Pentos: 298 AC: 1 Day Later:
Arthur Dayne
As the first light of dawn cast its golden glow over the horizon, Arthur Dayne stood on the balcony, his eyes closed, savoring the momentary peace that the morning offered. The warmth of the sun that kissed his face, a brief solace before the inevitable storm. The air was crisp, filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the distant chirping of birds.
Arthur's thoughts were heavy, burdened by the knowledge of the difficult conversations that lay ahead. He had to meet with Aemon first to discuss their approach. Rhaella and Daenerys' actions in burning the Golden Company had set the Targaryen family ablaze in more ways than one. The weight of their choices now rested on their shoulders, and it was up to him and Aemon to navigate the turbulent waters.
Opening his eyes, Arthur took a deep breath and turned to leave the balcony. He knew that the tranquility of the morning would be fleeting, as he grabbed Dawn from the table that it rested upon with the reverence such a blade deserved before he tied its sheath around his back, the familiarity of it all comforting him. Walking from the room through the stone corridors that snaked Illyrio's manse, he eventually found himself at Aemon's door which was being guarded by one of the trusted Holy Hundred.
Arthur gave the man a respectful nod, ever grateful for the effort they put in when guarding the Targaryen family. "Here to see the King, Ser Arthur?" The man asked, his stoic expression unchanging.
"I am. Is he in?" Arthur asked.
The man only nodded in reply and knocked on the door for the Sword of the Morning. "Enter!" Came the call from within, as the stoic and faithful man gently pushed the door open, allowing the Sword of the Morning to enter.
Arthur found Aemon standing over a series of maps and notes, his gray eyes only barely glancing up at Arthur before returning to the table. Arthur could tell that he had been up all night and well into the early hours of the morning as he looked at his matted hair and disheveled clothes. "Aemon," Arthur smiled as he walked over and stood to the side of him, a black-gloved hand resting on the table as his deep blue eyes studied the same maps Aemon had been pouring over. He could see that they were maps of Westeros and Essos, annotated by various scribbles and notes.
"Ser Arthur," Aemon sighed, a hand resting on Arthur's shoulder as he looked up at him. "I am glad to see you."
Arthur smiled and slapped Aemon on the shoulder, before walking to the window and opening the drapes that covered it, the sunlight pouring through into the room as he did so. "Why? Is everything alright?" He asked, turning to face a squinting Aemon.
"Yes, I suppose."
"Have you slept?"
"No, not really. My mind has been racing with ideas and plans. Come and look." Aemon smiled, as he turned to face his maps once more.
Arthur sighed and moved to stand beside Aemon, his deep blue eyes studying the maps in greater detail this time. On his first observation, he had failed to notice the level of detail of the notes and annotations that Aemon had made. House sigils and family names dotted the map, whereas scraps of parchments lingered on the edges, listing family members and their house's military strength in battle. From numbers of cavalry, knights, and even levies, Arthur was quite impressed by it all and the level of detail Aemon had gone into.
"Where did you get all these numbers from?" Arthur asked, picking up a piece of parchment that had 'House Dayne' written upon it along with an accompanying estimated number of fighting men.
"Illyrio and several books," Aemon answered as he drew a heavy black circle around a place on the map.
"Planning to fight my family?" Arthur chuckled, as he placed the parchment back on the table, his arms folding across his chest.
"You never know, Arthur." Aemon smiled.
"Have you spoken to your grandmother yet? Or Daenerys?" Arthur asked, a more serious tone entering his voice as he did so.
"No, not yet...I know what I need to say, but it'll be...awkward I suppose." Aemon sighed as he placed the quill he had been drawing with down and rubbed his eyes, his lack of sleep seemingly overcoming him.
"Just say what you need to say and move on. The longer this lingers, the worse it'll become, and Targaryens need each other. It serves us no good if you are fragmented and unaligned." Arthur explained.
"I know, Ser Arthur, I do." Aemon sighed, as he moved to look in a looking glass and noticed his untidy appearance. "Wait for me outside, I'll be with you in a moment."
"By your command, my King." Arthur nodded before leaving the room.
Arthur leaned against the cool stone wall outside Aemon's chambers, waiting patiently. He listened to the faint sounds of Aemon moving around inside, the clinking of metal and rustling of fabric as he prepared for the day. The silence of the corridor offered Arthur a moment of introspection, his thoughts drifting back to the balcony and the peaceful morning sun.
His mind, however, couldn't linger on the tranquility for long. The weight of their impending discussion with Rhaella and Daenerys loomed large. He could feel the tension building within him, a mix of apprehension and determination. He could also feel the unwavering eyes of the faithful man that had been guarding the Aemon's room lingering upon him, as both men soon made eye contact.
"Have you been here all night, Ser?" Arthur asked, breaking the silence between them.
"Since the hour of ghosts, Ser Arthur." The man responded.
Arthur smiled at the man, ever appreciative of his commitment to them. "Go and get some rest, I'll be with the King today," Arthur assured.
"Thank you, Ser Arthur." The man smiled, his cold stoic appearance melting away in the morning sun as he walked off, ever grateful to be given leave to rest.
The door to Aemon's chambers finally creaked open, and Aemon stepped out, looking composed and ready. Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them. Arthur smiled at Aemon's appearance, as he looked ever like the King he had seen in his dreams all those years ago. His hair had been brushed and untangled whereas he wore a deep black doublet adorned with golden thread and buttons. Arthur also took in the sight of the legendary Dark Sister that hung gracefully from Aemon's hip.
"Are we ready then?" Arthur asked.
Aemon only nodded and soon enough they were walking side by side, their footsteps echoing through the grand corridor. The silence between them was filled with unspoken understanding, each lost in their thoughts about the daunting task ahead. The sun streamed through the tall, arched windows, casting patterns of light and shadow on the marble floor.
The air was thick with the scent of burning incense, a fragrance meant to calm the nerves but that now seemed almost ironic given the tension of the moment. Aemon's face was set in a mask of determination, his thoughts likely mirroring Arthur's own concerns.
As they approached Rhaella's chambers, the guards stationed at the doors stood to attention. Arthur's hand briefly brushed the hilt of his dagger, not out of threat, but as a comforting reassurance. They nodded to the guards, who then stepped aside, allowing them entry. The heavy wooden doors opened with a groan, revealing the opulent room beyond. The moment had arrived. Arthur and Aemon exchanged a final glance, steeling themselves for the conversation that awaited. Together, they stepped into the room, ready to face Rhaella and Daenerys.
Inside, the opulent room, Aemon and Arthur found Rhaella and Daenerys locked in deep conversation with Ser Bonifer Hasty around a large table in the center of the room before all three of them stood up upon seeing Aemon and Arthur's entrance. Arthur watched as Aemon smiled at them all and waved them down to sit before his dark circled eyes lay upon Ser Bonifer, the tall and thin Knight offering a warm smile in return.
"Ser Bonifer, I had thought you were on watch last night." Aemon grinned as he paced around the room, his eyes taking in every detail.
"I was, Your Grace, but Queen Rhaella had asked for my...presence," Bonifer answered.
Arthur watched on as Aemon smiled to himself, knowing full well why Bonifer's 'presence' was needed. "Ah, I see. Well, I thank you for comforting my Grandmother but I would ask that you give us a moment alone, Ser."
"Of course, Your Grace." Bonifer nodded, before standing up and walking past Arthur and out into the corridor, the heavy doors closing behind him with a loud thud.
Arthur turned his head back toward the three Targaryens in the room before him, a mixture of calmness and anxiousness present on the faces of Daenerys and Rhaella, whereas Aemon was the epitome of calm, as he sat down on the opposite end of the table facing both his family members. Arthur instinctively moved behind Aemon, his presence at his shoulder adding an aura of power and regality.
"Sister, Grandmother." Aemon smiled, as he sat up straight in his chair, his hands clasping in front of him as he did so.
"Aemon," Rhaella nodded, her voice calm and composed. "I had thought you were going to speak to us last night."
"I was meant to, but I became embroiled in plans and discussions with Ser Arthur and the rest of them."
"You're not going to hurt us?" Daenerys blurted out, her naivety showing.
Aemon looked taken aback by her words as he shook his head in disbelief. "Hurt you? Why would I hurt you? Look, what you did wasn't acceptable, but it is done. I don't want there to be any animosity between us."
"Of course, Aemon. We apologize for doing what we did without speaking to you first." Rhaella sighed, a hint of relief showing through as a small smile appeared at the corners of her mouth.
"Thank you. Now that this is done, I would ask that you both come with me. I have some plans to go over with everyone in the great hall."
"What plans?" Rhaella asked.
"You'll see," Aemon smirked before he turned to Arthur. "Ser Arthur please escort Queen Rhaella to the main hall, I will be there with you in a moment. I just need to speak to Daenerys first."
"At once, Your Grace." Arthur nodded, as he beckoned Rhaella to follow him.
"Oh, and please gather everyone else. Including Melisandre." Aemon remembered.
Arthur turned to face Aemon, a small smirk appearing on his face as he did so. "Of course, Your Grace." He respectfully bowed in recognition of the changed man Aemon had become, before turning and walking from the room with Rhaella.
The heavy doors close behind them both by the two guards that remained on the entrance to the room, as they walked through the opulent halls of Ilyrio's manse once more. Arthur glanced at Rhaella, noting the determination in her stride. Despite the difficult decisions she had made, she walked with a queenly grace, her head held high. He admired her strength, despite everything she had been through.
Aemon Targaryen
Aemon watched as Arthur and Rhaella left the room, the heavy doors closing behind them with a heavy thud once more, before he turned his attention to Daenerys. Her demeanor had calmed much since he had first entered the room as she now stared expectantly at hin with her beautiful violet eyes. Aemon rubbed his gray ones, a small admission of his tiredness before he stood up and sat in the chair beside her.
"What is it, Aemon?" She asked him, as she placed a soft hand on his knee, her violet eyes searching his.
"I need to ask, why would you think I would hurt you?" Aemon sighed, placing his hand on hers.
"I...am unsure. You've changed. You're more commanding and...intimidating. Last night, you sounded more mature, in a way I've never seen you before."
"I suppose you're right, but this is how it has to be from now on. I have a throne to reclaim, Dany, and I need to grow up at some point."
"I know, but I don't want to lose that boy I grew up with."
"You won't, Dany, I promise, but things will be different from now on, and I hope you can accept that."
Daenerys let out a heavy sigh, but Aemon could see that she was coming to terms with the new person Aemon was growing to be. "Fine, Aemon," She grinned.
"Good." Aemon smiled, as he stood up and placed a warming kiss on her cheek. "Also, I won't ever hurt you, Dany, so please don't think that of me."
"I know, Aemon." She smiled, as she looked into his gray eyes, his face inches from her own.
They stood inches apart, their breaths mingling in the small space between them. Aemon could feel the heat radiating from Daenerys's skin, a tantalizing warmth that drew him closer. His eyes locked onto hers, a stormy sea of emotions reflected in those violet depths. He could not explain what was happening to him, but he felt some strange pull that allured him into her.
Shaking his head, Aemon took a step back, the heated warmth of her skin escaping him the moment he did so. Aemon could see a small resigned disappointed look that seemed to crash down upon him like a rogue wave. Taking in a deep breath, he brushed himself down, attempting to escape the awkwardness of the silence that surrounded them. "Come, we must go to the great hall, Dany." He sighed, her gaze burning through him as he did so.
"Oh...yes, let us go then, Aemon." Daenerys playfully smiled, standing up from her chair and reaching the heavy doors. Aemon's eyes followed her intensely as he tried to make sense of the strange emotions that raged inside him. He had never felt this way about her before, but now he looked at her in a different light. He noticed the way her loose silver hair fell around her shoulders, and something about it all intrigued him in a way he could not describe.
"Are you coming, Aemon?" Daenerys asked, dragging Aemon from his confusing thoughts.
"Hm...oh, yes, let us go." Aemon smiled, rubbing the back of his head and figuring his feelings were a result of his fatigue.
Together they made their way through the stone and marble halls of the manse, their destination the great hall. As Aemon walked beside Daenerys, his heart still fluttered from their intimate moment. The silence between them was thick and heavy as if laden with unspoken words and promises, their steps echoing in the halls as the silence grew louder.
He dared a glance at Daenerys, her profile bathed in the soft glow of torchlight. She was beautiful, and in that moment, the weight of his feelings threatened to overwhelm him. His mind churned with thoughts and questions. As they approached the great hall, Aemon felt a sudden urge to break the silence.
"Daenerys," he began softly, his voice tinged with uncertainty, "what happened back there…"
She looked up at him, her violet eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and something deeper. "I don't know what you mean," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips.
Aemon held a small smirk at the corner of his mouth as he looked into her eyes as if searching for some doorway into her thoughts. "Never mind what I said then." Aemon playfully sighed.
Soon enough, the great hall loomed ahead, its grand doors a reminder of the world beyond their private moment. As they placed their hands on the door, they shared one final knowing glance. Whatever was brewing between them would have to wait and they both knew it, as the voices inside the hall drew louder.
Jaime Lannister
"I don't know when we're going home, Jon." Jaime sighed, as he rubbed his eyes. He had been dragged out of bed by Arthur only moments ago much to his frustration. He had hastily brushed his long golden hair and threw on a white cotton shirt, the creases in it portraying his rushed morning. Before him, sat a still frustrated Jon Connington, his ire calm but still raised due to recent events.
"I suppose I'll get my answer now," Jon relented, as he nodded toward the door.
Jaime stood up as Aemon and Daenerys entered the room. Jaime smiled at the King's appearance, his outfit of midnight black and gold exuding regal authority whereas the blade he wore marked him as a fine warrior as only the wielder of Dark Sister could be. Aemon smiled at them all as Daenerys took a seat at the round table before them, before waving them all down to sit.
Jaime sat and watched as Arthur, Illyrio, Rhaella, Willem, Jon, and Willem all sat down, their presence ordered by Aemon and gathered by Arthur. Aemon remained standing, however as he walked around the table, the sound of his footsteps echoing around the room before he finally stood behind Arthur, a hand resting on the Sword of the Morning's shoulder as he did so.
"Good Morning to you all." Aemon began. "I hope I didn't disturb anyone's rest." He smiled, knowing full well that he had. "Is Lady Melisandre not joining us, Ser Arthur?" He said as he looked around the table.
Arthur looked up at Aemon. "She said she had to speak to her master, that fire god she worships. She will be here when she is done."
Jaime watched as Aemon narrowed his eyes, a small smirk appearing on his lips as he did so. "I see...Well, we shall begin regardless."
"Apologies, Your Grace, but should we not wait until Prince Viserys returns?" Richard interjected.
"We do not know when he will be back, Ser Richard," Rhaella answered, her voice calm and authoritative.
"This is true, so we will begin without him," Aemon insisted. "Firstly, I have plans to travel to the Reach to pay a visit to the Tyrells."
"Why?" Rhaella asked.
"They fought for us in the Rebellion, no? I would presume they remember their old loyalties." Aemon answered.
"Aemon, they hardly did a thing during the Rebellion. Mace Tyrell feasted outside of Storm's End for a year, whilst your father marched on the Trident."
"They beat Robert in a battle, did they not?" Aemon asked.
"Only thanks to Randyll Tarly. If I could suggest a course of action, see Randyll Tarly first. He will remember his loyalties much more clearly than the Tyrells ever could." Rhaella assured.
"She is right, Aemon," Jaime added. "Robert was an unbeatable monster in battle, but Randyll blooded his nose well and true. He is what we need."
"I agree, but we need men. House Tyrell is the second most powerful house in the Realm after the Lannisters and we're going to need their army. We win the support of the Tyrells and Randyll will come with it." Aemon asserted.
"You're right, Aemon, but how will you secure their support? They don't even know you exist." Jaime asked.
"Marriage."
"Marriage?" Daenerys burst. "But to who?"
"They have a daughter, the same age as me, perhaps a tiny bit older, but still, I intend to make my case to them."
Jaime watched on, his keen eyes observing everyone in the room, the air was thick with anticipation, but he couldn't help but notice the subtle shift in Daenerys's demeanor as Aemon spoke.
Aemon's announcement was clear and confident: he would secure the Tyrells' support by marrying Margaery. The words hung in the air, their weight settling heavily on Daenerys. Jaime watched as her eyes widened, the disappointment unmistakable. She quickly masked her emotions, but not quickly enough to escape his notice.
Jaime's thoughts churned. He had seen many reactions over the years—surprise, anger, joy. He noticed the way Daenerys's face fell was something different. It spoke of a deeper connection, a hope dashed in an instant. Jaime felt a pang of sympathy for her, despite his usual detachment.
He wondered what this meant for the fragile alliance they were trying to forge. Daenerys's disappointment could ripple through their plans, affecting her trust in Aemon and the unity they so desperately needed. Jaime sighed inwardly, knowing that the path ahead had just become even more complicated.
He decided to approach Daenerys later, to gauge her feelings and offer what little support he could, as he too knew what it was like to lose someone you loved to the tides of marriage and war.
"There are also the Lords of the Narrow Sea, Your Grace." Illyrio interrupted, Jiame's emerald eyes turning to gaze upon the lavishly fat man. "House Velaryion has also pledged their support, along with their bannerman thanks to our dear friend."
"Thank you for reminding me, Magister. We will need their ships and their loyalty for the trails to come." Aemon nodded.
Viserys Targaryen
The morning sun cast a golden hue over Pentos as Viserys guided Clouddiver down towards the city. The air was crisp and fresh, a welcome change from the sweltering heat of Dorne. Behind him, Barristan Selmy sat, as solid and as reassuring as always. Their recent visit to Dorne and the meeting with Arianne still played on Viserys's mind, but now, his focus was on reuniting with his family.
Clouddiver landed gracefully, his massive wings stirring up a cloud of dust. Viserys dismounted first, his boots hitting the cobblestones with a satisfying thud. The scent of saltwater and morning dew filled his senses, grounding him in the present moment. Viserys turned to look at Clouddiver, the dragon's majesty amplified by the golden rays of the sun that bounced off his equally golden scales.
Barristan followed, his expression steady. "We're here, my Prince," he said, a hint of approval in his voice.
Viserys glanced around, taking in the familiar sights of Pentos. The city's bustle was just beginning to stir, merchants setting up their stalls and the locals starting their day. Ahead, Illyrio's manse loomed, imposing yet familiar. He turned to Clouddiver, a look of appreciation present on his face. "Jikagon se ipradagon, nyke jāhor ūndegon ao aderī." He smiled, as Clouddiver once more took to the skies, the black and red highlighted clothes of Viserys billowing in the created wind as he did so.
As they began to walk through the narrow streets, Viserys held his head high, determined and resolute. Their destination was clear, and his purpose even clearer. He had returned to speak to his family, to share the insights from Dorne and forge a path forward.
Eventually, they arrived at the Manse, the Unsullied guards instinctively opened the gate for the familiar sight of the silver Prince and his stalwart protector. As they made their way inside, they both could hear the loud voices of a large gathering happening in the great hall of the manse, as they both decided to make their way there deciding that was where everyone was.
As they arrived at the large heavy doors of the great hall, they were joined by the mystical presence of Melisandre, her deep red eyes burning through both of them.
"Lady Melsandre, I had thought you inside of the hall." Viserys respectfully nodded, hand resting on the door of the hall.
"I was occupied with the wills of my God, Prince Viserys." She smirked, her smile though beautiful, somehow unsettled Viserys.
"I see. Let us not keep them waiting."
Melisandre smiled and together, they opened the doors, the familiar sights of family and friends greeting them as they did so.
"Viserys!" Daenerys chirped, as she stood up and greeted her brother, a familial hug enveloping him as he reciprocated her embrace.
"Easy, Dany. I have only been gone for a few days." He chuckled, as she released him from her loving arms. He moved and placed a loving kiss on Rhealla's cheek, a smile appearing on his face as he did so. "Mother."
"Viserys, how was Dorne." She beamed, the appearance of her son increasing her mood.
"Warm and dusty, but welcoming." He smiled as his lilac eyes soon set upon Aemon, who stood stoically at the end of the table, his gaze watching him with quiet amusement. "Aemon." Viserys smiled as he walked toward his younger nephew and hugged him deeply.
"Viserys, I hope the trip wasn't so taxing," Aemon mumbled into Viserys shoulder.
"It was fine...Can I ask why we are all here?" Viserys asked, as he released Aemon and looked around at the smiling and resolute faces of his friends and family.
"We're discussing our plans, Viserys, please sit," Aemon told him as he sat down. Viserys studied Aemon's face and the way he stood, the way he held himself, a newfound maturity that had taken root in Viserys' short absence.
"How are things in Dorne? Are they still willing to support us?" Aemon asked, his gaze heavily set on Viserys.
"They're better than we could've imagined. Arianne Martell is a beautiful woman and we are to be married in the next moon."
Viserys looked around the table, his announcement evoking shock and joy in equal measures in the faces of all except for Aemon. As his family and friends congratulated him for what he had done and the alliance he had secured, Viserys watched on as Aemon stood expressionless, making Viserys wonder if he had done the right thing.
"Are you not happy, Aemon?" He asked his younger nephew.
"Of course, I am, Viserys, I was just thinking about how we're going to get you married." Aemon softly smiled, putting Viserys at ease. "It can not be anything grand like you deserve, lest we draw the attention of the Usurper and his lickspittles."
"Fret not, Aemon. We have already discussed this and we plan to do it in secret at Sunspear. It also allows you to meet Doran Martell and the rest of them seeing as our families are to be bound by marriage once more." Viserys explained, much to Aemon's delight.
"Very good. We will travel when the time comes." Aemon nodded. "Onto the next subject, we need funds if we are to raise an army. I have received reports from Illyrio here that the crown is in enormous debt to the Iron Bank due to the Usurpers' lavish spending."
"How much are they in debt?" Jaime asked as Viserys turned his lilac gaze to him, noticing that he seemed to perk up at the mention of gold.
"Over a million Gold Dragons I'm told, Ser Jaime," Aemon answered.
"Is my father not funding them?"
"I do not think so. Do you know, Magister?" Aemon asked, looking toward Illyrio.
"From what we're being told by our friend in King's Landing, Tywin Lannister has not been funding the crown at all. In fact, he's not been seen in King's Landing for years."
Viserys watched as the news both shocked and perplexed Jaime. He knew his father better than anyone here and just like them all he must be wondering why he wasn't trying to curry favor with the Usurper, especially when his daughter is Queen.
"Interesting...Perhaps, we will pay a visit to this Iron Bank." Aemon smirked.
"Are you sure, Aemon? They say the Iron Bank always receives it due no matter what." Rhaella warned. "If we can't repay them, they will support our enemies."
Viserys watched as an insidious smile appeared on the face of Aemon, a smile of vengeance and justice. "There will be no enemies left by then."
Viserys smiled at Aemon's assertion but he could not help the feeling that they would not even need the Iron Bank's help. The only mercenary company out there that's large enough to help them is the Golden Company, and so far, Viserys knew they had made no progress with them. Every other house had standing armies to his knowledge.
"Would we even need the gold?" Viserys interrupted, as everyone turned their eyes to him. "The Golden Company are the only ones who are large enough to help us, and they are unwilling so far."
Viserys' questions went unanswered as an eerie silence overcame the entire room as Aemon took a deep breath in and out, before speaking. "Can everyone except Prince Viserys, Ser Arthur, Ser Barristan, and Magister Illyrio please leave the room? I'll speak to you all in a few hours."
Viserys watched on with a confused look as Aemon followed everyone to the door and closed it behind them with a heavy thud before he turned to face a confused Viserys.
"I haven't said anything to offend you, have I?" Viserys asked as he stood up from his chair and walked around the table to face Aemon.
"No, of course not, but I did not want to repeat past grievances in front of everyone," Aemon explained. "The Golden Company is gone, Viserys."
"What do you mean? Gone where?" Viserys naively asked.
"Dead. Burned. Extinct."
Viserys shook his head in disbelief. "How? Did they get wiped out in a battle?"
"No, it was Rhaella and Daenerys. Negotiations went awry, or so I am told, and they burned them all, just like that."
"Really? I find it hard to believe." Viserys scoffed.
"It's true, I'm afraid, but it is dealt with now. No longer will we act out of selfish desires or uneducated moves, as I will lead us from now on." Aemon asserted. "Besides, we will need the gold to fund arms and armor. We will also need to purchase horses for cavalry should we need to and food for our men. I doubt Dorne has an ample supply of grain and produce for us to procure."
Narrowing his eyes, Viserys took a moment to truly look at his nephew. Aemon stood before him, his posture straight, his expression composed. It was at that moment that Viserys realized just how much Aemon had grown.
The boy he once knew had transformed into a man of quiet strength and unwavering resolve. Aemon's eyes, which once held a hint of youthful uncertainty, now gleamed with a newfound confidence and determination. His voice, steady and sure, carried the weight of someone who understood the gravity of their situation and was ready to face it head-on.
Viserys felt a swell of pride and admiration. Aemon had stepped into a role that required wisdom and courage, and he had done so with grace and humility. There was no doubt that he had matured in ways that Viserys had not fully grasped until now.
As the news that Aemon had shared with Viserys dissipated in the quiet air, Viserys smiled, his lilac eyes hinting at some quiet joy inside the Silver Prince. "You've grown." He simply stated catching Aemon off guard.
"Thank you?" Aemon smiled, his voice a mixture of confusion and happiness.
Viserys only nodded and offered a polite smile in return, before turning back to more serious matters. "Any more news you wish to share with me?" He asked as he sat on the edge of the table.
"Yes. I will be traveling to the Reach to seek an alliance with the Tyrells and their bannermen." Aemon explained.
"The Tyrells?" Viserys playfully smiled. "How so?"
"They have a young daughter the same age as myself. I intend to proposition an alliance between our houses through marriage."
"I see..." Viserys said as he thought on. "What about the North?"
"The North?" Aemon asked.
"You're mother was a Stark, was she not? Perhaps, we could petition them."
Viserys watched as Arthur stood up from his chair, a picture of worry present on his features. "I am not so sure that is a good idea. They may be enemies to us no matter what."
"Why?" Viserys asked as he racked his brain for the answer that he knew was hiding there. "Oh, I remember now. Eddard Stark."
"Yes, which is why I am not too keen on the idea of going North," Arthur explained.
"What say you, Aemon?" Viserys asked, his lilac eyes looking at his nephew.
"We could, though I am unsure of what their reaction to my existence would be."
"It is too dangerous, Your Grace." Arthur pleaded.
"Be calm, Ser Arthur. I'll have Vaedar with me and yourself." Aemon chuckled. "We will go in the future. I'd rather not have to fight my mother's house if it comes to it. But first, I will go to the Reach in a few days, once I finish up with some errands here."
As the quiet settled over the room and Aemon's words echoed in Viserys' mind, he took a deep breath and let the moment's weight sink in. Their challenges were immense, the path ahead fraught with danger and uncertainty. But in his nephew's eyes, Viserys saw a reflection of his own resolve.
The boy he had once protected had grown into a formidable ally, a man who understood the burden of leadership and embraced it with a strength that Viserys admired deeply. It was a humbling realization, but one that filled him with a renewed sense of purpose.
Viserys looked around the room, at the faces of Arthur, Barristan, and Illyrio, all loyal friends and fierce protectors. Together, they formed the backbone of their resistance, each bringing their own wisdom and courage to the cause.
For the first time in a long while, Viserys felt a flicker of hope. With Aemon's maturity, Rhaella and Daenerys' bravery, and the unwavering support of their trusted allies, they were not just survivors; they were a force to be reckoned with.
As he stood to leave, Viserys cast one last glance at Aemon. "We will face whatever comes next together," he assured, his voice resolute.
Aemon nodded a silent promise in his gaze. "Together, brother."
"Oh, brother is it now?" Viserys smiled.
"I'd like to think so," Aemon smirked.
With that, Viserys turned and walked out of the room, ready to confront the challenges ahead with unyielding determination. The future was uncertain, but he knew they were stronger together, and together, they would reclaim what was rightfully theirs.
King's Landing: 298 AC: 1 Day Later:
Varys
Varys stood at the narrow window of his dimly lit chambers, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the cold stone walls. He stared out at the bustling city of King's Landing, its streets teeming with life. The secret he bore weighed heavily on his shoulders, but his resolve remained unshaken. Turning from the window, he hastily made his final checks for his perilous journey, as he fastened a small knife in the waistband of his dark black tunic, which he threw a dark cloak over.
This was not the first time he had made a secret voyage in the name of his King, for had corraled the support of House Velayrion and all the Lords of the Narrow Sea, for they remember their true loyalties unlike all those whose knees bend so easily. Though, Varys knew this would be a much more difficult task. The Iron Bank were not one to put their faith in those they knew would be likely to fail.
As he left his chambers, he made his way through the spiraling labyrinth of pink and red stone corridors that made up the Red Keep. As he passed the stained glass windows of the throne room, he could see that the darkness had begun its dominion over the night, until he was stopped in his tracks by his newly perceived rival, Petyr Baelish. Varys made no noise and only watched as Petyr stared blankly at the Iron Throne, a book held close to his chest as he did so.
Varys smiled to himself and seeing there was no way around Littlefinger, he decided to engage with the spiteful man, as he walked up toward him, his hood taken down so as not to arouse suspicion from the ever-perceptive Lord Baelish.
"When you imagine yourself up there, how do you look?" Varys asked, startling Littlefinger as he did so. "Does the crown fit? Do all the Lords and Ladies, who sneered at you for years, simper and bow?"
Baelsih hardly took his gaze off of the throne as he answered Varys, a small hint of venom in his voice as he did so. "It is hard for them to simper and bow without heads."
"A man with great ambition and no morals. I wouldn't be one to bet against you."
"And what would you do, my friend, if you found yourself sitting up there?" Petyr asked.
"I must be one of the few men in this city who doesn't want to be King."
"You must be one of the few men in this city who isn't a man."
"Oh, you can do better than that." Varys tutted, as he began slowly walking through the throne room, Littlefinger following him like a loyal dog as he did so.
"When they castrated you, did they take the pillar with the stones? I've always wondered." Petyr mused, much to Varys' amusement.
"Have you? Do you spend a lot of time wondering what's between my legs?"
"I picture a gash, like a woman's. Is that about right?"
"I'm flattered, of course, to be pictured at all."
"Must be strange for you, even after all these years." Petyr began. "A man from another land. Despised by many but feared by all."
"Am I? That is good to know." Varys smirked. "Do you lie awake at night fearing my gash?"
Varys watched as Littlefinger brushed off his remark. "But you carry on, whispering in one King's ear and the next," Littlefinger said, as he turned and stood in front of Varys, his eyes looking upon and down at Varys' interesting choice of outfit. "Going for a walk?"
"One must find some respite from the stresses of ruling." Varys smiled.
"True enough, Lord Varys. I won't keep you." Baelish nodded as he stepped out of Varys' way. "Be safe, Lord Varys, the streets at this time can be dangerous for a man such as yourself." He called out, as he walked away.
The false smile Varys was wearing throughout his conversation with Littlefinger disappeared just as quickly as the man himself did, a she turned and walked out of the throne room. He once more traveled the Corridors of the Red Keep, until he found himself outside of the grand castle.
He traversed through narrow alleys and dilapidated roads, to mask his movements from any prying eyes until he found himself on the Street of Silk. Its busy crowds during the setting of the sun allowed Varys to move undetected and more easily until he passed Littlefinger's brothel, his eyes drawn to the stone sigil of the mockingbird that was carved next to the door. He could feel the bird's stone-cold stare burning a hole through him as he passed it, almost as if Littleifnger himself was watching him through it.
Eventually, he made his way to the docks, where a small, inconspicuous vessel awaited him. The ship's crew, loyal to Varys, had been briefed on their mission and were prepared to sail immediately.
As the ship set sail, Varys felt a surge of determination. The journey to Braavos would be long and treacherous, but the stakes were too high to falter. He thought of Aemon, the last hope of the Targaryen line, and the countless lives that hung in the balance. Varys knew that his actions could shape the future of the realm.
Petyr Baelsih
Petyr Baelish stood on the balcony of the Red Keep, the cool night air whispering through his cloak. Below him, the docks of King's Landing were a hive of late-night activity, with merchants unloading crates and sailors preparing for the next day's voyage. The distant sounds of clinking chains and muted conversations mingled with the rhythmic lapping of waves against the piers.
The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery sheen over the restless waters of Blackwater Bay. Baelish's keen eyes took in every detail, noting the comings and goings of each ship, the faces of the men on the docks, and the subtle exchanges of coin and contraband. This was a world he understood intimately. This was a place where secrets were traded as readily as goods.
With a final glance at the bustling scene below, Baelish turned away and made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the Keep. His footsteps were soft and deliberate, a testament to his years of navigating the treacherous paths of power and intrigue. Littlefinger's mind was a swirling maelstrom of plots and counterplots as he made his way to Jon Arryn's chambers. Each step echoed through the silent hallways, carrying the weight of his intentions. The castle slept, oblivious to the machinations that spun within its walls.
Reaching Jon Arryn's chambers, he nodded to the Baratheon guard who stood unwavering outside the door, before speaking. "Is the Hand inside?" Baelish asked, his voice commanding.
"He is, Lord Baelish, but he is abed. You will have to see him in the morning." The guard replied, his voice gruff and low.
"I am afraid this cannot wait, now please, open the door."
The guard reluctantly knocked on the door, his large fists banging on the heavy wood as the sound echoed in the hallway. Petyr waited patiently as he could hear the sounds rustling sounds of furs and silk sheets and the heavy footsteps of a tired man as he trudged his way to the door. Jon Arryn, bleary-eyed and weary, opened the door, a questioning look on his face.
"Lord Arryn," Baelish said softly, his voice a silken thread of deception. "There are matters of grave importance we must discuss."
"At this hour, Petyr? What is it?" Jon asked, his voice hoarse.
"We should discuss this inside, my Lord Hand," Petyr mumbled as he looked at the Baratheon guard.
Jon relented and opened the door for Petyr, allowing him to enter his lavish bed chambers. Petyr stood for a moment and took it all in, knowing that if he played the game as carefully and as correctly as he had been doing, all this could be his one day.
The room exuded an opulence befitting the Hand of the King. The high-ceilinged room featured rich tapestries, a grand canopy bed with velvet curtains, and thick, intricately patterned rugs. A gleaming chandelier cast a warm glow, illuminating an imposing oak desk cluttered with parchment and a library of ancient tomes. The large fireplace, adorned with the Arryn family crest, provided warmth, while comfortable armchairs invited quiet contemplation. Every detail spoke of Jon Arryn's great stature and responsibility.
Jon walked over to the desk and moved some parchments into the drawers, before he sat down at it, a heavy sigh leaving him as he did so. "Sit down, Petyr, and tell me what is troubling you." He sighed, motioning to the chair in front of him.
Petyr happily obliged and sat down, a small smile appearing on his face as he did so. "Thank you, my Lord Hand."
"Now, what is so pressing that you have awoken me."
"Our friend, Lord Varys, has been acting suspicious lately. He disappears and is not seen for days at a time."
Jon shrugged his shoulders, apparently indifferent to Petyr's bleatings. "That is suspicious Petyr but every man tells me the same thing, including you."
"Yes, yes, but I believe there is something more to him. I had witnessed him leaving the Red Keep this very night, cloaked and shrouded in darkness."
"What of it?"
"I believe he is actively working against the crown, to further his or somebody else's ambitions."
Jon leaned back in his chair, a tired look present on his face. "Do you have any evidence of this Petyr?" He asked.
"Aside from my word. No."
"Then how can I believe you."
"Allow me to send some men to trail him and follow him, to ensure he is not working against us."
"Very well." Jon sighed. "Send some men to trail him but to only trail him. I don't want to have anything happen to him. He is useful to me and so is his vast network of spies. I still have him looking into why all my spies have disappeared, in case you have forgotten."
"Of course, my Lord Hand, his safety is paramount to me, as you know."
Jon nodded and looked Petyr up and down, as a small silence came over the both of them, their features studying each other in the flickering firelight. "Whilst you're here, how goes your search for the Targaryens." He asked, dispelling the silence.
"I have sent some men to Essos a few days ago. I should be receiving reports from them in the coming weeks."
"Good. I want them found, Petyr. It is of grave import." Jon warned, his voice stern.
"Of course, my Lord Hand." Petyr nodded. "I'll leave you to your rest."
Petyr left Jon's lavish bedchambers, a satisfied glint in his eye. The conversation had not gone exactly how he planned but he had nevertheless begun to plant seeds of doubt in Jon's mind about Varys and his shadowy dealings.
As he stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the heavy door closing behind him with a soft thud, Baelish allowed himself a brief smile. His footsteps echoed faintly as he moved through the castle's silent hallways, the flickering torchlight casting long, wavering shadows on the stone walls. He could hear the door behind him close with a heavy thud, as he meandered through the corridors to his own chambers.
When he arrived, he sat down on the edge of his bed, content with his dealings of the day. He would soon catch Varys in his act and when he did, he would use the situation to rise even higher.
Winterfell: 298 AC: 1 Day Later
Benjen Stark
The wheelhouse door closed with a vicious slam as Queen Cersei and her children finished their goodbyes and settled in for the long journey home back to King's Landing. Benjen was silently thankful that they were leaving, as he felt he could not personally stand another day with her and Robert. How his father and Eddard managed to overcome the weariness that being the Lord of Winterfell brought on, he could never know. Thankfully, he had Robb to take his place soon, now he was nearing the appropriate age.
Benjen put on a forced smile as Robert turned his attention toward him, as he finished fastening a knot on his snow-white horse before he began to walk towards him. "You must come to visit King's Landing soon, Benjen. And you, Robb." Robert chuckled, as he slapped Benjen on the shoulder.
"I will your grace, perhaps when your tournament in honor of your name-day comes around." Benjen smiled.
"I would hope so." Robert nodded before his attention soon turned to Robb. "I shall hope to see you there as well, Robb Stark." He smiled, as he shook Robb firmly by the hand.
"I shall be, Your Grace, it'll be an honor." Robb grinned, excited at the chance to see King's Landing.
Around them, the wind howled and blustered around them, a signal of the harsh weathers to come in the later evening. Benjen watched as Robert glanced around one last time at the ancient stones of Winterfell, his eyes glistening as he did so before he looked back toward Benjen.
"We best be leaving, Lord Benjen, before the weather worsens and I'll be stuck here for another damned week." Robert chuckled. "Goodbye, Lord Benjen, and thank you for your hospitality, it has been an honor to visit this wonderous place once more."
"The honor was all mine, Your Grace." Benjen smiled, as Robert walked away, a content look present on his face.
Benjen watched on as Robert, once a fierce warrior and now burdened by the weight of his crown, moved with a slowness that betrayed his weariness. His jovial demeanor from the night before, filled with tales of past battles and hearty laughter, seemed a distant memory in the cold light of dawn.
Robb Stark stood beside his uncle, his eyes wide with admiration and curiosity. He had hung on every word of Robert's stories, imagining himself in those grand battles. Benjen placed a hand on Robb's shoulder, feeling the budding strength in the young lord. "Remember, nephew," he said, his voice steady, "the songs don't always tell the whole truth."
Robb looked up at him, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean, Uncle Benjen?"
"Kings and warriors have their share of glory," Benjen replied, watching as Robert mounted his horse, "but they also carry burdens and make sacrifices that the songs never mention. Leadership is as much about duty and sacrifice as it is about honor and victory."
Robert's gaze met Benjen's for a brief moment, and Benjen could see a flicker of the man who had fought beside his brother, the man who had loved Lyanna Stark. Robert gave a nod, a silent acknowledgment of their families' shared history, before turning his attention to the road ahead. Benjen knew his love was false, as Lyanna could never love a man such as him. She knew what he was and when she confided in Benjen, he remembered the words they shared.
"I could never marry a man such as him." Lyanna scoffed, her voice though light, portrayed the inner turmoil present within.
"He is the Lord Paramount of the Storm Land's, Lyanna. What is there not to like? He is fit and strong, and all makes all the girls in the Seven Kingdoms swoon for him." Benjen chuckled, though he became silent when he saw Lyanna not laugh with him, as a stern expression came over her face.
"He is a whore, Benjen, no better than a lady of the night."
"Be careful what you say, he's Ned's best friend."
"I don't care what Ned thinks. Listen, Benjen, I mean this with all my heart, I do not love him and I loathe the fact that I am to marry him. Robert could never keep to one bed."
Benjen looked at Lyanna, his eyes narrowing as he studied her features. He could see the truth in her hazy grey eyes, and he knew his fierce sister was not one to lie. "You mean this?" He asked, walking closer to her as their words became more hushed.
"I do, Benjen. I hear he has gotten a child on some girl in the Vale. Can you imagine?"
"Perhaps it'll be best to speak to father..."
"No. He'll not change his mind." Lyanna interrupted a small smile appearing on her face as she did so. "Love is sweet, dearest Benjen, but a man cannot change his nature."
Benjen let out a heavy sigh as the sounds of their father's heavy footsteps approached them. "Come Lyanna, we can speak of this another time. We must prepare for the tournament at Harrenhal."
"Shall we go to the battlements, Uncle?" Robb asked, dissipating Benjen from his memories. "To see the procession?"
"Hm? Oh, yes, if you want to Robb." Benjen smiled.
The walk to the battlements was quiet, as Benjen's mind ran thick with the words and actions of his dearly missed sister. As they climbed the spiral staircase of one of the mighty towers that comprised Winterfell, their footsteps echoed softly in the confined space of the tower. As they reached the battlements, the cold wind bit at their faces and Benjen pulled his cloak tightly around him. He thought he would have been used to the cold by now, especially after being at The Wall, but he knew it was not to be.
Before both Starks, the royal procession stretched out on the road leading from Winterfell, its long snaking line led by a litany of banners emblazoned by the stag and lion. "Impressive isn't it?" Robb asked, his eyes following the winding trail of horses and wagons.
"It is," Benjen replied softly, drawing a concerned look from Robb as he did so.
"Is everything alright, Uncle? You seem yards away."
"I'm fine, Robb." Benjen slyly smiled, as his gaze lingered on the royal procession a while longer. "Come, Robb." He said, placing a soft hand on Robb's shoulder. "I have something to show you."
Benjen could see a small hint of excitement brewing beneath the surface of Robb's features as he led him from the Battlements and once more through the stone tower they originally climbed. They passed the now desolate courtyard that once held the King's retinue, the mud in the ground beneath their feet keeping the memories of his visit as the tracks led out of the gates of Winterfell.
Benjne eventually led Robb down into the crypts of Winterfell, unlatching a torch from the cold stone wall as they both trudged down the stone stairs. "Why are we down here, Uncle?" Robb asked, his voice curious.
"You'll see, Robb," Benjen smirked as he continued leading Robb past the expressionless features of the long-dead Starks. Eventually, they came upon the recently carved statue of Robb's father, Eddard Stark. Benjen's soft smile disappeared when he gazed upon it, his mind filled with the memories of his elder brother and their shared youth. He could see Robb stop suddenly behind him, as his eyes were drawn to what lay against the stone exterior of Eddard.
"It is for you, Robb." Benjen softly spoke, as he nodded toward the sword that lay against his father. "Ice."
Benjen watched as Robb walked slowly toward the great blade, its impressive size only equaled by its gleaming beauty. "But...but how? I had thought it lost when my father was killed." Robb stammered, as his hand gracefully brushed against the shining Valyrian steel.
"It was brought back to us all those years ago, by Robert. I had kept it hidden from you until the day you came of age to rule Winterfell." Benjen explained, his weary eyes watching solemnly as Robb grabbed Ice by the hilt and held it outwards, his blue eyes studying every detail of the sword.
"It is magnificent." Robb gasped.
"Take good care of it, Robb. It had been in our family for generations."
"I will, Uncle, I swear it. Thank you."
Benjen smiled to himself as he watched Robb, eyes wide with awe, marvel at Ice. The young Stark turned the great sword gently in his hands, the weight and significance of it slowly sinking in. Benjen's heart swelled with quiet pride and hope. The legacy of the North was safe in Robb's hands. Winterfell, and all it stood for, would endure. In the fading light of day, beneath the ancient walls of Winterfell, Benjen felt the warmth of his silent vigil—knowing the future was as bright and unyielding as the Valyrian steel of the sword that now belonged to Robb.
Pentos: 298 AC: 2 Days Later:
Aemon Targaryen
Aemon walked through the grand halls of Ilyrio's manse, his light leather armor clinging snugly to his form. The black leather was supple and durable, allowing for swift and agile movement. Expert craftsmanship was evident in the intricate stitching along the seams. The crest of House Targaryen, a three-headed dragon, was beautifully embroidered in crimson thread across his chest. The dragon seemed to come alive in the mid-afternoon light, its three heads roaring with silent ferocity.
As Aemon moved, the leather armor made hardly a sound, a stark contrast to the heavier plate armor of many of his contemporaries. This was a piece of equipment designed not only for protection but for the swiftness and dexterity needed to master a dragon. He felt the armor flex with his muscles, a second skin that was both a shield and a symbol of his heritage.
"Is everything ready, Ser Arthur," Aemon asked, as he approached a heavily armed and armored Sword of the Morning, his gleaming breastplate reflecting the filtering sunlight like a polished mirror.
"It is, Your Grace," Arthur replied, a small respectful smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Your sword?" Arthur asked, his deep blue eyes glancing down at the vacant sheath that lay loosely
"Daenerys has it. She wished to ensure it was up to 'her standard', whatever that means." Aemon chuckled.
"I think she just wants to see you before you leave, Aemon." Arthur smiled.
"I don't see the point. I was going to see her regardless." Aemon sighed, as he and Arthur began walking down the opulent hallways once more.
Arthur only smiled as they approached the courtyard. The anticipation between them both grew as Vaedar awaited them, a creature of immense power and grace. The dragon's scales shimmered like polished obsidian in the afternoon sunlight, and its eyes held an intelligence that surpassed many men. Aemon approached the flank of his dragon slowly, his grey eyes meeting with Vaedar's red, their connection instantly felt and now inseparable.
"Sagon gīda, vaedar, īlon jāhor henujagon aderī." Aemon mumbled as he gently pressed his head to the side of Vaear's midnight scales. "I must go see Daenerys before we leave, Ser Arthur." He remembered as he turned his head to face Arthur. "Stay here with Vaedar. I know he likes your company."
"Of course, Your Grace." Arthur sighed, his gaze following Aemon from the courtyard.
Aemon tread softly once more, through the grand halls of the manse, hit footsteps barely echoing off the polished marble beneath him. He twisted and turned his way past bowing servants and humble knights of the Holy Hundred, all of them in a rush to do their duty before he arrived at the door to Daenerys' chambers. He opened the door with no prior knocking and saw her as he entered.
She was standing by a window, bathed in the soft glow of the midafternoon sun. Her silver hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes, those striking violet eyes, were fixed on the horizon. There was a serene determination about her, a quiet strength that made her every inch the dragon she was born to be. On the stone window ledge in front of her lay Dark Sister, its dark grey blade absorbing the sun.
"Dany," Aemon called out as he approached her. "Are you finished with my sword?"
She turned to face him, her hands instinctively wrapping around the grip of Dark Sister as she lifted it from its resting place. "I do. It's a beautiful blade." She smiled as she held it out before her, her violet eyes studying it intensely.
"It is." Aemon smiled, standing before her. "Can I have it, please?"
Daenerys playfully smiled and held the blade out to him. His hand wrapped around hers he went to grab it and he felt it once more. That strange feeling that he couldn't describe began to bubble up inside of him as her violet eyes met his. "Promise me you'll be safe." She whispered.
"I promise, Dany. I'll have Arthur with me too, so don't worry." Aemon reassuredly smiled.
"And promise you'll return."
"I promise, Dany, now let go of my sword." Aemon playfully chuckled as she released his blade.
He sheathed Dark Sister, the sound of the Valyrian steel sliding against the black leather filling the air between them. Aemon smiled at Daenerys before she drew him into a deep hug. He felt her lips softly press against his cheek as he wrapped his arms around her waist. "Be safe, brother." She whispered in his ear before she let him go.
"I will, Dany." Aemon nodded before he turned and left the room.
As he walked back to Arthur and Vaedar, he could still feel a strange pang in his stomach. It was almost as if he was homesick and whenever he recently left Daenerys, it crept up upon him like a shadowed assassin. He turned the final corner and after shaking his head he stood before Arthur and Vaedar once more, thankful his dragon hadn't had any mishaps with Arthur.
"Are you okay, Aemon? You look flustered." Arthur smirked.
"I'm fine, now let us go please." Aemon quickly replied as he climbed on the back of Vaedar. He grabbed Arthur's hand and pulled him up, as the Sword of the Morning comfortably sat behind his King.
"Naejot se jēdrar, vaedar." Aemon called out.
With a low rumble that reverberated through the courtyard, Vaedar spread his wings. The sheer span of them cast a shadow over the entire area, a testament to the dragon's formidable presence. A moment of stillness hung in the air, the calm before the storm. Then, with a powerful thrust, Vaedar leaped into the air. The force of his takeoff sent a gust of wind swirling through the courtyard, lifting dust and leaves in a wild dance. Aemon and Arthur held on tightly, their cloaks billowing behind them like banners in the wind.
Vaedar's wings beat with a rhythmic power, propelling them higher and higher. The ground fell away beneath them, the manse shrinking into a distant memory. Aemon's heart suddenly swelled with a sense of freedom, his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead. Aemon knew his task was to be difficult, but with Vaedar and Arthur at his back, he hoped to overcome whatever challenges lay ahead and reforge an alliance for House Targaryen.
A/N: Thanks so much for reading. I got this chapter done quicker than I thought so I might have a new one out soonish. Regardless, thanks for the reviews and follows, means a lot. Any suggestions or ideas, I'd be more than happy to read them and consider them. Thanks again and much love x