears were put to rest as she saw Daenerys walk through the courtyard at a brisk pace, her hood still covering her silver hair with Willem following closely behind her, a frustrated look painted across his weathered features. "Daenerys!" She called out to her daughter, who stopped dead in her tracks and turned to face her mother with a soft smile on her lips. "Come here."
Daenerys slowly made her way over to Rhaella, her soft smile fading as she steeled herself for what she presumed would be a stern scolding. "Yes, mother?" She chirped, her voice sounding as innocent as possible. Rhaella noticed how she held her cloak tightly to her body as if she were freezing and attempting to keep the cold out despite the hot climate they were in.
"Where have you been?" Rhaella asked, her gaze laying on Willem who had approached from behind her daughter.
"We were in the markets all day, were we not Willem?" Daenerys replied, her head turning to face Willem.
"Aye, that we were, Princess." Willem smiled, as Daenerys gave a soft smirk toward him before turning back to a curious Rhaella.
"Hm. Have you eaten?" Rhaella asked, her eyes never leaving Daenerys' own.
"We have, mother."
"Very well, Daenerys, off you go." Rhaella smiled, as her violet eyes watched her daughter almost skip away with delight with Willem following her.
Her gaze turned back to the sparring match between her son and Arthur as the two of them were too enthralled in their bout to even notice Daenerys' coming and going. However, the large frame of Illyrio appeared from the manse as he approached her with one of the most beautiful women she had ever seen trailing behind him.
Rhaella gazed upon her with wide eyes as her otherworldly appearance was unlike anything she had seen before. Her red hair looked like a midnight flame, whereas her red eyes pierced any who she looked upon. Rhaella was mostly captivated by the large red ruby that sat upon the throat of the woman, the stone seeming to cast a glow itself as she walked towards Rhaella. Even Arthur and Viserys stopped to look upon this new stranger that had entered their world, though both had their different reasons for staring.
"Queen Rhaella, may I have the honor of introducing Lady Melisandre of the Red Preists of R'hllor." Illyrio smiled, as he stepped to one side and allowed Melisandre to deliver a simple curtsy.
"My Queen." She began, her voice deep and melodic. "I have seen this day coming for many years."
Rhaella stood up from her chair and clasped her hands in front of her. "Lady Melisandre, a pleasure truly." She smiled. "If I may ask why are you here? We have no ties with the Red Priests."
Before speaking, Melisandre turned her fiery gaze at Illyrio. "Please, leave us, Magister, I would have our discussion in private, if you don't mind."
"Of course, my Lady." Illyrio bowed before scurrying off. The sight shocked Rhaella and she wondered just what kind of power and influence Melisandre had if she could so easily send a Magister away in his own home.
"What is it you want, my Lady?" Rhaella asked, her eyes turning to her side to see Arthur and Viserys approaching.
"I was sent here by my God, R'hllor, to guide and advise the Prince," Melisandre explained as she took in the sight of both men who now stood to the side of Rhaella, ever wary and suspicious of the mysterious woman before them. "Ser Arthur, Prince Viserys." She nodded toward them.
"Who is this woman, mother?" Viserys asked, his lilac eyes narrowing at the red woman.
"How do you know who I am?" Arthur questioned, his hand lingering on a dagger that he held on his hip.
"I am no threat to anyone here, I can assure you," Melisandre explained.
"The Prince? You mean my son?" Rhaella asked.
"No. The Prince that was Promised. Azor Ahai born again. I have seen him in the flames and visions that R'hllor has granted me and he will be the one to lead the war for the dawn against the Great Other." Melisandre explained.
"Aemon? You mean Aemon?" Arthur queried.
"Is that his name? Please, can you bring him before me?"
Rhaella was cautious but nodded at Viserys to bring Aemon to them. As Viserys did what he was told to, Arthur felt that it was his turn to get some questions answered.
"So tell me, Lady Melisandre, what do you want with Aemon?" He asked, his hand ever present on the hilt of his dagger.
"To guide and to advise and to teach him that he is destined for greater things than this place." She answered.
"He already knows he is destined for greater things, my Lady, he is the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms."
"This is true, but there is something more than the Iron Throne that he needs to know of, for he has been chosen."
"By who? Your God?"
"Who else?"
Arthur took in a deep breath and folded his arms across his chest as he saw Aemon and Viserys approach them. Arthur felt slightly sorry for the boy, as he knew all of this may become too much for him to bear at this moment. He looked on at the tired-looking Aemon with saddened eyes and figured he must have been sleeping.
"What is all this, grandmother? I haven't done anything wrong this time, have I?" Aemon sighed, as he stretched his arms behind his head.
"No, of course not, Aemon. This woman is from the..."
"I am a Red Preist, my Prince." Melisandre smiled, as she dropped her head into a deep bow. "I have been sent here by my God, to aid and to guide you, for you are his chosen."
"Chosen? What do you mean?" Aemon asked.
"Do you not know? Of the prophecy?"
"I do," Aemon answered.
Rhaella looked at him with wide eyes as did Arthur, as they both knew that they had never told him of his role in the prophecy nor had they even mentioned it to him, as they hoped for a better time to discuss it with him. "You know, Aemon? How did you learn of it?" Rhaella stammered.
"My father told me, in my dreams. He said I will sing my song and save the world from the coming darkness, though I do not know what that darkness is. I presumed it was Robert or another evil man, though I am not so sure."
Rhaella looked at him in disbelief, unable to comprehend the words that came out of her grandson's mouth. "Rhaegar visited you? In your dreams?" She sniffed, the memories of her long-dead son coming to the forefront of her mind.
"Sometimes." Aemon shrugged. "Though he is never there for long."
"By the Gods." Arthur sighed, his hand rubbing his temple. "That still doesn't explain how you know of the prophecy, Aemon."
"Well, after my father told me of it, I did my own research into our history and found out about Aegon's dagger from a book that spoke of the Long Night. It was then I realized it was the same blade you had in your possession, Grandmother." Aemon explained.
"So you took it and read the message within?" Rhaella questioned, her arms folding across her chest.
"I did. From my blood will come the Prince that was Promised, and his will be the song of ice and fire." Aemon smiled. "How true it all is, I know not. They could be the ramblings of a madman for all we know."
"I see my God has chosen well," Melisandre interjected, a proud smile on her face at the ingenuity of Aemon. "I only ask this, my Prince, that you would allow me to serve you and offer you guidance and council when you require it."
"Wait we need to talk about-"
"I accept, my Lady." Aemon bowed slightly, cutting Arthur's bleatings off.
"Aemon, we hardly know this woman or what her intentions are." Arthur protested.
"I think it's quite obvious what her intentions are, Ser Arthur."
Arthur shook his head and grunted in displeasure at being so easily dismissed, his dark blue eyes staring holes into the red priest before him.
"I do want to make this clear, Lady Melisandre, that I do not serve your Red God." Aemon warned, a stern look on his face. It was then for the first time that Rhaella and Arthur saw he had the makings of a King, and for the first time, they knew he did not need to be protected or coddled in the way they had been doing.
"Of course, my Prince. I cannot force you to believe in him but know this, he believes in you." Melisandre smiled, before bowing her head and walking off inside Illyrio's manse.
Arthur and Rhaella stood there a moment, both of their gazes on Aemon, who stood with his arms folded looking at his feet. Viserys, who had not said a word, stood still rubbing his temples, before taking a deep breath and walking back inside the manse, leaving the three of them in silence.
"Can I go back to bed now?" Aemon asked.
"Of course, but be careful around this woman, Aemon." Rhaella cautioned, her voice weary from the day's efforts.
"I will be, Grandmother, I promise," Aemon smirked, as he gave Rhaella a goodnight kiss before heading back to bed himself, leaving Arthur and Rhaella alone.
Rhaella turned to her knight, her violet eyes full of purpose. "Keep an eye on him, Arthur, and that woman."
"By your command, my Queen," Arthur assured, as he too walked off.
As she herself turns to the comfort of her bed and Bonifer, she finds herself in a dream. The surroundings are serene, an ethereal place where reality blurs into a haze. Suddenly, a figure materializes before her as her beloved son, Rhaegar, stands before her, radiating an almost divine light.
"Mother," Rhaegar says softly, his voice carrying a blend of strength and sorrow. "I have come to speak of my son, Aemon."
Rhaella's heart swells with both joy and sadness. "Rhaegar, my sweet son, what brings you here?"
"Aemon's destiny," Rhaegar begins, his eyes intense with purpose. "He carries the blood of the dragon, and his place is in Westeros. He must fulfill the prophecy, the ancient words of the seers. Our legacy depends on him. But to do so, he needs to be where it all began."
Rhaella's eyes fill with tears. "But how can we ensure his safety in a land that wants him dead?"
Rhaegar places a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He will not be alone. The stars have aligned, and allies will rise to support him. He must go, mother. He must embrace his destiny."
The dream fades as Rhaella awakens, her mind now burdened with the heavy decision. The message is clear: Aemon must go to Westeros. As she stands up out of bed, her mind races with what to do and what actions to take. Bonifer stirred awake next to her, as his heavy eyes were set on his distressed lover.
"Rhaella, what troubles you, my love?" He asked, his eyes full of concern as he watched her hastily get dressed.
"I saw him, Bonifer." She replied, her voice full of sorrow and joy, though Rhaella knew not which emotion to feel. "I saw Rhaegar."
"You saw Rhaegar? In your dreams?" He asked, sitting up in the bed.
"I did. He told me it was time."
"Time for what, Rhaella? You're not making any sense."
"For Aemon to go to Westeros, to fulfill his part of the prophecy."
Bonifer stood up from the bed and walked up to Rhaella and enveloped her in his arms, so as to calm her down. "Tell me, is this what you want for him?"
Rhaella searched his eyes with her own as if looking for the right answer in his weary grey eyes. "I am unsure, Bonifer. I am so worried for him but it seems to be the only way."
"Then let us tell everyone." Bonifer smiled, before placing a deep kiss on the lips of Rhaella.
Once they were dressed, they then spent that morning gathering everyone they knew they would need to tell them of their plans for them, as Rhaella knew that not only Aemon would be departing today, understanding that there was more unfinished business to conduct. As Rhaella and Bonifer rounded everyone up and told them to go to the great hall at the epicenter of Illyrio's manse, she walked into the hall herself with everyone's gaze piercing through the dowager Queen.
She stood at the center of the hall, her poised demeanor barely concealing the tension in her eyes. Her gown, still elegant, seemed hastily donned to everyone, and her voice, though steady, carries an edge of haste. Bonifer, standing resolute beside her, his armor slightly askew from hurried preparation, exchanged hurried glances with his men of the Holy Hundred, which lined the walls of the hall.
Family members and knights sat on the tables around her, their faces a mix of curiosity and concern. The candles flicker more intensely, casting dramatic shadows on the walls as if mirroring the gravity of the moment. The grand chandeliers above seem to hold their breath, waiting for the unfolding narrative.
"Grandmother, why have you brought us all here at this early hour?" Aemon yawned, a creased white shirt seemingly having been thrown over him. "Has something happened?"
"No...Well, yes, there has been a change of plans." Rhaella sighed, everyone present almost leaning in to hear her words. "You were right, Aemon. Our inaction has diminished us in the eyes of our enemy and it is time we acted."
Aemon almost seemed to jump out of his seat at the news but managed to keep himself as composed as he could. "Thank the Gods, when do we start?"
"Today," Rhaella replied, her eyes turning to Viserys. "You, my son, will go to Dorne. It is time we follow through with this marriage arrangement you have with Arianne Martell."
Viserys looked up at Rhaella with widened eyes, presuming that arrangement was forgotten about. "I have never met this woman, mother."
"You have exchanged letters, no?"
"Well...yes, years ago."
"Good, then let us remind the Martells of their deal with us. Fly there today on Clouddiver and ensure the vipers hold to their end of the agreement. Take Barristan with you as well, it'll make you appear more...legitimate."
Viserys let out a heavy sigh, resigning himself to his fate of marrying a princess of Dorne he had never met. Rhaella then turned her attention to Aemon, who sat in his chair almost dripping with anticipation. "You, Aemon, are to go to Westeros."
"And do what, Grandmother?" He asked, hoping for some direction.
"I...am unsure, but your place is there, not here. I have a feeling it'll become clearer when you are there." She answered.
Aemon drew a confused look across his face as he had no concept as to what his Grandmother meant, but he shrugged his shoulders, happy to just be allowed to leave Essos.
"I want Arthur to go with you as well to make sure you're safe," Rhaella added, her violet eyes setting upon a stoic-faced Arthur Dayne.
"I must say, I've never rode a dragon before." He smirked.
"There is a first time for everything, Arthur." Rhaella smiled back.
"What of me, mother? What can I do?" Daenerys wondered, her violet eyes scanning everyone in the room before resting on her mother.
"You, Daenerys, are coming with me to see our friend in the Golden Company. Everyone else will remain here." Rhaella decided.
"And I will remain here," Illyrio added, the whole room's attention turning to him and his large frame. "I will keep in contact with our friends in King's Landing, and I am sure you will all be coming and going, so I will keep my home open to you all." Illyrio smiled, his crooked teeth showing.
"Thank you, Magister, you've been most hospitable to us all. I hope we can repay you sooner rather than later." Rhaella replied.
"I hope so too." Illyrio grinned.
With that, Rhaella bid everyone to see to their duties and watched them as they all left. She hoped that she was making the right decision and she was putting her trust in a dream that she had no idea was real or not, but she hoped that Rhaegar had set her and her family on the right path.
Aemon Targaryen
Aemon almost ran to his chambers when Rhaella gave him leave to go to Westeros, as he was ecstatic to finally be able to go home properly. However, as he stood in his chambers, getting changed into his dragon-riding outfit, he heard a heavy knock at his door, as Arthur walked in, his face full of concern and worry.
"Do you have everything you need, Aemon?" He asked as he walked over to where Dark Sister lay on the table, his eyes scanning the dark grey steel that made up the blade.
"I think so, Ser Arthur. Do you?" Aemon asked as he began to finish his ensemble. He dons a black leather armor embroidered with the three-headed dragon of his house in red, a fur-lined cloak for warmth, and sturdy dragon-hide boots. His outfit includes a high-collared tunic, and leather gloves, lined with metal studs. Arthur looked on at him like a proud father, momentarily disregarding the worry he held for him.
"You look like a King, Aemon." Arthur simply stated, a small grin appearing on his face as he did so.
"You're too kind, Ser Arthur." Aemon smiled, as he picked up Dark Sister and tied it around his waist.
"We cannot take that," Arthur grumbled.
"What? Why? It's my sword, Arthur." Aemon pleaded, his eyes full of surprise.
"It is one of the most famous swords in the world, Aemon, if people see it, there will be questions and suspicion and we don't need that."
Aemon let out a heavy sigh, before laying the sword back down on the table and turning to face a disappointed Arthur. "I don't see why. We are riding a dragon. I think that'll be suspicion enough."
"True, Aemon, but dragons can land and take flight once more, hidden from view in the sky. A sword like that will attract the wrong kind of attention."
"Will you be leaving Dawn?"
"I will be, which is why I had these made." Arthur smiled, as he reached to the side of the door to reveal two swords of differing length. One a greatsword, similar in size to Dawn. The other was a slimmer one-handed sword, much more akin to Dark Sister. Aemon took the slimmer blade in his hand and felt the weight of it whilst admiring the craftsmanship that went into the steel. The grip was bound in black leather and had the initials AT embroidered, whereas the blade itself was of the highest quality steel.
"When did you have it made?" Aemon asked, pointing the blade outwards and looking down at it, closing one eye as he did so.
"I've been expecting this day for some time, Aemon, so I prepared for it." Arthur grinned.
"It is beautiful. Simple too." Aemon observed and he sheathed his newly acquired sword.
Arthur smiled and looked Aemon up and down, his deep blue eyes portraying a certain proudness of the boy in front of him, as he watched Aemon complete his final checks. Suddenly, Melisandre appeared at the doorway, from behind Arthur, her silent appearance unsettling Arthur.
"My Prince, are you nearly ready?" She asked, her voice soothing and calm, like a healing hand to an open wound.
"I am, my Lady," Aemon replied, before narrowing his eyes in curiosity. "Is there something you need, my Lady?"
"No, my Prince, I am just here to remind you to always walk in his light, for he is with you."
Aemon raised an eyebrow, clearly finding the woman perplexing, to say the least. "Thank you and...you too?"
She walked up towards him, startling Arthur and causing him to unsheath his new blade. Aemon could feel her red eyes staring into his soul as if searching for something in his grey orbs. "Go to Dorne. You will find your answers there, my Prince." She smiled, before turning to walk from the room.
Aemon and Arthur both watched her leave, their faces a mixture of confusion and mild amusement. "She is a strange one." Aemon chuckled, however, his mind lingered on her words, his thoughts musing on what she wanted him to find in Dorne of all places.
"She is, Aemon." Arthur smiled, sheathing his gleaming new greatsword.
Aemon let out a heavy sigh, before finishing his preparations. "Are you ready then, Arthur?" Aemon asked as he finished patting himself down.
"Of course, Aemon." Arthur grinned, as he sheathed the greatsword on his back. He had to admit to himself that the feeling was strange to have anything other than Dawn take up the place on his back, but he knew the change was necessary.
"Good. Let's get to it then." Aemon smiled, walking past the Sword of the Morning, smiling all the while. Arthur followed him through the manse, avoiding busy guards and servants as they did so. It seemed everyone was busy with some task ever since Rhaella's proclamation, as even the lowest servant was occupied with something to do.
Eventually, they arrived in one of the largest courtyards that occupied the castle-like space that was Illyrio's manse. The area stretched out in all directions, and Arthur felt it was large enough to host a great Lord's tourney, however, he knew this space would be occupied by something much more epic. Aemon walked out into the middle of the courtyard, whilst Arthur watched him expectantly, as he muttered Valryian words to himself.
"Māzigon naejot issa, Vaedar, se jēda emagon māzigon." Aemon mumbled to himself as he reached the center of the courtyard. He looked up to the sky, his grey eyes searching the heavens for the sight of the only real God he had ever seen. However, he saw and heard nothing. "It seems he's not listening today." Aemon chuckled, turning to face Arthur with a small grin before turning his gaze back to the sky once more.
"Vaedar! Māzigon! Ziry iksos jēda!" He yelled as the frustration in his voice almost shone through. His grey eyes scanned the sky once more before he saw him. The great dark figure came cutting through the clouds like a sword through flesh, making the most ear-deafening roars all the while as it flew over the manse, before circling and landing before Aemon and Arthur. His color was of pure midnight, so dark that it seemed to swallow the light from the sky.
Arthur looked stunned at the size of Vaedar, the dragon's weight making small cracks in the stone beneath it, whereas its deep red eyes seemed to narrow at the sight of someone not of the blood of the dragon. He watched as Aemon held out his hand and slowly walked to his dragon, whispering small phrases in Valyrian as he did so.
"A magnificent beast, Aemon." Arthur chirped.
"He's not a beast, Arthur. He's fire made flesh, and he's more intelligent than you think." Aemon glared, his grey eyes showing a seriousness that Arthur had not seen in him ever.
"Apologies, Aemon."
"It's not me you need to apologize to." Aemon chuckled, as he walked to the side of his dragon. As he did so, Arthur could've sworn the dragon was staring into his soul, perhaps waiting for an opportunity to eat him if Aemon looked away. To tell the truth, this was the first time in his life he was truly nervous.
"Fear not, Arthur, he won't hurt you." Aemon sighed, sensing Arthur's hesitation. "Not unless I tell him to."
"If you say so, Aemon." Arthur nervously chuckled.
Aemon smiled at Arthur, before laying a hand on Vaedar's side and pressing his head against him. "Dohaeragon, Vaedar." He whispered, before climbing on the back of Vaedar, the dragon making a small rumbling as he did so.
"Are you coming or not, Arthur?" Aemon grinned down at the Sword of the Morning.
Arthur took a deep breath and made his way past the enormous head of Vaedar, the dragon seemingly staring into him whilst he passed his blood-red eye. He climbed the scaly back of the dragon and sat behind Aemon, wrapping his arms around the waist of his King as he did so.
"Are you ready, Arthur?" Aemon asked.
Arthur took a sharp inhale, before giving his answer. "I am."
Aemon smiled and took hold of the thick leather reins that lined the back of Vaedar's neck. "Naejot Vesteros, Vaedar!" Aemon shouted as Vaedar took to the air with a heavy beat of his dark black wings.
As Vaedar's powerful wings beat against the dusky sky, Arthur and Aemon cast one last glance back at Illyrio's manse. The sprawling estate quickly became a distant speck, swallowed by the shadows of night. With hearts pounding and anticipation coursing through their veins, they soared towards the unknown, the horizon ablaze with possibilities. This was just the beginning.
Kings Landing: 298 AC: The Same Day:
Varys
The work was never-ending. These last years he had spent tirelessly keeping his web of spies intact whilst simultaneously eliminating the spy networks of his other competitors. He had hired every scum killer and thug he could to wipe out every informant of Jon Arryn's that he knew of, so as to leave him blind to the going on's of the Essos and other areas of interest.
His own web of informants has now swelled massively, to the point where even a spider such as him had trouble keeping on top of it all. To make matters worse, there was a new player in the game, Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish. Varys loathed the man and saw him as nothing but an up-jumped number keeper, raised to the privilege of the small council by fools such as Jon Arryn, knowing that Robert was too stupid or drunk to care.
Varys did admire him in some capacity. The man was devilishly smart and had done well, avoiding Varys' web. The Eunuch knew that Littlefinger was onto him and that he would use any scrap of information to rise in power, such as he was. He also knew that should he find out about the return of the dragons, he would tell Jon Arryn immediately, so as to be rewarded like the loyal dog he was.
As the spider moved silently through the dimly lit throne room, his thoughts a tangled web of secrets and schemes. The heavy silence was disrupted by the soft, almost imperceptible footsteps behind him. Littlefinger's voice, smooth and deceitful, cut through his musings like a knife. "Lost in thought, Lord Varys?" he whispered, a cunning smile curling at the edges of his lips.
"Lord Baelish, what a surprise to see you in here." Varys falsly smiled.
"I would not dare to be anywhere else, Lord Varys." Littlefinger chuckled, as he moved to stand next to Varys, both of them sharing the same gaze for the Iron Throne before them.
Varys noticed Littlefinger's ambitious gaze and began to walk in front of the throne. "A thousand blades, taken from the hands of Aegon the Conqueror's enemies, forged in the fiery breath of Balerion the Black Dread."
Littlefinger lifted his nose at Varys, whilst his eyes followed the Eunuch around the room. "There aren't a thousand blades. There aren't even two hundred. I've counted." He gruffed, a small hint of disappointment showing in his voice.
Varys scoffed at Littlefinger's admittance, the man apparently finding no shame in flaunting his ambition. "I'm sure you have." He said as he began to climb the steps of the dais that the throne sat upon. "An ugly little thing, though it does have a certain...appeal."
"It does, Lord Varys," Littlefinger admitted, slowly pacing behind Varys' back. "Tell me, have your little birds sung any songs of Essos or its occupants? I must say, I seem to have trouble hearing any songs of my own from that part of the world."
Varys cocked his head slightly at Littlefinger, as he turned around to face the man who wore a smug smile on his face. "I cannot say, Lord Baelish, for my birds seem to have their wings clipped the moment they fly to Essos."
"Interesting." Littlefinger mused aloud. "It seems Jon Arryn has had a torrid time over there too, and it looks as if the dragon is mightier than the falcon."
"So it would seem."
Littlefinger studied the emotionless face of the Spider before him. Every inch of his hairless features, his eyes searching for any hint of weakness, and it was there in his eyes that he found what he was searching for: fear. "It is flattering, Lord Varys, that you feel such dread at the prospect of me getting what I want."
"Thwarting you has never been my primary ambition, I promise you," Varys replied, for once not telling a lie.
"What is your primary ambition, Varys?" Littlefinger asked, his sly voice revealing itself.
"To serve the Realm."
"The Realm." Littlefinger scoffed. "Do you know what the Realm is? It's the thousand blades of Aegon's enemies. A story we agreed to tell each other over and over until we no longer believe it's a lie."
"But what happens when we stop believing the lie? Chaos. A gaping pit waiting to swallow us all."
Littlefinger turned to face Varys, a sadistic smirk appearing a the corner of his lips as he did so. "Chaos is not a pit. Chaos is a ladder."
Varys watched incredulously as Littlefinger trotted away, his ostentatious robe draping at the bottom of his legs as he did so. The Spider knew he was right about that man and his ambitions. A man willing to spread misery and death throughout the land, so long as he could be King of all the skulls and despair. Varys knew he must conquer this new player, lest his ambition crushed them all.
Jon Arryn
on Arryn paced the dimly lit corridors of the Red Keep, frustration etching deeper lines into his stern face. The air was thick with the scent of old parchment and burning torches, their flickering light casting dancing shadows on the stone walls. Despite his high position as the Hand of the King, Jon felt the weight of helplessness pressing down on him.
For months, he had been trying to gather intelligence on the Targaryens, the exiled dragon lords who had been driven across the Narrow Sea. He had sent spies, trusted agents, and even a few brave souls from his own household to Essos. But every single one of them had vanished into the labyrinthine cities of the Free Cities, leaving behind no trace, no word, no whisper. It was as if the Targaryens had woven a shroud of mystery so impenetrable that even the most cunning of spies could not pierce it.
Standing in his chambers, Jon glared at the map of Essos spread across the table. His fingers traced the outlines of Pentos, Braavos, and Myr—cities that had swallowed his men whole. Each red mark on the map was a testament to a mission gone awry, a life lost or forgotten. The Red Keep's walls, which had once felt like a fortress of power, now seemed to close in on him, a cage of stone and secrets.
Whispers of the Targaryens' resurgence reached his ears, but they were nothing more than echoes in the vast, treacherous expanse of Essos. Daenerys, Viserys and Rhaella, the last remnants of a fallen dynasty, remained elusive, ghostly figures shrouded in legend and rumor. Jon's frustration grew with each passing day, his determination to uncover the truth only matched by the cunning of those who sought to keep it hidden. He got so close once, but his assassins failed and ever since, he has failed to even penetrate Essos, let alone Pentos.
As Jon leaned over the map of Essos, he could swear there was someone else behind it all. Someone even more cunning than he, yet he knew no one who could fulfill that role in his mind. For years he had thought it was Varys, yet even his own spies cannot make it to Essos, so he tells him. No. It must be someone even more powerful than Varys. His thoughts now lingered on the one man who could weave such a web from his comfortable chair in Pentos. Illyrio Mopatis.
As he mused, he heard a gentle knock at his door, and in stepped a man he was more than happy to see. His youthful protege, Petyr Baelish.
"Ah, Petyr. Good to see you." Jon smiled warmly at the man who had just entered his chambers
"My Lord Hand, a pleasure." Petyr bowed, standing to the side of Jon and observing the map. "Still hunting the dragons, my Lord?"
"Of course. Robert hasn't forgiven nor forgotten them and neither have I." Jon choked, his mind bombarded with images of Eddard Stark, the sweet boy he used to ward.
"A terrible thing, my Lord, what happened to Ned Stark. He was a brave man. An honorable man."
"Thank you for your sympathies, Petyr, they mean a lot. Even after all this time, the wound of his loss is still fresh to all of us."
Petyr smiled and laid a reassuring hand on the shoulder of Jon, his mouth coming close to his ear. "Then let me help you, my Lord. To hunt down these savages and bring about the King's justice on them." He whispered. "Allow me to hunt them for you, whilst you occupy yourself with...other matters more suited for you."
Jon smiled and looked Petyr in the eye, seeing only admiration and honesty in them, a rare thing in King's Landing. "You would, Petyr? I would be most grateful. I find the task becoming more difficult as time goes on."
A sly smile appeared at the corner of Petyr's lips. "I would be honored to, my Lord. I will have what you want soon, once my work begins."
Jon Arryn finally allowed himself a moment of relief as he handed over the intricate network of espionage to Petyr. Jon knew he had a knack for weaving webs of deceit and manipulation, and Jon hoped that Petyr's talents would succeed where his own efforts had failed. The Targaryens remained a ghostly enigma, but with Petyr's cunning and resourcefulness, Jon felt a renewed sense of hope.
As he gazed out over the sprawling city of King's Landing from his chamber window, the weight of the Red Keep seemed a bit lighter on his shoulders. The secrets and whispers that once eluded him might finally be brought to light. Jon knew that Littlefinger had his own agenda, but for now, their goals were aligned.
With a final, deep breath, Jon turned away from the window, a faint smile playing at the corners of his lips. The game of thrones was ever unpredictable, but with Baelish's eyes and ears now scouring the realm, Jon felt a cautious sense of satisfaction. The Targaryens' secrets would be unraveled, and the safety of the realm ensured. At least for now.
Winterfell: 298 AC: The Same Day:
Robert Baratheon
The chill northern wind whipped through the air as King Robert Baratheon's procession approached the gates of Winterfell. The sight of the towering walls and ancient stronghold filled him with a mix of nostalgia and sorrow. He had made this journey many years ago, but this time, there was a somber difference: Eddard Stark was no longer there to greet him.
Instead, it was Benjen Stark, now the head of House Stark, who stood at the entrance, his face weathered and stern from years of responsibility and loss. The memory of his brother's death at the hands of the legendary Arthur Dayne haunted him, but he wore his duty with the same Stark resilience that had defined their family for generations.
Beside Benjen stood his nephew, Robb Stark, now a young man with the same piercing grey eyes and quiet strength that his father once had. Catelyn Stark was there as well, her auburn hair streaked with silver, a testament to the passing years and the burdens she had carried. By her side stood her uncle, Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, whose presence was both a comfort and a reminder of the family's deep ties and loyalties.
Theon Greyjoy, the ward of the Starks, stood slightly apart, his expression a mix of deference and defiance. He had grown up in Winterfell, but the pull of his own heritage and the expectations placed upon him weighed heavily on his shoulders.
As Robert dismounted from his horse, his Kingsguard of Lord Commander Meryn Trant and Ser Arys Oakheart doing the same. He took in the sight of the assembled Starks and their loyal bannermen. The years had changed them all, but the essence of Winterfell remained unyielding. With a heavy heart and a determined stride, Robert approached Benjen, grasping his arm in a gesture of camaraderie and shared grief.
"Benjen," Robert said, his voice rough with emotion. "It's been too long."
"Your Grace," Benjen replied, bowing his head slightly. "Welcome to Winterfell." Benjen had to silently admit, he was surprised at how much weight Robert had gained since he last saw him and thought that he perhaps had spent too long sitting on the Iron Throne.
Robert turned to Catelyn Stark, her tired eyes telling Robert she was happy to see him. "Cat. It has been too long indeed." He softly smiled, giving her a deep hug before releasing her from his embrace.
"Your Grace, I am glad to see you." She smiled.
Robert then turned his attention to the young handsome man who stood beside Benjen. His tall demeanor and sharp features looking so much like his father, told Robert exactly who this was. "You must be Robb." He stated.
"I am, Your Grace." Robb nodded.
"Aye, you look like him, you're Ned's son alright."
"Thank you, Your Grace. I try to honor him every day."
"So you should. He was an honorable man and an even better friend." Robert smiled. "You'll be Lord of Winterfell soon, I am told."
"I will be, Your Grace, on my sixteenth name day."
"You'll be coming to the Capital to take your vows then?"
"I will be, Your Grace, I look forward to it."
"As do I."
As Robert went about his greetings, Benjen's grey eyes turned to the image behind Robert, as out of a large ornate wheelhouse stepped Cersei Lannister, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, still just as beautiful as she was when she was young. Beside her stood three children, all with varying degrees of brown-blonde hair, something they must have inherited from their mother, Benjen mused.
The tallest must have been Prince Joffery, his smug smile and the enormous black armored knight behind him, marking him as so. Beside him must have been Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella, both of them looking no older than 9 name-days old, but sharing every one of their mother's looks. Strange, Benjen thought, at least one of them should have black hair.
"My Queen." Benjen bowed as she approached him, her hand held out for an expectant kiss, which Benjen dutifully gave.
"Lord Benjen. She smiled, though Benjen felt it was a false one. "Fine work you have done, after your brother's death."
"It was only my duty, my Queen."
Cersei smiled and carried on her own greetings, as Robert made his way back to Benjen. "Come with me." He coldly said, ignoring all sense of propriety.
The flickering torchlight cast long shadows on the cold stone walls as Benjen Stark led King Robert Baratheon down the winding steps into the crypts of Winterfell. The air grew colder with each step, a solemn chill that seeped into their bones. The sound of their footsteps echoed through the ancient passageway, a haunting reminder of the history and legacy enshrined within these walls.
Robert's expression was somber, his usual jovial demeanor replaced by a profound sorrow as he descended deeper into the tombs. Benjen walked beside him, silent but steadfast, understanding the weight of this journey for the king. They finally reached their destination: the resting place of Lyanna Stark.
There, illuminated by the flickering flames, stood the statue of Lyanna, her likeness captured in stone, holding a bouquet of winter roses. The sight of her brought a lump to Robert's throat, and he took a deep, shuddering breath as he gazed upon her likeness. Memories of their shared past, the promises made and broken, flooded his mind.
"Lyanna..." Robert whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish things had been different."
Benjen stood respectfully back, allowing the king his moment of grief. He knew how much Lyanna had meant to Robert, and the pain of her loss was something they both carried, albeit in different ways. The crypts, with their silent guardians of Stark lineage, bore witness to countless tales of love, loss, and sacrifice.
After a few moments, Robert turned to Benjen, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Did you have to bury her in a place like this? She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her."
Bejen looked to the ground, the emotion of the moment almost penetrating his cold exterior. "She was my sister, Your Grace. This is where she belongs."
"She belonged with me." He mumbled, his hand touching to cold surface of Lyanna's stoney face. "In my dreams, I kill him every night."
"It's done, Your Grace. The Targaryens are gone." Benjen replied, his hands clasping in front of him.
Robert turned to Benjen with a small hint of madness in his eyes. "Not all of them."
A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I'm really hoping this story kicks on now, and I have a lot more exciting stuff to write. Many thanks.