Aemon the Dragonwolf

by Fennial

Arthur Dayne has killed Ned Stark beneath the Tower of Joy. With one last promise to Lyanna Stark to look after her only son, how will the Sword of The Morning raise the last scion of House Targaryen to retake the Iron Throne and restore the house of the dragon.

26. The Sun and Dragon

Pentos: 298 AC: The Next Day:

Aemon Targaryen

"Mother..." Aemon gasped, his eyes watering as he looked upon her sitting before the Heart Tree.

Aemon could recognize nothing of his surroundings as an all-encompassing fog suffocated him, yet his mother shone as clear as day, sitting before a roaring fire as her features smiled at him.

"Aemon..." She smiled, her voice soft as she quickly rose to her feet.

Aemon suddenly fell into her arms as he ran toward her, feeling his mother's warm embrace once more. "I've missed you so much." He sniffed, the tears of joy flowing freely.

"I missed you too, Aemon." She softly spoke, planting kisses on his head as she did so before she let go of him.

Aemon looked around, his eyes scanning his dim and bleak surroundings. "Where is my father?" He asked, looking behind his mother.

"He's not here at the moment, son. Come, sit with me whilst we still have time."

Lyanna led Aemon by the hand to the fire and sat down before it, her legs crossed. Aemon sat next to her, eager to spend valued time with her. As they sat in a momentary silence, her grey eyes studied him, as if they were looking deep into his soul.

"What troubles you son?" She asked, her hand resting on his. "You look...older since I last saw you."

"I look older? I'm barely a man yet."

"Still, you look older, now tell me, what ails you."

"I'm just tired...that's all."

"Is that all? I'm your mother, Aemon, I can tell when there's something wrong with you."

A small laugh came from Aemon as he looked at Lyanna's smirking face. "I'm...unsure, mother. One moment I feel I can conquer the world and I have everything under control, and the next, a new problem arises. I struggle to keep up sometimes."

"That is a part of ruling, Aemon. No King has ever had it easy, least of all not you."

"I'm...worried, mother. I do not fear the Usurper or his hammer, but I fear what comes after him. I have heard so much of this Great Other, a being I am destined to fight and that I am the Prince that was Promised, born to bring the dawn and defeat the darkness for good, but..."

"But what, Aemon?"

"I am unsure...I cannot describe the uneasy feeling I get when I think of it all."

"I understand, Aemon, but you must push through it all. For your family, your friends, and for myself and your father."

Aemon let out a heavy sigh as he squeezed his mother's hand. "I wish you were here with me...to guide me through it all."

"So do I, but it was not meant to be. Perhaps...in another life, in another place." Lyanna reassuringly smiled, her grey eyes looking at the fog around them. "I fear our time is coming to an end, Aemon."

Aemon looked around as the fog closed in on him. "Now? But we have only just started speaking." He cried as the fog covered his mother's face.

"Fear not, Aemon. When you're all alone, I will be there with you."

"Mother!..."

Aemon awoke suddenly sitting up in his bed. The sweat beaded down his head like pouring rain and his mouth was as dry as the Dornish sands. Taking short breaths, he looked to the balcony that lingered on the edge of his room and saw the sun was already up and bathing Pentos in its magnificent glow. Taking a moment to steady his breathing, Aemon climbed out of his bed, the soft silks falling away from his clammy body as he did so.

Walking to the balcony, the door suddenly burst open behind him, as a worried Barristan Selmy entered his chambers, causing Aemon to turn and face him with surprise etched across his features.

"Your Grace!" Barristan exclaimed, his sword already drawn. "I heard what sounded like shouting and thought you might be in danger."

"I'm fine, Ser Barristan..." Aemon smirked, the softness in his voice calming Barristan somewhat. "Just a night terror is all."

"Oh, I see, apologies, Your Grace."

"No need to apologize, Ser Barristan." Aemon nodded, as he walked over to the table where Dark Sister lay. "Is everyone else already awake?"

"They are, Your Grace, as it is nearly midday."

"Already?" Aemon asked, his voice surprised. "But Viserys' wedding..."

"Prince Viserys has already left, Your Grace, as has Queen Rhaella. They carry with them Ser Jaime and Ser Bonifer."

"By the Gods..." Aemon sighed. "Did no one think to wake me?"

"Queen Rhaella told us not to, I'm afraid, she said you needed your rest."

"So it seems." Aemon sighed, as he wiped his eyes with one hand.

Before any more words could be spoken between the old knight and his King, Daenerys stormed in, her movements purposeful. Her violet eyes were immediately set upon Aemon, as she carried in her arms a bundle of clothes streaked with red and black.

"Aemon, you should have been up an hour ago. The wedding in Dorne is imminent, in case you have forgotten," Daenerys snapped, as she placed the clothes on a nearby chair.

Aemon looked at her through hazy eyes. He noticed she wore an all-black leather ensemble, perfect for dragon riding, yet as elegant as the finest dresses. The long sleeves were lined with black metal dragon scales, that shimmered in the midday sun as she stood before him. Her hair was neatly braided and lay gently down her back, whereas a small red cape draped over her right shoulder.

"Good morning to you too, Daenerys," he muttered, his voice low and apologetic. He could feel her exasperation even without looking at her directly.

"There's no time for pleasantries. Barristan, why didn't you wake him?" She asked, her eyes looking to the old knight who stood by the door.

"Apologies, Princess, but I had orders from the Queen not to wake him," Barristan explained, his head bowed respectfully low yet a small mischievous smirk remained.

An exasperated sigh came from Daenerys as she turned to face Aemon. "They're for you." She said as she nodded toward the pile of clothes.

"For me?" Aemon grinned, as he picked up a heavy black wool doublet, laced with gold and embroidered with the sigil of his house. "When did you have them made?"

"Never mind all of that, Aemon, just get dressed. We have to leave as soon as possible." Daenerys sighed before she began to walk from Aemon's chambers.

"What about Arthur? Has he already left?" Aemon called after her.

"Of course not, he won't go anywhere without you."

Aemon watched through narrowed eyes as Daenerys closed the door behind her. He had never seen her so frustrated before and he felt a pang of guilt in his stomach as he thought of her. Taking a deep breath he looked at Barristan, his face etched with guilt.

"Have some servants bring me some water, Ser Barristan, and send Ser Arthur to me whilst I get dressed."

"Of course, Your Grace." Barristan nodded before leaving the room.

As Aemon looked over Dark Sister, Barristan returned to his door with two young servants, both who were carrying pitchers of water and fresh towels. They moved with practiced efficiency, setting the pitchers on a side table and preparing everything Aemon would need to wash and dress.

Aemon rubbed his eyes and sighed, still feeling the remnants of sleep clinging to him. Barristan, ever the vigilant protector, stood nearby, ensuring that everything was in order. One of the servants poured water into a basin, while the other offered Aemon a soft towel.

"Thank you," Aemon murmured, taking the towel and dipping it into the basin. The cool water was refreshing, and he splashed it onto his face, feeling more awake with each passing moment. The servant handed him a fresh towel, and he dried his face and hands, appreciating the sensation of cleanliness.

Next, the servants presented Aemon with his clothes for the day, the outfit Daenerys had brought earlier. With Barristan's assistance, Aemon slipped into the well-tailored trousers, securing them with a leather belt adorned with silver accents. The doublet, reinforced with dragon scales, fit snugly and offered both protection and a reminder of his Targaryen heritage.

As the servants helped Aemon fasten the tunic and adjust the high collar, he glanced at Barristan. "I'm sorry for the trouble," he said quietly, a hint of guilt in his voice.

"It's no trouble at all, Your Grace," Barristan replied, his tone steady and reassuring. "We all have our roles to play today. Yours is as important as any."

Aemon nodded, feeling a sudden renewed sense of energy, put the final touches in place. Which included his sturdy leather boots and a dark red cloak that would protect him from the elements. He finished his ensemble by fastening Dark Sister around his waist, the legendary blade hanging loosely against his hip.

"How do I look?" Aemon asked, looking to Barristan.

"Like a King, Your Grace." Barristan smiled, meaning every word.

As the two servants bowed and left the room as quietly as they entered, Arthur approached from behind them, a gleeful smile present on his face.

"Your Grace," Arthur slightly bowed as he stood by the door. "Very impressive clothes."

"Daenerys was insistent on me wearing something fitting for the occasion," Aemon explained, looking at himself in the looking glass. "I didn't have much of a choice."

A small smile came across Arthur's face as he stood there watching his King look himself over for any minor imperfections before Aemon turned to face him. "Are we all ready then?"

"Whenever you are, Aemon," Arthur replied.

Together, the three of them began to walk through the opulent halls of Illyrio's manse. The cool marble floors and richly decorated walls echoed with their footsteps. Aemon walked between Arthur and Barristan, feeling the weight of their shared responsibilities and the significance of the day ahead.

"Before we leave, I need to speak to Jon," Aemon remembered as they walked. "Do either of you know where to find him?"

"I believe I saw him this morning, Your Grace, in the sparring yard," Barristan answered.

"Good, let us go there."

Aemon led the way to the sparring yard, and on arriving they found Jon going through the motions of his fighting stance, evidently trying to keep himself as sharp as possible.

"Jon," Aemon called, as he walked toward the fiery Lord of the Roost. "How are you?"

"Your Grace," Jon remarked. "I had thought you left already,"

"No, not yet. I needed to speak to you before I departed."

"Oh? Is something the matter?"

"No, it's nothing wholly serious, but I'm expecting the gold from the Iron Bank to arrive any day now, and I need you on hand to handle it should I not be here when it arrives."

"Of course, Your Grace, I'd be more than happy to."

"Good. If it does arrive, I want you to begin hiring smiths and artisans to make a start on all the armor I need for my Kingsguard and Dragonguard."

"I will ensure it is done."

"Thank you, I trust you won't spend all of the gold at once." Armon chuckled, patting Jon on the back.

"I'll try not to, Your Grace. Have a safe journey and give my best to the Martells."

Aemon gave a small appreciative nod, before turning and walking away from Jon Connington. He appreciated the administrative skills Jon had and he expected no less from a former Hand of the King, even though he only served in that role for a short while.

As they made their way towards the central courtyard, Aemon couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. Anticipation and anxiety seemed to be the most present ones as he thought about the day ahead. He silently prayed that everything would go as smoothly as he hoped. He knew of Dorne's mixed feelings towards his family, especially after what happened with Elia and her children. Hopefully, this was a chance to put everything right and put them on the path toward reconciliation.

Turning a final corner, Aemon was greeted by the sight of Vaedar and Frostfyre, as an impatient Daenerys stood before her dragon, her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Finally..." She sighed as she looked upon Aemon. Quickly, she turned and climbed her dragon before speaking once more. "Ser Barristan, with me."

"I'll see you both in Dorne." Barristan smiled, before walking to Forstfyre and climbing on his back.

Within seconds, Daenerys took to the air, leaving only dust and wind in her wake. Aemon watched on as Frsotfyre receded from his view and into the sky, his colors merging with the blue heavens behind him.

"Is there something wrong with her?" Aemon asked, looking at Arthur.

"I believe she wanted to leave with Viserys, Aemon," Arthur explained.

"Then why didn't she?"

"Rhaella asked her to stay until you were awake. Something about not going to Dorne on your own."

"I don't see why she's so overprotective." Aemon sighed, walking to the side of Vaedar whose red eyes burned deeply into Aemon. "Besides, I'm never on my own. I have Vaedar with me."

"You know how she is, Aemon." Arthur chuckled.

Aemon said nothing in reply and only pressed his head into the side of Vaedar, muttering words of encouragement and compassion to his dragon. Vaedar only rumbled in response, feeling the connection of his rider as the words were spoken to him. Aemon, satisfied with Vaedar's response, climbed the dragon and settled himself for the long journey to Dorne. Arthur followed his King's example and quickly found himself in the all-too-familiar position behind Aemon, his thick arms wrapping around him as he made himself comfortable.

Sensing the readiness of his riders, Vaedar let out a low, rumbling growl, a sound that reverberated through the courtyard. His powerful wings unfurled, casting a shadow over the ground, and with a mighty push, he launched himself into the sky. The force of the takeoff pressed Aemon and Arthur back into their saddles, the exhilaration of the ascent taking their breath away.

As they soared higher, the landscape of Illyrio's manse and the surrounding city unfolded beneath them. The wind whipped around them, but Aemon felt a sense of freedom and purpose, the worries of the day momentarily forgotten. Vaedar's powerful wingbeats carried them higher still, and the view from above was nothing short of breathtaking.

Arthur leaned slightly forward, his voice carrying over the wind. "This never gets old, does it?" he yelled, a hint of a smile in his tone.

Aemon couldn't help but agree. "No, it doesn't. There's something magical about it every time."

Vaedar continued to climb, his path steady and sure. The world below seemed distant and small, but the journey ahead was clear and filled with promise. With Arthur and Aemon on his back, Vaear journeyed to the distant horizon once more, bathed in sunlight.

Sunspear: 298 AC: 6 Hours Later:

Viserys Targaryen

The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long, golden rays across the ancient sandstone walls of Sunspear. From their vantage point on the balcony, Viserys and Arianne gazed out over the shimmering sea toward Pentos, the waves below reflecting the soft, warm glow of the setting sun. Ships sailed past the cliffs and soft beaches below, the world around them both seeming to move without a second thought.

Viserys stood tall, his gaze unwavering as he scanned the distant line where the sky met the sea, his jaw set in a mixture of hope and apprehension. The wind tugged at his silver hair, whipping it about his face, but he hardly seemed to notice. His thoughts lay solely on his brother, and when he would appear, if he would at all.

Beside him, Arianne's deep brown eyes mirrored his intensity as she too searched the horizon. Her long, raven-black hair cascaded over her shoulders, fluttering gently in the evening breeze. She reached out and placed a reassuring hand on Viserys' arm, her touch bringing him a measure of comfort.

"You look troubled, Viserys." Arianne playfully chuckled, her brown eyes studying him. "Your thoughts lay with Aemon?"

"They do, Arainne." Viserys sighed, his fingers running softly up her hand. "I hope he comes."

"You seem to place him in high esteem."

"I suppose I do." Viserys smiled. "I'd never say it to him openly, of course, but, I love him. Just as much as Daenerys."

"That's very sweet. You remind me of myself when I think of Tyene. We did everything together as children whether it be reading, writing, or dancing." Arianne smirked. "I remember once we stole some wine and shared it. I don't remember much of what happened after."

"Will she be here for the wedding on the morrow?"

"She will, Viserys."

A moment of silence drew over them as Viserys unknowingly played with Arianne's fingers as his gaze lingered on the horizon. "You're not...nervous are you?" He eventually asked, his lilac eyes looking into her own.

"For the wedding? No, not really. Being the daughter of a Prince and heir to all Dorne, I anticipated this day." Arianne replied. "Are you?"

"In a way...I just hope it all goes well." Viserys reassuringly smiled. "I understand this is all arranged and is for things much grander than ourselves, but I hope we can make the best of it."

"I'm sure with time, Viserys, we can come to love one another. If it makes you feel any better, I do like you already."

A small smile came at the corners of Viserys lips as he held Arianne's hand tightly, feeling the encouragement of her words in his ears. Suddenly, two familiar figures appeared on the horizon, one much smaller than the other. Viserys narrowed his eyes, attempting to focus on the figures but he made no mistake, he knew exactly who this was. A gleeful smile appeared on his face as the figures came closer, leaping from the pages of history to appear before him.

"Is that him?" Arianne asked, her voice a mixture of excitement and anticipation. "Is that Aemon?"

"I believe so," Viserys replied, his fingers pointing to the approaching dragons. "The smaller one is Frostfyre and the larger one is Vaedar."

"Vaedar?"

"Valyrian for 'song', Arianne."

Arianne looked at the dragons until they came closer. She gasped when she saw the size of Vaedar fly overhead, his massive wings beating in the air, causing her hair to flutter in the wind created by them. She watched the dragons disappear from view, the sight of them blocked by the place of Sunspear.

"By the Gods, he's enormous!" Arianne exclaimed, grabbing Viserys' arm as she did so.

"He is, Isn't he?" Viserys chuckled. "Come, let us go and see them."

Together, they left the balcony and made their way into the place of Sunspear, both eager to see their family. As they walked, Viserys looked upon Arianne, a silent joyful smile appearing on his face as he did so. If this was to be the woman he would spend his life with, he could think of worse fates.

Aemon Targaryen

Vaedar descended from the sky with a graceful yet powerful presence, the massive black dragon casting a shadow that stretched across the sands outside of Sunspear. His enormous wings beat the air with a rhythm that was both mesmerizing and awe-inspiring, each downstroke lifting swirls of sand and creating a minor tempest around him.

As he neared the ground, Vaedar's wings flared wide, catching the evening breeze and slowing his descent. His midnight-black scales gleamed in the waning light, a stark contrast against the golden sands below. The ground trembled slightly as his massive claws touched down, sinking into the soft earth with a muted thud.

Aemon climbed down from his back, Arthur following his example. Beside them, Frostfyre touched down with much more grace than Vaedar, his wingbeats slowing to not cause any sand to rise and disperse everywhere until he touched down with a grace befitting the Princess' dragon. Aemon watched as Daenerys and Barristan climbed down from the dragon before walking toward him.

"I hate long journeys." Daenerys sighed, looking Aemon up and down. "You look nice, Aemon."

"Thank you?" Aemon questioned, not understanding Daenerys' sudden change in mood with him. "Are we ready?"

"If you are sweet sister."

As a group, they walked with a quiet determination toward the gates of Sunspear. As they approached the gates, the guards let them pass without a second thought, knowing exactly who they were by the dragons they rode in on. Walking through the gates, the group found themselves on the path that led to the Old Palace of Sunspear. As they walked, crowds began to form on the path at the sight of them, causing Arthur and Barristan to be much more protective than they would otherwise have been.

The people of Sunspear watched in awe and reverence as the quartet made their way through the city. Whispers of their legendary deeds and the dragons they commanded spread like wildfire among the crowd. Children peered out from behind their parents' legs, eyes wide with wonder, while the older generation exchanged knowing glances, understanding the significance of this moment.

As they approached the palace, the banners of House Martell fluttered in the gentle breeze, and the sounds of welcoming horns echoed through the streets. The journey had been long, and all Aemon could think about was getting some rest and food. However, before he could, he sighted Viserys waiting for him, standing next to one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen.

"Viserys!" Aemon called, as he embraced his brother. "I am happy to see you."

"Likewise, Aemon." Viserys smiled, releasing Aemon as he did so before turning to Arianne. "Allow me to introduce Princess Arianne Martell, my betrothed and heir to Sunspear."

"An honor, Princess, truly," Aemon smirked, kissing her offered hand. "My brother failed to mention the lengths of your beauty."

"Hm, he did, did he?" Arianne questioned, a playful smile appearing on her face as she did so. "I'll have to speak to him in private about it."

"I'm sure you will. Allow me to also introduce you to Princess Daenerys of the House Targaryen."

Aemon watched as Daenerys gave a small respectful curtsy to Arianne, a broad smile painted on her face as she did so. "I'm honored, Princess."

"As am I. It is not every day I get to meet a Targaryen Princess, let alone one of your looks." Arianne said, her voice seductive and raw, causing Daenerys to blush.

"Is your father not here, Princess?" Aemon asked, looking up at the mighty palace of Sunspear.

"He is inside, speaking to your mother. Come, I can lead you to him."

Aemon never bothered to correct her as she led them into the Old Palace itself. Arianne led the way through the majestic palace gates of Sunspear. Her presence commanded respect, her head held high with the dignity of her house. The golden banners of House Martell fluttered in the warm breeze, casting shimmering shadows across the ancient stone walls.

Aemon and Daenerys, both exuding regal confidence, followed closely behind her. Aemon's piercing gaze took in the intricate architecture and lush gardens, while Daenerys, her silver-gold hair catching the sunlight, walked with an air of quiet determination. Aemon could hear the dragons soaring overhead, having been left to their own devices. He imagined the awe that the people outside might be in as they watched fire made flesh fly over their heads.

Soon enough, Arianne led them to a grand chamber where Aemon could hear voices growing louder as they tried and drown one another out. Entering the chamber, the voices grew quiet as Oberyn, Rhaella, and Doran all looked at him. Behind Rhaella stood Jaime and Bonifer both of whom looked relieved to see Aemon had arrived.

"I hope I'm not interrupting anything," Aemon announced, walking to the center of the room, his eyes darting from one person to the next.

"Aemon." Rhaella sighed, the tone of her voice hinting at her exasperation. "We were just discussing-"

"You did not tell me you were bringing a Lannister here, Prince Viserys." Doran spat, his gaze never leaving Jaime. "Let alone the son of that bastard Tywin."

"Prince Doran I assume?" Aemon interjected, looking at the enraged man in the wheelchair. A blanket covered his legs and Aemon was inwardly shocked at how old he looked, despite understanding he was only in his early fifties. Behind him, stood a fierce, gruff-looking man with an enormous long axe bound to his hand.

"You assume correctly, Aemon."

"Your Grace, Prince Doran." Arthur corrected, his voice commanding respect.

"I see no crown atop his head yet."

"Yet he is still the King."

"Enough." Aemon interrupted. "I did not travel all this way on dragon back to bicker and fight as children do."

"You insult us by allowing that...man here." Doran begrudged. "The last Kingsguard in Kings Landing when they sacked it. Where was he when my Elia was raped and murdered?"

"Saving the lives of thousands." Jaime retorted.

"Elia was worth-"

"Silence!" Aemon yelled, his voice echoing around the room, silencing all. "Are we so childish to let past grievances blind us from what we truly seek? Are you so blinded by your hatred for anyone named Lannister, that you cannot see that Jaime is a changed man?"

"Aemon, I-"

"Enough, Prince Doran. I do not want my first meeting with you to leave a bitter taste in my mouth. Ser Jaime is a member of my Kingsguard and he will be treated with the respect he is due. I'll not allow his past actions to define who he is today."

Doran said nothing in response and only grunted, his shaped eyes never leaving Jaime. Aemon took a deep breath in and out, fearing how the rest of his stay in Dorne would pan out if this was how the first meeting with Doran went. Aemon sat down beside his Grandmother, as an eerie silence drew over the room, no one knowing what to say next until Aemon spoke.

"Now that unpleasantness is out of the way, allow me to introduce my sister Princess Daenerys." Aemon nodded toward Daenerys, who simply smiled and bowed her head at everyone in the room.

"A beauty truly, much like your mother." Oberyn smiled, his sharp eyes ever present on Daenerys. "I believe we have some other things to discuss, Your Grace."

"We do?" Aemon questioned.

"Yes, before the wedding on the morrow, my brother and I would like to speak to you. Privately."

"When would be a suitable time."

"Whenever you are able. Now if you can."

As the last echoes of voices faded in the great hall, Oberyn Martell, the fierce and passionate Red Viper, exchanged a meaningful glance with Aemon, beckoning him to follow. Doran gave a small nod to the man beside him, who instinctively began to push his wheelchair and him, from the chamber.

"I'll speak to you all later," Aemon assured, a hand lingering on Rhaella's knee as he stood up.

"Be safe, Aemon." Rhaella sighed, a small apologetic smile forming on the corner of her lips as she did so.

"I must insist I come with him, Prince Oberyn," Arthur interjected before they left.

"Hm, you do not trust us, Ser Arthur?" Oberyn smirked.

"You know the answer to that already, my Prince." Arthur chuckled.

Leading the way, Oberyn's intense energy radiated with every step, his determination evident. Aemon's calm and steady demeanor provided a contrast, his eyes filled with wonder for this new place he found himself in. Meanwhile, Doran quietly seethed, his thoughts lingering on the lion he had left in his great hall. The great hall doors closed behind them with a resounding thud, leaving the intrigue of their private meeting to the imagination of those left behind.

Navigating the dimly lit corridors of the castle, their footsteps echoed against the stone walls. Flickering torches cast dancing shadows, creating an almost otherworldly atmosphere. Oberyn's eyes burned with a resolve for justice, meeting Aemon's thoughtful gaze and Doran's sharp, strategic survey of their path ahead. Arthur walked alongside Aemon, his deep blue eyes scanning every corner and dark corridor for any threats.

As they reached a secluded chamber, Oberyn's hand lingered on the door handle for a moment, as he gave a small gaze to everyone before opening the door. They entered the room, the weight of their collective destinies palpable in the air. The door closed behind them, sealing their conversation from prying ears.

Inside the chamber, Aemon took a seat at a sturdy oak table, its surface worn smooth by years of use. Oberyn and Doran followed suit, their faces illuminated by the soft glow of candlelight. Doran's enormous guard stood by the door, his presence a reassuring shield. Arthur likewise stood resolutely behind Aemon, warding off any threats. The room was filled with the scent of parchment and ink, a testament to the many secrets and plans that had been crafted within these walls.

"So what is it that you needed to speak to me about?" Aemon asked, his eyes darting from one brother to the next.

"We need certain assurances from you, Aemon." Doran began. "We know that there is a war coming, and we wouldn't have it any other way, b ut we need to know if anyone else supports you."

"House Velaryon backs my claim as does House Tyrell and all the Reach."

"The Reach, ha!" Doran laughed. "Yes, they were so much help last time."

Aemon shared neither smile nor laugh with Doran, his features remaining stoic and unmoving. "Regardless of your personal feelings for House Tyrell, Prince Doran, they are the second most powerful house after the Lannisters. I would be a fool to not enlist their aid."

"And how did you 'enlist' their aid?"

"I am betrothed to Margaery Tyrell. She is to be my Queen once we take the throne."

"A Tyrell on the throne? I'm sure Lady Olenna was jumping for joy..." Doran sarcastically smirked, leaning forward against the table as he did so. "Very well, very well. When can we expect this war to begin?"

"A short while longer, as there are some arrangements I need to take care of."

"Such as?"

"Once we finish here, I am to go to King's Landing...for a tournament."

"Robert's name-day tournament? I cannot say that we were invited...not that we would go anyway." Doran chuckled. "But, what do you expect to do there? Joust?"

"Not exactly, though I have thought of it. No, there's a man I need gone. He's proven himself to be a threat that I cannot allow to live."

"Who is this man?"

"Petyr Baelish."

"Ah, Littlefinger," Oberyn added. "Yes, we know of him,"

"Then you know how dangerous he is," Aemon said, quickly glancing at Arthur. "I plan to use the tournament to get close to Baelish and eliminate him. There would be so many Lords and Ladies there, they wouldn't know who to blame."

"I see. You plan to do this by yourself?" Doran asked his voice a mixture of curiosity and intrigue.

"I'll be taking Ser Arthur with me, for some assurances."

Aemon watched as the wheels in Oberyn's head began to turn, his face betraying his inner thoughts as a small sadistic smile appeared at the corner of his lips. "Allow me to come with you, Your Grace." He eventually chirped, his viper-like eyes narrowing.

"You want to come? I'm sorry Prince Oberyn but you are well known and recognisable. This is essentially an assassination, not a diplomatic mission."

"I disagree, Your Grace, for when you kill a man in the dark of the night, who better than the Red Viper of Dorne to have at your back?"

Aemon looked to Arthur, searching the Sword of the Morning's face for answers, before looking back to Oberyn, a small glint present in his grey eyes. "Perhaps...but when we do this and if you get recognized, Dorne will be blamed."

"Dorne is already under the close eye of Jon Arryn and his lackeys. I fear not the Usurper or his hammer."

"Very well, if Prince Doran is satisfied with it, I'll allow it."

Doran looked his brother up and down, noting the eagerness in his eyes. "I trust my brother will be safe with you."

"Very well, if our business is concluded, then I will take my leave to join the rest of my family." Aemon nodded, standing up. "I look forward to the future, for both of our great houses." He said, before walking from the room.

"As do we, Aemon," Doran called after him before the door closed.

As Aemon stepped into the dimly lit corridor, the echoes of their conversation lingered in the chamber behind him. The future was uncertain, but one thing was clear: the bonds forged in that room would carry them through the trials to come.

Aemon's footsteps resonated against the stone walls, a rhythmic reminder of the journey that lay ahead. The flickering torches cast long shadows, dancing along the corridor, as Arthur walked quietly behind him. Aemon glanced at Arthur, a small smile shared between the two of them. Both of them knew what was coming and they silently wondered how many of these quiet moments they had left to share.

King's Landing: 298 AC: 1 Day Later:

Varys

As the first light of dawn began to break over the horizon, King's Landing awoke from its slumber. The city, still shrouded in the quiet of early morning, seemed to hold its breath as a lone ship approached the harbor. Varys, the enigmatic Master of Whisperers, had returned from Braavos much sooner than he had anticipated. Behind him, the ship's sails billowed gently in the morning breeze as it glided into the dock. Varys stood at the bow, his voluminous robes fluttering around him. The early morning light cast a soft glow on the city's ancient walls, and the air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of the sea.

As the ship was secured, Varys descended the gangplank with a silent grace, his footsteps barely audible against the wooden boards. The dockworkers, busy with their early morning tasks, paid him little heed, just as he preferred. His network of spies had already been alerted to his return, and they would ensure that his movements remained shrouded in secrecy.

Navigating the winding alleys and narrow passages leading from the harbor, Varys's keen eyes took in every detail, ever watchful and vigilant. The mission in Braavos had been perilous, of course, no thanks to Petyr Baelsih and his usual ambitiousness. He understood that he would now have to take great care in navigating the winding paths of intrigue that surrounded him. He knew he could no longer guarantee everything he did was kept secure in the web of lies he wove.

The streets of King's Landing were still mostly deserted at this hour, save for a few early risers and the occasional city guard making their rounds. Varys's presence went largely unnoticed, an advantage he had perfected over the years.

As he approached the Red Keep, the imposing fortress that loomed over the entirety of the city he worked so hard to serve, he felt a sense of anticipation. He knew his disappearance was noticed, and he could have only imagined what lies and falsehoods Littlefinger had spread about him and where he was. Yet, he knew exactly how to outsmart the upstart Baelish, for this was a game he had played for much longer than him.

The great gates of the Red Keep loomed ahead, and Varys paused for a moment, taking in the sight of the castle bathed in the soft morning light. With a determined look in his eyes, he moved forward, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. Walking through the gates, the guards hardly seemed to care that he entered, or even took notice of him. Perhaps they knew who he was and they feared him like all the others, Varys mused.

He eventually found himself in the throne room, and to his surprise, King Robert lounged in his chair, surrounded by his small councilors. Varys approached them slowly, removing his hood and revealing his presence to everyone who turned to look at him.

"Lord Varys?" Littlefinger exclaimed, the shock clear in his voice.

"Where have you been?" Robert boomed, his voice thick with the remnants of sleep and a drunken night.

"I was on a mission to Essos, my King, to ensure my spies are looking for the Targaryens, as per the Lord Hands orders," Varys explained.

"Hm," Robert hummed. "It's funny you should say that as that is precisely why I am up at this Gods awful hour. Dragons have been sighted yet again, or so my wise councilors tell me, in Driftmark of all places. You wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"

"I cannot say I do, Your Grace, for my little birds have sung no songs of dragons in Driftmark."

"There, Jon, you see. My Spymaster tells me there are no dragons on Driftmark."

"Your Grace, this is becoming too coincidental now. The Reach, Driftmark, and many other places are all seeing the same things. A mighty black dragon, bigger than any castle, is seen overhead, high in the sky." Jon cried, rattling a piece of parchment in his hand. "On Driftmark, my spies report that there were two of them! If the Targaryens have somehow-"

"I'll not hear that fucking name mentioned in this room. Dragons have been dead for a century, never to return. Do you think some old woman and a boy can hatch dragon eggs? You put too much stock in their abilities." Robert spat. "I have crushed the dragons before and should they return, I'll crush them again as I did that damn Rhaegar on the Trident."

"Lord Varys, please tell me you have heard something?" Jon pleaded, turning to Varys.

"I cannot add any truth to the matter, my Lord Hand. In Essos, there have been bleatings of some large birds in the area, that soar as high as falcons. Perhaps they are migrating Westward?"

"By the Gods...Robert, this is a threat we cannot ignore." Jon sighed, turning back to Robert. "If what people are saying is true and what my own spies have seen, then we are in grave danger."

"Danger? What danger? No sane man would follow that little shit Viserys."

"Sorry to correct you, Your Grace, but from what I am told it is not Viserys Targaryen they follow but an Aemon Targaryen," Litllefinger interjected, his eyes flickering to Varys momentarily. "They say he is the rightful King, not Viserys."

The usually composed and inscrutable spymaster felt a chill run down his spine. His mind raced as he processed the implications of Baelish's revelation. How had he discovered Aemon's existence? And why was he revealing it now?

"Aemon Targaryen? What, that whore Rhaella has pushed out another dragonspawn?" Robert jibed as a small hint of amusement glistened in his fiery eyes.

"On the contrary...I have heard tales that he is the son of Rhaegar. The same son that was spirited away from Dorne by Ser Arthur Dayne all those years ago."

"The son of..." Robert choked, understanding what Petyr's words meant. Varys watched as Robert's temper rose before his anger was clear for all to see. "Him?!" He yelled, his voice echoing around the empty throne room as he stood up from the throne he sat upon.

"Your Grace, if what Lord Baelish is saying is true, then that would mean his mother-"

"Don't fucking say it, Jon. I do not want to hear the words." Robert spat. "I'll kill him. By the Gods, if he ever sets foot on Westeros I will hunt him down and put his head on a spike along with the rest of his incestuous family."

"Perhaps, a plan of action, Your Grace?" Jon advised. "In case he should land on our shores."

"No. I will not be corraled and persuaded and the crown will not be seen to fear a green boy on the other side of the world. Lord Varys, I want you to look into this, privately. Should you find any evidence of this Aemon fucking Targaryen in Westeros, then I want to know immediately."

"Of course, Your Grace, I will do my utmost to find him." Varys falsely smiled and bowed.

"Good, good...now what else is there," Robert asked, looking to his councilors.

"Arrivals from the Reach are due today." Jon began. "House Tyrell and some of their bannermen arriving for your name-day tournament, Your Grace."

"The Tyrells," Robert muttered, his voice laced with disdain. "Traitors, every last one of them. They may come bearing gifts and smiles, but I know their true nature."

"Of course, Your Grace, but perhaps this could be an opportunity to see if there is any truth to these dragons. If they are seen in the Reach, then the Tyrells could give us confirmation." Varys advised.

"Ha!" Robert laughed. "As if they would speak truly to us. We will welcome them with all the courtesy expected of our station," He declared, his voice cold and firm. "But make no mistake, we will watch them closely. And should they know anything of this dragon, I want to know. I'll let you see to it."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"The Lords Benjen and Robb Stark are also due to arrive soon, Your Grace," Jon added.

"Good! Finally, some proper men in my court. Send them to me when they arrive. I'd love to see that young Robb once more." Robert chirped. "Did I tell you, Jon, he looks exactly as Ned did all those years ago?"

"You did, Your Grace."

"Ah, a fine man. Damn that Arthur Dayne for taking him from me. You wait, Jon, once I get my hands from him there won't be anything left of him to bury."

"The Queen's brother is due to arrive soon as well, Your Grace." Jon reminded. "Tyrion Lannister."

"Strange family that lot. One is a traitor, the other a pain in my neck, and the last of them an imp. No visit from the mighty Tywin?"

"No, he chose to abstain from the tournament."

"Bah, he's an old man with mud on his shoes. Let him gripe and sulk in the West." Robert chuckled, standing from the Iron Throne. "Now, I am going back to bed...Wake me when the Tyrells arrive. It wouldn't do for the King to be sleeping when they do."

Varys watched as Robert slowly trudged away, his slow movements followed by two young servants, both eager to help their King. Jon Arryn quickly excused himself, citing 'pressing matters' as the reason. Littlefinger and Varys alone in the throne room, their eyes never leaving one another.

"An eventful journey, Lord Varys?" Littlefinger asked, breaking the silence between them.

"More eventful than I would have planned, Lord Baelish," Varys smirked.

"I do hope you didn't run into any trouble. I sent men to come and find you per the Lord Hand's orders, to ensure you return unharmed from your untimely departure."

"Did you? That is most kind, but safe to say, your men never found me, Lord Baelsih."

"A shame they didn't. I'd hate to see you harmed in any way."

"By all means, you can come with me the next time I go. I'm sure I'll feel much safer with a man of your prowess at my side."

"My mind is sharper than any blade, I assure you, Lord Varys."

"So you say." Varys sarcastically replied. "I hate to cut our time together short Lord Baelish, but I must be getting some rest. The voyage home was taxing upon me."

"Of course, Lord Varys. Sleep well." Baelish said, his false smile dropping immediately as he turned and walked away.7

Varys watched him walk away, before making his way to his chambers. He climbed the familiar steps and walked the red stone corridors until he eventually found himself outside of the heavy door of his chamber. Pushing open the door, Varys was greeted by the familiar scent of parchment and ink. The room was modest, its furnishings chosen for their practicality rather than their splendor. A single candle flickered on the desk, casting elongated shadows on the stone walls.

With a sigh, Varys removed his heavy cloak and draped it over a nearby chair. He moved to the desk and carefully unrolled a map of Westeros, his eyes scanning the intricate details. Every city, every stronghold, every river, and every road held significance in the grand web he spun. He traced a finger along the coastline, his mind already calculating his next move.

But for now, Varys allowed himself a moment of rest. He settled into a chair, closing his eyes and letting the events of the recent days wash over him. The whispers of the Red Keep were ever-present, but within the confines of his chambers, he found a measure of peace.

The Spider knew that rest was fleeting, for the game never truly ceased. Yet in this brief respite, he prepared himself for the next move, ever vigilant, ever watchful. For the King himself cannot do all the work.

Margaery Tyrell

The sun hung high in the sky over Margaery as she stepped out of the wheelhouse. Before her, stood the Red Keep in all its glory as, she marveled at the magnificent spires and towers that composed such an ominous castle. Behind her, Olenna and Alerie climbed out of the wheelhouse, their faces showing a small hint of disdain for their surroundings.

"Gods, you can smell the shit for miles," Olenna remarked, causing Margaery to turn to her.

"Grandmother!" She gasped, a mischievous smile appearing on her face as she did so.

The courtyard before them was alive with activity, as servants hurried to and fro, preparing for the grand tournament to celebrate King Robert's name-day. Margaery took a deep breath, savoring the crisp air and the sense of anticipation that hung in the air. She greeted the courtiers who approached to pay their respects with a warm smile, her charm and poise never faltering. Olenna and Alerie flanked her, their presence ensuring no one came too close to Margaery.

As they made their way towards the throne room, Margaery couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement. The days ahead promised both challenges and opportunities, and she was determined to navigate them with the grace and cunning that had been taught to her all those years. Yet, her Grandmother's words lingered in her mind. She was to keep up appearances as any slip-up in their facade would bring their house to ruin along with her.

As they walked, Margaery turned to her Grandmother, her eyes alive with questions. "Have my brothers and father arrived?"

"I'm sure they're around here somewhere, filling the ear of some Lord about chivalric nonsense." Olenna sighed. "We have more pressing matters to attend to, my dear."

As they approached the throne room doors, the sound of their footsteps echoed softly against the polished stone floors. The guards stationed at the entrance bowed respectfully, recognizing the significance of the visitors. With a nod, they opened the heavy doors, allowing the Tyrell ladies to enter.

The throne room was vast and imposing, its high ceilings adorned with intricate tapestries and banners. At the far end, seated upon the Iron Throne, was King Robert Baratheon, his presence both commanding and formidable. The air was thick with anticipation as Margaery, Olenna, and Alerie advanced towards the monarch, their expressions composed and unwavering.

Margaery's heart quickened slightly, as she took sight of the rest of the royal family standing by Robert's side. She guessed that the tallest boy was Joffrey, who though handsome, had a strange look in his emerald eyes as he looked upon her.

As Margaery, Olenna, and Alerie Tyrell reached the dais, they gracefully sank into curtsies, their heads bowed in respect. Robert watched them with a keen eye, his powerful presence almost palpable from his seat on the Iron Throne. Beside him, the royal family, stood each assessing the newcomers with varying degrees of interest and scrutiny.

Margaery's curtsy was the picture of elegance, her emerald gown pooling around her like a cascade of silk. Olenna, ever the shrewd matriarch, maintained her sharp gaze even as she bent her knees, while Alerie's serene composure never wavered.

"Your Grace," Margaery said, her voice melodic and respectful, "we are honored to be here to celebrate your name-day tournament."

Robert said nothing in reply, as he only waved them off with a careless waft of his hand. As Margaery walked to the side with her family, she felt slightly irritated by the King's simple dismissal of them, until she found her father and two brothers waiting for them in the crowd of assembled Lords and Ladies.

"You look ravishing, sister," Loras smiled, his voice low as Margaery stood by his side.

"I cannot believe he dismissed us so easily. Has he no respect?" She sighed, her voice also quiet.

"He is the King, Margaery, he can do as he likes."

"Still...there is protocol for these things."

"I know, but save your bleatings in case someone hears us."

As Margaery silenced herself, the grand hall carried on with the sounds of heralds announcing names and titles, the rustle of fine fabrics, and the murmur of hushed conversations.

Her gaze wandered from the dais to the sea of faces surrounding her, searching for something—anything—to capture her interest. She couldn't help but find the proceedings tedious, the endless parade of houses and their formal introductions dragging on interminably.

As the latest in a long line of noble representatives stepped forward to pay homage to King Robert, Margaery's thoughts drifted to Aemon. She wondered if he would have to do boring things such as this wherever he was. A small grin came to her face as she imagined him riding his dragon from one place to the next, free from the tedium that was courtly life. She secretly hoped that when they became King and Queen, they could perhaps ride his dragon together. In her mind, it had the picture of romance or something the bards would sing of in the inns and taverns.

Margaery glanced at her grandmother Olenna, who stood nearby with an expression of mild amusement. Olenna, ever the keen observer, caught her eye and gave a barely perceptible nod as if to say, "Patience, my dear." Margaery smiled inwardly, grateful for her grandmother's silent encouragement.

As the next house was introduced, Margaery returned her attention to the dais, determined to endure the remaining introductions with grace. The tournament was only days away, and she began to wonder how she was going to navigate this myriad of intrigue and politics, as she looked upon the royal family. She noticed Joffery looking as bored as she felt, his eyes staring out of one of the stained glass windows that lined the great hall.

After what felt like hours, the announcements were finally finished, and the assembly was dismissed. The lords and ladies began to disperse, their conversations a blend of relief and excitement for the upcoming festivities. Margaery allowed herself a subtle sigh of relief, eager to escape the tedium of the introductions.

However, as she turned to join Olenna and Alerie, she noticed Joffrey Baratheon making his way towards her. His golden hair gleamed in the candlelight, and his expression bore that familiar mix of arrogance and entitlement. Behind him, two Kingsuards followed, and Margaery couldn't help but notice one of them looking ever so much like Joffery. Margaery's smile remained firmly in place as he approached, though inwardly, her displeasure stirred.

"Lady Margaery," Joffrey greeted her, his voice dripping with a forced charm. "I hope the introductions weren't too tiresome for you."

"Not at all, Your Grace. It is always a pleasure to see so many new faces and hear so many new names."

"Perhaps, we could take a walk? I would love to show you the sights of the city, it is my honor to represent."

Olenna attempted to chime in. "Your Grace, we have had a long journey-"

"You must be tired then Lady Olenna." Joffrey snapped, interrupting the Queen of Thornes. "I'm sure there are many servants who can show you where you'll be staying for the duration of the tournament. My Lady, however, looks as fresh as spring's first flowers."

Margaery put on a forced smile at Joffereys attempts at flattery. "You're most kind, Your Grace, I would love for you to show me the sights of this wonderous city." She grinned, turning to Olenna as she did so to assure her she knew what she was doing with a silent knowing smile as proof.

"Good, good. Do not worry about her safety, I have Ser Arys and Ser Meryn here to protect us should any of the rabble come near us." Joffrey smiled, holding his arm out for Margaery to hold.

Margaery took his arm in her own, and together they walked from the throne room. Soon she found herself walking alongside Joffrey, their destination the grand Sept of Baelor. The path through the Red Keep was a winding one, flanked by towering stone walls and adorned with intricate tapestries. Margaery's heart felt heavy with the knowledge that she had little choice but to accompany the young prince, despite her private discontent.

Joffrey, ever eager to assert his dominance, spoke animatedly about the upcoming tournament and the various plans for the celebration. Margaery nodded and responded appropriately, her expressions carefully measured to reflect interest and enthusiasm. She knew that maintaining appearances was crucial; any hint of displeasure could be detrimental to her family's ambitions.

As they exited the Red Keep and made their way through the bustling streets of King's Landing, Margaery couldn't help but notice the curious glances and hushed whispers of the townsfolk. Their presence was a spectacle, and she was acutely aware of the scrutiny they were under, much to her dismay. The Sept of Baelor loomed ahead, its magnificent structure a symbol of the realm's faith and power. Joffrey continued his monologue, seemingly oblivious to Margaery's internal struggle. She kept her demeanor composed, drawing on the lessons instilled in her by Olenna and Alerie.

Entering the sept, the serene and solemn atmosphere washed over her, offering a brief respite from the incessant demands of court life. Margaery's mind remained focused on the task at hand—enduring this excursion with grace and fortitude.

"A wonderous place is it not?" Joffrey smiled, looking at the ceiling. "Many names of dead Kings and Queens all rest here."

"It is spectacular, Your Grace, I appreciate you showing me." Margaery smiled. "Can you show me who is buried here?"

"Of course, my Lady."

Joffrey led her to a small metal grate that was installed in the concrete floors of the Sept. She noticed how he took a strange excitement at all the death around them, his voice almost chirping as he told her how people died and why.

"Look, down here." Joffery smiled, pointing at the grate. "Rhaenyra Targaryen was murdered by her brother, or rather, his dragon. It ate her alive whilst her son watched. What's left of her is buried in the crypts right down there."

"A most gruesome death, Your Grace," Margaery smirked, trying not to show disdain for how Joffery took great pleasure in all of this.

"It was. Can you imagine what I could do with a dragon? I hear there are tales of dragons out there in the wild somewhere."

"Truly? I would have to see it for myself to believe it."

"I think it is just the lies of bored fishwives who have nothing better to do than prattle all day." Joffrey sighed, leading her to another part of the Sept.

"Up there is the urn of Aerion Targaryen. He thought drinking wildfire would turn him into a dragon, he was wrong it seems."

"A silly notion." Margaery chuckled. "How any sane man could think that is beyond me, Your Grace,"

"He wasn't a sane man by all accounts much like the Mad King up there" Joffrey nodded, his emerald eyes looking to an urn placed on the wall. "Killed by my traitorous Uncle Jaime."

"Traitorous, Your Grace?"

"You haven't been told? Not surprising, seeing as it was hardly the business of a woman, but he tucked his tail and ran from my father's service, apparently seeking out the last Targaryens. My father has told me he'd kill him if he ever returned."

"You're not upset in any way by that, Your Grace?"

"No, why would I be? The man was a traitor. How he can go from killing Targaryens to serving them once more is strange to me."

"Maybe he went for another reason."

"Oh? Like what?"

"Well, he is a knight after all. Perhaps, it was Arthur Dayne who convinced him, or maybe another knight."

"You know of Arthur Dayne?" Joffrey said, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"He has woven quite the story, has he not? Killing a Lord a spiriting away with a babe, said to be Rhaegar's last son. It sounds like a tale from the storybooks I read as a child."

"Hm, do you believe all of that?"

"Well, yes, it is true, is it not?"

"I don't think so. No man, no matter how good of a swordsman can escape the justice of the crown for that long. Besides, the babe he spirited away was most likely a bastard of Rhaegar's, seeing as he raped Lyanna Stark."

For some reason unbeknownst to her, she began to grow irritated at Joffrey's easy dismissal of Aemon's birth and heritage. "Perhaps, Your Grace." She smiled, her voice soft and sweet, giving nothing of her inner thoughts away.

"Would you like to see where the last Targaryens are buried, seeing as we are here?"

"Of course, Your Grace, it's all so exciting, like stepping through the pages of a history book."

Margaery gritted her teeth and pushed through Joffrey's tour of the final sections of the Sept of Baelor. He had taken particular pleasure in showing her the crypt where the last Targaryens were buried, recounting the fall of the once-great house with a twisted satisfaction. Margaery, while maintaining a facade of interest, inwardly felt a pang of discomfort; the irony of her secret betrothal to Aemon was not lost on her.

As they finally emerged from the dimly lit depths of the sept into the bright afternoon sun, Margaery felt a sense of relief wash over her. Joffrey continued to speak, his voice carrying an air of triumph, but Margaery's thoughts were elsewhere. She carefully concealed her true feelings, her expression remaining composed and courteous.

"Thank you, Your Grace, for the tour," Margaery said, her voice as smooth as silk. "It was enlightening to learn more about the history of the realm."

Joffrey's chest puffed up with pride. "I'm glad you appreciated it, Lady Margaery. The history of our enemies should never be forgotten."

Margaery nodded, though her mind was already racing ahead, considering the implications of her secret engagement. The future held many uncertainties, and navigating the treacherous waters of the court required all her wit and cunning.

As Joffrey excused himself to attend to other matters, Margaery made her way back towards the Red Keep, her steps measured and deliberate. She found solace in the knowledge that, despite the challenges ahead, she had the strength and resolve to face them. House Tyrell's ambitions were vast, and Margaery was determined to see them realized, no matter the obstacles in her path.

Dorne: 298 AC: The Same Day:

Viserys Targaryen

"Are you ready, Viserys?" Aemon asked, his grey eyes looking at his brother from head to toe as he stood on the other side of the room.

"Ah...Yes, do I look alright?" Viserys nervously laughed, looking frantically in the looking glass.

He wore a flowing robe of deep black velvet, embroidered with gold-threaded dragon motifs, and adorned with a blood-red silk cloak, the three-headed dragon embroidered into it. A dragon-shaped brooch fastened his cloak, and a jeweled belt studded with emeralds, sapphires, and diamonds cinched his waist. His polished black leather boots thudded softly with each step, as he walked from the looking glass.

"You look like the picture of a Prince, Viserys." Aemon smiled, walking toward Viserys and placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You understand how important this day is, don't you?"

"I do, Aemon, of course," Viserye replied, a hint of confusion present in his voice. "Why do you ask?"

"It is the first step in reclaiming what was stolen from us, the first real step. After this, we will have an entire kingdom backing us."

"I know, Aemon, but I hope you see Arianne as more than just the means to an end."

"Of course I do," Aemon playfully chuckled. "She'll be a part of our family after tonight and once more will Targaryen and Martell be united in matrimony."

"I hope for our sakes it doesn't end tragically like the last time."

Viserys grew quiet as Aemon only gave him a sad smile in response and watched as he looked out of a window upon the setting sun over the Narrow Sea.

"I'm sorry, Aemon, I didn't mean to invoke any painful memories." Viserys apologized, his voice soft.

Aemon took a deep breath in and out, his grey eyes never leaving the setting sun. "You look like him. From what I've seen in my dreams," Aemon began. "Only not as handsome." He playfully smirked.

"Not as handsome? I beg to differ, Aemon,"

Suddenly, a knock on the heavy door was heard, as Arthur poked his head around it. "They're ready for you, my Prince." He nodded, his eyes flickering from one Targaryen to another before he left.

"Ready?" Aemon asked, walking toward the door.

"As I'll ever be," Viserys answered, following Aemon through the door.

The walk to the grand hall was a quiet one, as Aemon and Viserys walked side by side. Only the sounds of their footsteps on the stone echoed between them and the soft thud of their swords bouncing against their hips.

Soon enough, they reached the large doors that stood as a barrier, stopping them from entering. Viserys placed a hand on the door and gave one last glance at Aemon.

"Wish me luck," Viserys smiled, taking a deep breath in and out.

"You'll be fine, Viserys. Come on." Aemon assured, both of them pushing the doors open at the same time.

The sight that greeted Viserys was astounding. The walls of the hall had been lined with flags bearing both the Targaryen and Martell sigils, joined in a beautiful myriad of black and orange. Guards lined the hall, all wearing their finest armor polished to a perfect shine.

At the front of the hall sat a small gathering. On one side stood Daenerys and Rhaella, both of whom wore elegant dresses of black and had their hair braided in opposing Valyrian styles.

Beside them, sat Doran and what Viserys assumed was Oberyn's children and his paramour, Elaria, all lined up, dressed in their finest gowns and raiments. For what was a royal wedding, the gathering was intimately small due to the secrecy of the event.

However, Viserys smiled when he sighted all Aemon's Kingsguard including Ser Bonifer, lined up on either side of the path that led to where the Septon stood. Each of them wore matching black and red doublets, embroidered with silver lacing, similar to Aemon's own raiment. Viserys' eyes soon set on the old and frail Septon that stood at the end of the hall.

"You're sure we can trust this man?" Viserys whispered to Aemon, as they began walking down the aisle toward him.

"Fear not, Viserys, for he is an old man. I'm sure the Martells have vetted him thoroughly." Aemon whispered back.

After a short few steps, Viserys stood in front of the Septon, his old brown eyes gazing upon him. Viserys tried his best to not appear nervous but he felt like shattering into a million pieces as he stood there waiting for what felt like an eternity. Suddenly, the air was thick with anticipation as the heavy doors creaked open, revealing Arianne, the epitome of Martell grace and beauty. Her gown, a cascade of silk and jewels, seemed to radiate with each step she took. A long cloak, bearing the sigil of House Martell, trailed behind her, in the colors of orange and yellow.

By her side, Oberyn moved with the fluidity of a panther, his arm linked with hers in a gesture both protective and proud. His eyes, sharp and full of purpose, scanned the room, daring anyone to question the honor of the occasion. Doran, constrained by his gout and seated to the side, watched with a mixture of pride and resignation, his gaze following every move of his daughter and brother.

As they approached the end of the hall, Viserys, his features radiating with joy, stood awaiting his bride. His expression was a blend of awe and fascination. Arianne, her face a picture of serene confidence, looked up at Oberyn one last time before she stepped towards her future.

The room fell silent, the weight of the moment pressing down on everyone present. Oberyn gently placed Arianne's hand in Viserys', a symbolic passing of trust and alliance. The two locked eyes, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Until Oberyn removed the heavy cloak that encompassed Arianne's shoulders, which allowed Viserys to place his own around her.

"We are gathered here today to witness the bonding of two souls from the houses of Targaryen and Martell." The Septon began, his voice old and soft. He began to wrap a soft piece of cloth around the joined hands of Viserys and Arianne, a small smile appearing on his face as he did so. " In the light of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one, for eternity. Look upon another and say the words."

Together in unison, Viserys and Arianne began to speak, their eyes never leaving one another. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger. I am his and she is mine from this day until the end of my days."

"I now proclaim this union official and both of you man and wife, congratulations."

Viserys had no time to say anything before his grinning lips were kissed heavily by Arianne. He could feel the softness of her lips as they moved upon his before she released him, a huge smile present on her face as she did so. Around them, their families began to applaud and cheer. None of them were more happy than Rhaella, as she cried tears of joy over seeing her son married.

Together, they both walked down the aisle, their hands still joined. "Let us begin the feast! To Prince Viserys and Princess Arianne! Oberyn cried from behind them to enthusiastic cheers and applause.

"Happy?" Viserys whispered to her, a smirk present at the corner of his lips.

"Very much so," Arianne whispered back, her brown eyes fluttering like butterflies in the wind.

Together they walked down the aisle, hand in hand and with their faces beaming with happiness. Viserys knew this was a new start of a brand new chapter in his life, and he couldn't think of anyone more suited to share it with than Arianne.

Aemon Targaryen

Aemon sat on the balcony of his given chambers alone. The last few hours of drinking and feasting had taken their toll on him and he sat now basking in the soft moonlight, partially drunk. The stars twinkled brilliantly against the velvet sky, casting a soft, ethereal glow over him. His doublet sat with half its clasps undone, and his red cape dangled lazily onto the floor beside him. Dark Sister lay against the stone railing of the balcony, still in its sheath. He could feel the warm Dornish air flicker lick his bare chest and he closed his eyes allowing himself a moment to feel its warmth.

As his mind drifted with the wind of the night, his thoughts turned to the wedding he had just witnessed. He wondered if it would be like that when he married Margaery, though he imagined it would be a much grander affair, perhaps even in the Capital itself. However, his musings were interrupted by a loud knock at the door as he slowly peered over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing.

"Enter!" He croaked, his voice hoarse and tired.

"Princess Daenerys, Your Grace," Arthur called, as Daenerys strolled in, a glass of wine in her hand.

"Dany!... I'm sorry I'm not more presentable..." Aemon smiled, as Daenerys sat down beside him. He noticed a small smile on her face and much like himself, her clothes seemed deshelved as her black, and red gown cascaded around her shoulders, her pale skin glistening in the moonlight.

"It's alright, Aemon." Daenerys giggled, looking Aemon up and down with a quiet intensity. "I think you're fine just the way you are."

"I didn't expect to have...visitors at such a late hour."

"Oh...I was bored and thought I'd come to visit my dear brother."

"Hm." Aemon hummed, looking at the glass of wine she held. "Have you had plenty to drink?"

"More than most down there, I'd imagine, but not as much as you or Viserys."

Aemon allowed a small laugh to escape his lips. "I think this will be the last time I try and out-drink Oberyn."

"Well, my mother did tell you not to do it."

"She always has the best advice, I suppose," Aemon smirked, closing his eyes and allowing his head to lean back against the chair. "Do you ever think you'll be married one day?"

The question caught Daenrys off guard as she sipped her wine slowly, her violet eyes never leaving her brother. "I haven't given it much thought, though it seems it'll be your turn soon."

"So it would seem, but what about that man from Driftmark...his name escapes me."

"Aurane."

"Yes...what of him? Is he worthy of you?" Aemon asked, opening one eye to look at a smirking Daenerys.

"Worthy of me?" Daenerys laughed. "He's a nice man, pretty even, but I would have to get to know him more before I commit to anything like that."

"Perhaps you should visit him more...you can go anytime you like. You don't need my permission to fly to Driftmark."

"I'll think about it...I'm still undecided."

Aemon only hummed in response, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, feeling the warmth against his bare neck and chest.

"Do you remember when we used to do this as children, before all of this?" He asked, his voice soft and sweet.

"Look at the stars? I do, surprisingly."

"We should...do it more. We don't nearly spend enough time together these days."

"Yes, well that's because you're always flying from one place to the next."

"That bothers you?" Aemon asked, hearing the irritation in her voice.

"No...that's not what I meant. I understand things have changed now. We both have duties and...obligations, especially you. I cannot imagine it's easy being a King."

"I'm not a King until I have my crown."

"Yet, everyone treats you as one." Daenerys sighed. "I do wish that sometimes things were simpler, like when we were children."

"As do I." Aemon smiled, opening his eyes and looking at Daenerys. "We can pretend again, if just for one night."

A small smirk appeared on Daenerys, as her violet eyes studied Aemon. "Are you sure?"

"Of course! It can be like that time when were on the roof of the manse...looking at the stars."

Aemon watched as Daenerys placed her glass on the floor, a soft smirk still present on her face. She quickly pushed her chair next to Aemon's and lounged in it. He wrapped an arm around her, drawing her close. She nestled against him, her head resting on his shoulder, finding comfort in his warmth and steady presence. He could smell the wine that lingered around her lips and found the aroma soothing despite his own intoxication.

"I had thought you were upset with me earlier," Aemon mumbled, his hand traveling up her shoulders to play with a rogue strand of silver hair. "Well...yesterday."

"Oh, that. I was just angry about not leaving with Viserys is all. I didn't want to miss anything...it's not your fault or anything of the sort." Daenerys assured, her loose hand planting itself on Aemon's bare chest, her soft fingers drawing pictures upon it.

"I see." Aemon sighed, allowing himself a small moment to feel the pleasure of Danerys' fingers trailing between the lines of his toned chest. "I'm leaving again on the morrow."

"You're actually going to King's Landing?"

"What? You think it's a bad idea?"

"I think it's stupid, Aemon."

"It'll be alright, Dany, I promise." Aemon chuckled, his eyes meeting Daenerys', their faces inches from one another.

"You always promise." She whispered.

"Have I ever let you down?"

"No...not yet." She smiled, her eyes looking deep into Aemon's own.

Aemon's heart pounded in his chest as their eyes met, the rational part of his mind screaming that this was a line they shouldn't cross. But there, under the stars, with the warmth of the wine loosening his inhibitions, he found it hard to care. Daenerys, looking up at him with a mixture of vulnerability and daring, seemed to be wrestling with the same thoughts.

At that moment, reason took a backseat. Daenerys leaned in, her hand gently cupping his cheek, and their lips met in a hesitant yet passionate kiss. Aemon could feel her soft hand glide under his garment and on his shoulder as she planted her lips deeper into the kiss they now shared, her soft and gentle lips the taste of sweet Dornish wine.

However, Aemon gently pushed her away, their lips unjoining as rationality took over once more. "We shouldn't...Dany, it's not..." Aemon breathed, his hands running through his hair nervously.

"Not what? For us?" Daenerys softly sighed, her eyes dropping to the floor. "I thought... never mind."

"We can't...I...am betrothed. It wouldn't do for us to...be like this."

"I see...I just...it doesn't matter. Not anymore." She softly spoke. "I'll see you on the morrow, Your Grace." She formally croaked, walking away from him and toward the door.

"Dany, wait." Aemon choked, struggling to his feet. Daenerys ignored his calls and opened the door, a perplexed Arthur standing there as she stormed past. Aemon rubbed his eyes, fearing he had done something terrible to her.

"Is everything fine, Your Grace?" Arthur asked, taking a step inside the room. "She seemed-"

"Just close the door, Arthur. Everything's fine." Aemon immediately replied, his tone full of anger and sadness.

Arthur gave a small nod of his head as he closed the door with a heavy slam. Aemon walked around the room in a drunken haze his hand rubbing his temple, his breath uneven, as he replayed the scene over and over in his mind—the look of hurt and confusion in Daenerys' eyes, the words he had struggled to say.

His strength, both physical and emotional, seemed to drain away all at once. He stumbled towards the bed, collapsing onto the mattress with a weary sigh. The soft sheets offered little comfort as he lay there, staring up at the ceiling, his thoughts racing. Aemon knew he had done what he believed was right, but the ache in his chest told him just how difficult the choice had been. The connection between them was undeniable, and yet, the boundaries they both knew existed had forced him to push her away.

As exhaustion finally began to take hold, his eyes fluttered shut, though sleep was slow to come. In the darkness and solitude of his room, Aemon found himself caught between duty and desire, his heart heavy with the consequences of his choice. And as he drifted into a restless sleep, the stars outside continued to shine, oblivious to the struggles of those below.

---

The next morning, the blaze of the morning sun awoke Aemon as it beamed across his face. His hair seemed to stick to his face as he slowly and groggily stood up. For a brief moment, he felt a peace as he looked upon the rising sun over the horizon. His mind only heavy with the lingering effects of the previous night until his memory caught up with him.

He took a deep breath in and out as he replayed the kiss over in his mind, unsure of how to proceed now that moment lingered between him and Daenerys. Feeling the disappointment, he shook his head and walked to the looking glass that was present in his room. He brushed his ragged hair as best he could and tidied his appearance before walking from the room. Before he left, he ensured he tied Dark Sister around his waist, grabbing it from the balcony it had been resting on.

Outside stood Barristan, his old features happy to see Aemon up and awake without being told to for once. "Good morning, Your Grace." He chirped.

"Morning, Ser Barristan..." Aemon replied groggily, fumbling with the belt that held his sword. "Can you do me a task?"

"I am yours to command, Your Grace."

"Assemble everyone you can of any import in the great hall. I leave for the Capital today and I want to ensure everything is in order before I go."

"At once, Your Grace." Barristan nodded, marching off to do his King's bidding.

Aemon hastily made his way to the great hall where Viserys had married the night before. As he entered, he noticed the servants had been very busy cleaning and ensuring the hall was presentable. In the middle of the hall sat a long wooden table which Aemon recognized from the feasting he had taken part in the night before. Letting out a heavy sigh, Aemon lazily sat down in the chair at the end of the table, patiently waiting for everyone to come in.

Food was instinctively brought to him by one of the servants as well as a mug of water, the contents of which he drank down greedily. He ate slowly, savoring the sweetmeats and soft cheeses that were dusted with Dornish spices and salts. As he ate, the hall slowly but surely filled with everyone he cared to speak to, including Daenerys, who he gave a soft apologetic smile, desperate for any kind of forgiveness.

"Do you care to tell us why you dragged us out of our beds so early, Aemon?" Viserys sighed. Aemon only smiled as he looked at his disheveled clothes and the way he and Arianne held each other's hands whilst they sat next to one another.

"I thought it prudent to let you all know I'll be leaving for King's Landing today. I wanted to make sure everyone knew what they were doing whilst I was away."

"Very well...What is it?" Viserys sighed once more, leaning forward in his chair.

"Firstly, I want you all to return home as soon as you are able. The gold from the Iron Bank should be arriving soon, if not already, and I want to ensure it is safe and ready to be used for my designs." Aemon commanded. "Ser Bonifer."

"Yes, Your Grace?" Bonifer replied, his voice thick with sleep.

"I want the Dragonguard armed as soon as possible, I'll trust you to see to it."

"Of course, Your Grace."

"And finally, Prince Oberyn and Ser Arthur will be coming with me to King's Landing."

"Uncle, you surely cannot-" Arianne blustered.

"Shush, little one, the King is speaking." Oberyn interrupted.

"Father, this is madness!" Arianne cried, her brown eyes looking at Doran.

"It is your uncle's choice, daughter." Doran simply replied.

"He'll be helping me see to some...personal matters," Aemon assured, his eyes darting around the table. "I assure you, no harm will befall him, Arianne, I promise."

"Anything else, Aemon?" Rhaella asked, her voice full of curiosity.

"I think that is all, Grandmother." Aemon nodded, standing up, his palms leaning heavily against the table. "I will be home as soon as I am able, but this may be the last time I see you all for a moon or so. See to your tasks and good luck, I love you all."

Aemon stood there a moment as the gathering dispersed slowly. Rhaella and Viserys both said their goodbyes bye embracing him warmly, as did Arianne. Jaime, Bonifer, and Barristan all took a moment to jape and laugh with Aemon before taking their leave. The only person Aemon never said a word to was Daenerys, who left the room as soon as the meeting was over.

The only people remaining were Arthur and Oberyn, both of them looking expectantly at Aemon, a small glint present in their eyes.

"We'll have to go by ship. Taking Vaedar with us will be too conspicuous." Aemon sighed his mind elsewhere.

"Good idea." Oberyn agreed. "We'll have to get both of you a change of clothes as well. Probably some new swords from the armory along with it."

"Lead the way, Prince Oberyn." Arthur nodded.

Together the three of them made their way to the Sunspears castle armory. As they walked, Aemon still could not disparage the feeling that he'd done something awful to Daenerys without realizing it. His inner turmoil must have been obvious to Arthur as he turned to look at him as they walked.

"Your Grace...about the previous night." Arthur began, his voice low and almost a whisper.

"What about it?" Aemon snapped.

"Did something happen between the two of you? As when she stormed by me I could swear there were tears in her eyes."

"Tears?...By the Gods."

"You can tell me what happened, Aemon."

"We kissed and I...perhaps said some things I shouldn't have."

"You kissed?" Arthur quietly exclaimed. "Aemon you're betrothed."

"You think I don't know that?" Aemon quietly spat. "That's why I had to...tell her it wasn't for us. I tried to let her down as gently as I could but...well, you saw for yourself."

"Ah, I see."

"The worst thing was she called me 'Your Grace' before she left. She never calls me that."

"A tricky situation, Aemon. Perhaps, you should speak to her before we leave and clear things up. It wouldn't do for you two to be apart, not when we're so close to our goals."

"Perhaps you're right."

The trio rounded a corner and came fave to face wirh a large door that had two heavily armed and armored guards standing either side of it. Oberyn only gave them a wave and before Aemon knew it, the large doors swung open to reveal a dark, dimply lit room filled to the brim with weapons of every sort.

Spears were the most common, but there were still a few curved swords and even some longswords, and great swords. Aemon marvelled at them all, and he felt like a child, wandering through a sweet shop.

"Do you have anything similar to this, Oberyn?" Aemon asked, unsheathing Dark Sister, its long slender blade dancing with the candlelight.

"Hmm, let me look," Oberyn replied as he began to rummage through a pile of swords. "This one, perhaps?"

Aemon took the sword from Oberyn. The blade was perhaps an inch shorter than Dark Sister's but it was slender and held a sharp edge. Aemon swished the blade around his body, feeling the weight of it as it moved.

"This'll do," Aemon said, his eyes glancing at Oberyn. "You have any scabbards?"

"Here," Oberyn replied, tossing a brown leather scabbard, attached to an accompanying brown leather belt, inlade with silver rings.

"Have you got a sword, Arthur?" Aemon asked, looking at Arthur as he fastened his belt.

"Already done, Your Grace," Arthur answered, Dawn held in his hand whereas a blade of silvery steel clung to his back in Dawn's place.

"We're all ready? Good, let us go and find a change of clothes." Oberyn decided, walking from the armory.

Aemon and Arthur quickly followed him from the room, and found themselves in the winding halls of Sunspear once more, as Oberyn raced ahead of them with determination in every one of his steps.

He led them to another room where he had servants bring drab and unremarkable clothes of dull greys and browns. As Aemon dressed himself, he remarked he looked like a peasant you would see working the fields or a merchant selling goods at a stall.

The worst of it all was the chainmail shirts Arthur insisted they wear under everything. Despite, Aemon's complaints, he found it difficult to say no to Arthur.

Eventually, they were all dressed and ready, finishing their ensemble with dark grey hooded cloaks. As Aemon was patting himself down, Oberyn turned to them both with a leather bag.

"Here," He began, opening the bag. "I think we could find a use for them."

Aemon peered into the bag and saw three gleaming daggers, their blades holding an almost unnatural shine.

"Be careful not to cut yourself with them," Oberyn warned, handing out leather sheaths for the daggers.

"Poisoned?" Arthru assessed, his deep blue eyes studying the blade.

"Yes," Oberyn proudly answered. "So do be careful."

"A knight doesn't kill with poison, Oberyn."

"On this day, you are not a knight, and you are neither a King, and I am neither a Prince. We are killers, going about our bloody business. There is no honor in what we plan to commit."

Aemon slightly smirked at Oberyn's words. He was right in the end. They were no better than common cutthroats at the moment, but at least their killing was for good and not gold.

"What kind of poison?" Aemon asked, sheathing the dagger.

"One that will paralyze the victim. Stopping him from making any sort of movement for a time. It does nothing to dull the pain, however."

"Pain? We're here to kill a man, not torture him."

"So you say." Oberyn smiled, his eyes hinting at something more deeper and hidden. "If we're ready, give your blades to whoever you trust to take them home, I must say my own goodbyes to my family and children. I'll meet you both at the docks." He nodded, walking from the room.

Arthur and Aemon stared at each other for a moment, once Oberyn left the room before Arthur spoke. "He is up to something. I can see it in his eyes."

"What do you mean?" Aemon questioned. "You think he intends to kill someone else?"

"Perhaps...though I cannot put my finger on it." Arthur sighed. "Thinking on it, I can't imagine he'd go out of his way to help us kill this Petyr Baelish. There must be someone else."

"Like who?"

"He has many enemies and I'm sure a few are bound to turn up at the tournament."

"We'll keep a close watch on him, Arthur, he's an invaluable warrior but, I can't have him jeopardize what we're setting out to accomplish."

"Agreed," Arthur replied, his voice low.

Arthur and Aemon walked through the castle corridors towards the courtyard, each step heavy with the weight of their mission. The air was thick with anticipation and the gravity of what lay ahead in King's Landing. Their swords, Dawn and Dark Sister felt heavy in their hands, as if knowing they were to depart without them.

As they approached the courtyard, they saw Daenerys, already in her dragon-riding outfit, the leather glinting in the sunlight. Barristan stood beside her, his expression as resolute as ever. She had been ensuring her Frostfyre's saddle was secure for the journey home, as Barristan watched with infinite patience.

Daenerys turned to face them as they entered. Her eyes flickered with surprise and curiosity when she saw the swords in their hands.

Arthur was the first to speak. "Barristan." He began, his voice low, as he approached the pair. "I need to give this to you, I'm afraid."

"Forever Arthur?" Barristan chuckled.

"You wish, old man. Just keep it in one piece until I return, yes?" Arthur smiled, handing Dawn to his sworn brother, patting him on the back as he did so.

Arthur stepped back, allowing Aemon to step forward. Aemon's eyes met Daenerys's for a fleeting moment before held Dark Sister out toward her by the grip. His expression was conflicted, a remnant of their exchange the previous night.

"I don't trust anyone else with this, Dany. Keep it safe for me, please?" Aemon gently smiled, his voice soft and apologetic.

"I don't think...fine, give it here." Daenerys relented, her fingers brushing against his as she took the sword.

"Before I go I wanted to say that...it doesn't matter. I'll see you in Pentos, sister."

Daenerys held a small mixture of confusion and sadness on her face, yet she never said anything in return. After only giving a small nod, she tied Dark Sister around her waist and mounted an impatient Frostfyre. Barristan likewise climbed and sat behind her, his hands instinctively wrapping around her slim waist.

"Stay safe. Both of you." Daenerys said, her voice calm. With that, the dragon lifted into the sky, wings beating powerfully as they ascended.

Arthur placed a reassuring hand on Aemon's shoulder as they watched her depart. "That could've gone worse." He said, trying to infuse his words with confidence.

Aemon took a deep breath in and out. "If you say so, Arthur."

"I do." He chuckled. "Come, let us go."

Together, they approached the docks, the salty sea breeze greeted them, carrying with it the sounds of creaking wood and the calls of seagulls. Fishermen and traders moved about, their movements quick and purposeful, oblivious to the gravity of Arthur and Aemon's mission.

Soon enough, the docks came into full view, where Oberyn stood waiting for them. He stood with an air of confidence, his eyes sharp and discerning. The ship that would take them to King's Landing, a sleek vessel designed for speed rather than comfort, was ready to sail. Aemon could see that the sails bore no markings that they were from Dorne or anywhere for that matter, for they were as white and as dull as winter snow.

"You both have everything?" Oberyn asked, his eyes darting from knight to King.

"We do," Aemon answered, sounding as confident as possible. "Let us enter the lion's den." He said, walking past Oberyn and onto the ship.

Arthur and Oberyn followed closely behind, their steps steady and purposeful. The crew was already preparing to set sail, the ropes being untied and the sails being adjusted. With a simple command from Oberyn, the ship had set sail toward King's Landing. Overhead, three dragons flew, one red, one gold, and one an all-encompassing black. Aemon smiled as he watched them cross the Narrow Sea, and he silently prayed that he would be home before long.

---

A/N: If you read all of that, thank you. I had a lot of fun writing this hence why it is so long. Also, sorry to any Daenerys/Aemon fans but I don't think their story together is over just yet, things always change. Anyway, thanks for the reviews and reading and so on, much love to you all x