Chapter Text
Clock strikes upon the hour
And the sun begins to fade
Still enough time to figure out
How to chase my blues away
I've done alright up 'till now
It's the light of day that shows me how
And when the night falls, loneliness calls
Oh, I wanna dance with somebody
I wanna feel the heat with somebody
Yeah, I wanna dance with somebody
With somebody who loves me
The Eyrie 128 AC,
Jeyne Arryn.
With Jessamyn away, Jeyne was left alone with her thoughts, and she liked the feeling not. Despite her young age, the future of her House loomed large in her mind, and without an heir born from her own loins, that future was not as secure as she wished it to be. Thrice her kin had sought to replace her, and Jeyne tired of the squabbles.
'Would that I were born different and felt not how I do,' she thought with a sigh.
It was a wasted thought in truth. Jeyne loved her life too much to have wished to have been born differently than she was. Jessamyn made her feel alive in a way that nothing or nobody else could, and the delights they shared made each day one she relished. Only when they were parted did she begin to feel melancholy, and her worries would threaten to overwhelm her.
Wondering how she was going to chase those worries away, never did she expect the answer to come from above. The sight of the two dragons soaring over the Eyrie was both majestic and frightening. It was more than enough, too, for Jeyne to forget about succession or what was to come once she was gone. For now, at least.
Looking at the two dragons, she did her best to try to name them. Though she was by no means an expert in dragon lore, Jessamyn had her beat in that regard; Jeyne knew some, if not most, of the dragons of the realm. Caraxes, the famed Blood Wyrm, she knew mayhap too well. So she was pleased that neither of the two dragons was Daemon Targaryen's mount.
"Yet, I recognise only one of these two," she whispered.
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon's mount was Vermax, and the last time Jeyne had seen the green dragon, it had been half the size it now was. That should have been enough to astound and amaze her. It would have been if not for the larger green dragon that flew alongside Vermax. Jeyne knew not the name of this one, and she could see that it was more than thrice the size of Prince Jacaerys' mount. She wagered it was larger than Vhagar, which, as far as she knew, was the largest living dragon.
"What dragon is this and who is the figure atop its back?" she asked no one in particular.
The answer to the question was to be revealed soon enough, and Jeyne now watched with apprehension as Vermax landed in the large open courtyard and Prince Jacaerys dismounted. Looking from the young prince to his dragon and then to the dragon that still flew above it, it quickly became clear that the courtyard was too small for that one to land safely. Jeyne worried that the man atop its back would do so anyway and then laughed truly when, instead, he simply jumped off its back and landed with aplomb in the middle of the courtyard. Prince Jacaerys' voice, ringing out once the clapping that such a sight had earned, now stopped.
"Really, Aemon?" Prince Jacaerys chuckled.
"That part was easy, I've still to mount Rhaegal when we leave, my prince." Aemon, for that was how the prince had addressed him, answered. The young prince laughed even more truly now.
Jeyne moved with her guards. Her footsteps were joined by those of the ladies, lords and knights who made up her court. Her curtsy was followed by those lords and knights taking a knee, and the ladies doing as Jeyne did.
"The Eyrie is yours, my prince," Jeyne said firmly.
"Arise, Lady Jeyne, and my good men and women of the Vale."
Jacaerys was polite, practised and everything a prince should be. Jeyne had met Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond, and while they looked more like Targaryens than Rhaenyra's firstborn children, their manners left a lot to be desired. Looking to the man beside the prince was to see a man who not only knew war but was most adept at it. Aemon, a Targaryen that she had never heard about, looked like a man who could end you in a heartbeat. Given the dragon that he was in command of, mayhap even less than that. So Jeyne turned to one of her ladies in waiting and bade them fetch some bread and salt.
It was a commotion at the gates, and the sight of her archers readying their bows that caused the second surprise of the day.
"Bid your men to shoulder their arms, Lady Jeyne. 'Tis only my friend's companion that moves our way." Prince Jacaerys sounded both amused and commanding.
After doing as she had been bidden, Jeyne looked on in amazement as Aemon moved to the gate and bade it to be opened. The creature that awaited him there was one of myth and legend, and the sight of the white wolf was enough to draw some worried shrieks from her ladies. Only that she was able to hide her lack of composure as much as she was, or she may have joined them in their worries.
"Ghost will harm none who pose no threat to Prince Jacaerys or me. You have my oath on it." Aemon said, and as the servant carrying the tray with bread and salt on it arrived, Jeyne was stunned to see the white wolf too partake in the offer of Guest Right.
When the offer was made to touch the incredible wolf, Jeyne knew she had to accept. The feel of the white fur against her fingers brought a smile to her face, and she looked to see that Aemon watched every move she made. It gave her a chance to take a truer look at him, too, and she both named him a Targaryen and did not at the same time. There was enough dragon in him for it to be noticeable, but there was something else, too. As she turned and laughed when the wolf licked her hand, the thought came to her that it was, mayhap, this mythical beast that she should look to for answers.
When the prince asked to speak to her privately, Jeyne bid both he and Aemon to follow her to her solar. Surprised and yet not that the white wolf followed too. Her hand was raised more than once to stop the guards she passed on the way from daring to do some foolish action. For looking at the swords and daggers that Aemon wore, she wagered that between him and the wolf, they'd need not their dragon to cause mayhem amongst her ranks.
"Some refreshments for the prince and his companion." Jeyne turned to a servant. "For the wolf too," she added, which earned her a soft smile from Aemon.
Once inside the solar, she took her seat and offered both men some wine, which they accepted. It was cold meats, fruit and bread that were brought to them, along with a leg of mutton for the wolf. All three of them ate hungrily, and Jeyne knew that she'd need to offer a fuller and more proper meal to each of them later that night.
"My companion is Aemon Snow, Lady Jeyne. My Stepfather's firstborn son." Prince Jacaerys said, and Jeyne looked at Aemon, trying to do the sums in her mind.
Aemon looked to be five and twenty, or mayhap a little more. It put his birth at the turn of the century, and at that time, Prince Daemon was married to Rhea Royce. Something that annoyed her, and that Aemon seemed to pick up on from her expression.
"Prince Daemon is a man of many faults, Lady Jeyne," Aemon said softly.
"Truer words have rarely been spoken," Jeyne replied, her frown leaving her face as she did so.
"We came not to speak of my Stepfather, though I'm well aware of how most in the Vale see him." Jacaerys did not apologise, not as such, but there was some conciliation in his tone, and that was enough for now. Jeyne could blame not a child for the sin of their father, especially when that child was not the sinner's son.
"Then what brought you to my home and led you to disturb my peace?" she asked, curiously, not angrily.
"To find out if we are allies or enemies in the wars to come." Aemon's words sent a shiver down her spine. As did the way he looked at her with those dark grey eyes of his.
"And what wars are they?"
"The wars over succession." Prince Jacaerys said, and before Jeyne could ask why he'd said wars, Aemon answered her unasked question.
"Both those for the Iron Throne and those for the Vale of Arryn."
There was much she wished to speak on. Yet Jeyne found her words would not come to her, and her mind was in turmoil. She needed Jessamyn here, and though it would be another week or more until she returned, Jeyne needed her here now. Still, it shocked her when she asked the question and when Aemon nodded and then rose to his feet.
"I'll fly and fetch Lady Jessamyn, my lady. Though I'll need a letter from you so she understands the urgency and validity of my request."
"One moment, Aemon," she said and began to write frantically as Aemon spoke to the prince and looked to the white wolf.
The answer to how Aemon was to mount his dragon was an easy one in the end. He simply jumped from the walls into what at first looked to be thin air, only to then reappear atop the Green Dragon. How he was to bring Jessamyn to her, she worried about only after he'd left. Thankfully, though there was more space outside the keep than inside, and Jessamyn only had to walk some of the way to the gates. Aemon's return was just as his arrival had been, and he again jumped down from his dragon's back and landed in her courtyard. Something that made her certain was a deliberate show of power and how easy it was for him to do so.
That night, she and Jessamyn lay in each other's arms, and they spoke on what had brought the prince and his companion to the Eyrie. The next morning, she met with both men again, and within a moment of doing so, she knew that one of them at least was well aware of the truth of her and Jessamyn. It was a truth not spoken of or uttered until they were alone atop the parapets looking out on the vale below.
For now, it was simply a question of who she intended to support when the war for the throne began. A war that Aemon was certain was to happen, even while Prince Jacaerys and he did all they could to stop it from doing so. Of all the questions that Jeyne had been asked and had answered during her life, that turned out to be one of the easiest for her to answer truthfully.
King's Landing 128 AC,
Ser Criston Cole.
Treason and the committing of such an act should give him pause. He was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. The noble order that had been founded to serve the king more so than anyone else. Not the princes or princesses of House Targaryen, nor even their queens, the king. Yet Criston had been guilty of treason for nigh on three and ten years.
He'd not even resisted the first time she'd raised her skirts and offered him access to the delights no longer hidden beneath them. Every moment they could steal away together and be with each other intimately was a gift from the very gods themselves. Criston even believed they'd been graced with a babe, though Alicent had taken great pains to say that Daeron was Viserys' son, not his.
He believed her not.
Daeron was unlike his brothers and sister. Helaena was strange, and she'd become more and more withdrawn since she and Aegon had been wed. Not even the birthing of her babes seemed to allow her to know true joy and happiness. Aemond was, mayhap, the closest man he knew to the Rogue Prince in terms of some of his nature and certainly his ambitions. While Aegon looked every inch the future king and a true scion of House Targaryen, though bore few of the graces and little of the intelligence they were known for.
"But Daeron," he smiled.
Each report that the queen received from her cousin Ormund only furthered Criston's belief that Daeron was his son. Those reports had led to dark thoughts, and they were, mayhap, why treason was so prevalent in his thoughts. Or it could simply be the note that Alicent had placed in his hand when she'd broken her fast that morning. A note that had sent Criston to the dark recesses of the Red Keep and which bore a promise of delights to come.
How many times they had lain together over the years was beyond his counting. To try and determine the number would be as impossible as it would be to figure out just how much of his seed Criston had spilled on, or in, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Even just thinking of such a thing was enough to stiffen his member, and he was more than ready by the time he caught sight of Alicent in the tunnels.
"By the gods, I've missed this cock." Alicent cried out lustily as she took his member in her hands.
"As it has missed you, my queen," he nibbled on her ear and gently bit her neck. His fingers undoing her dress as he wished to feast on her teats before and during their coupling.
It was fast. Frantic. Their need for each other was writ large in both their expressions. The king had been feeling healthier of late and for longer periods, too. That alone was enough to temporarily stop their trysts. So it had been a moon or even two since they'd last truly lain together. Other than some brief stolen moments that was. Now, with the pleasure from their first efforts fading, Criston turned to Alicent, ready for the more languid and sensual second bout of lovemaking to begin.
"Aemon Snow," Alicent said after they'd exhausted themselves with each other a second time. "Do you think a Catspaw from Essos to be a decent plan to rid the realm of him?"
"Any man can be killed, my queen," Criston answered non-committally. The truth of it was that he very much hoped it was not.
"Should such a plan fail, then there would be no doubt who was behind it, is that not so?" Alicent asked as he moved to lie on his side and brushed her hair from her face. She was beautiful, incredibly so, and yet he'd be a liar if he said it was not someone else's face he at times longed to gaze upon.
"I would wager not."
"Lord Strong sent eight men to kill him when he visited King's Landing, not a single one of them lived to tell the tale or collect the rest of their fee." Alicent shivered. "Such a man…not even his father would have survived that attempt on his life."
"Quality, not quantity, my queen. 'Tis often that which is needed to deal with such a man."
"And Essos have the best Catspaws, do they not?" she asked.
"And you, my queen, have the finest warrior in Westeros to call upon should they fail," he smiled.
That's what he truly wanted. To face off first against the son and then the father in true fights. He'd already beaten Daemon Targaryen in tourneys, and yet he'd long heard the whispers afterwards.
"They were just tourneys."
"Cole has fought no true battle or ever truly raised his Morningstar against a man who wished him dead."
"When your life is on the line, the blood pumps differently."
"Prince Daemon proved that against the Crab-Feeder, did he not?"
Long after he and Alicent had parted, Criston found himself torn almost apart by the thoughts in his head. He was the better man. The better warrior. His victories over the Rogue Prince proved that. Yet when it came right down to the heart of things, Daemon Targaryen's victory over him was a far truer one. Where Criston had failed to win Princess Rhaenyra's heart, Daemon had very much not.
So, it would be a cold day in the seven hells before he'd allow Rhaenyra to sit on the Iron Throne. Nor would he allow it to be Daemon Targaryen or Aemon Snow, whom the songs were sung about and who were named the terrors and wonders of their age. Criston Cole would prove to one and all who was the better man. When the Catspaw failed and the true war began, he'd prove it first to the son and then to the father.
"I'll see you both soon. And in the end, when the dust settles, it'll be mine son and mine son alone who sits the Iron Throne."
The Eyrie 128 AC,
Prince Jacaerys Velaryon.
It was not just practicality that had led to Aemon jumping from Rhaegal's back. His kinsman wished to send a message, and it had been heard loudly and clearly. As too had his own, if truth be told. Jace smirked as he thought back to Aemon bidding him to almost act as Visenya come again.
In Lady Jeyne, Aemon said they'd find a good and true ally. Yet they'd somewhat danced about things those first couple of days. The lady's request to have her friend's counsel before she fully committed was unexpected, and it gave Jace some time alone in the Eyrie with just Ghost for company. Jace was not alone in seeing that with the white wolf by his side, he was as protected as if he'd brought a detachment of guards.
He'd found the keep peaceful. The views were astonishing and were, mayhap, as close to those you'd experience from atop a dragon as any.
'Other than those at the Wall,' according to Aemon.
When Aemon returned, Jace noticed the looks shared between Lady Jeyne and Jessamyn and just how close the two women truly were. He thought little of it at the time, and later, he found he cared not about the truth of their relationship. In the end, it mattered not and changed not his reasons for travelling to the Eyrie with Aemon.
"It's time," Aemon said to him, and Jace nodded.
They were once again brought to the lady's solar and next to her desk, another seat had been placed, which Lady Jessamyn sat on. The woman offered them both a warm greeting and then remained silent for the entirety of their meeting. Whatever words of wisdom or counsel Lady Jeyne had sought from her friend were ones that were spoken privately between them and were not for their ears.
"Your companion spoke of wars for succession, my prince, both those involving your House and mine own."
"Aemon." Jace turned and nodded to Aemon, whose knowledge of events to come was far more extensive than his own.
"You have no heir, my lady. And a land and House that has no direct heir will always trouble itself more over who the rightful one is. You will no doubt name a successor and yet…"
"Thrice have mine own kin sought to replace me. My cousin Ser Arnold is wont to say that women are too soft to rule. I have him in one of my sky cells, if you would like to ask him." Lady Jeyne smiled.
"And yet you'll kill him not for fear of being named a Kinslayer. So, should you pass and he live still, then no matter the time he's spent in your cell, he'll seek that which he has always sought and would do so were you to set him free. Which is why you've not." Aemon's words caused no change of demeanour or even expression from Lady Jeyne, though Jace did notice that Lady Jessamyn frowned deeply.
"And you offer what, to kill him for me? To rid me of those who may one day rise and reach for the prize that lies on the mountaintop?"
"I've killed men for less, but no, that's not what we offer." Aemon turned to Jace, and it was he who spoke the words.
"Whenever the day arises that your chosen heir's claim is denied, contested, or challenged, House Targaryen offers up their full might and a decree from the Crown to see that those who dare such a thing are left with no doubt. You chose your heir, Lady Jeyne, and mine House, our armies, and our dragons will make certain that none stand against them."
"A fine offer, my prince and one I'm most grateful for." Jeyne lifted her wine glass "And yet your Stepfather, Aemon's father…." She took a swallow.
He waited until she placed the glass down on the table, and for a moment, he felt she was going to reject his mother's claim on the Iron Throne. It angered him. Jace almost rose to his feet and would have, were it not for Ghost. The feel of the white wolf licking his hand was enough to calm his temper for now, and Jace didn't need to look to Aemon to know he'd bid the wolf to do so.
"Your Prince Daemon used his first wife most cruelly, it is true... but notwithstanding your mother's poor taste in consorts, she remains our rightful queen, and mine own blood besides, an Arryn on her mother's side."
Jace relaxed and somehow fought the urge to smile. Instead, he spoke the words as plainly as he could, as he needed the answer even more truly.
"So, you'll support my mother when the time comes?"
"In this world of men, we women must band together." Lady Jeyne replied. "However, there are some concerns."
"Speak them, my lady, so we may remove them forevermore," Jace replied eagerly.
"I have no fear of armies. Many and more have broken themselves against my Bloody Gate, and the Eyrie is known to be impregnable. But you have descended on us from the sky, as Queen Visenya once did during the Conquest, and I was powerless to halt you. I mislike feeling powerless. Send me Dragonriders."
Jace never got the chance to answer. Aemon did it for him, and no words could have calmed Lady Jeyne's fears or earned her true loyalty more than the ones Aemon spoke.
"I will come, my lady. Should you face any danger from the sky, then Rhaegal and I shall stand as your champions against any that dare challenge you. You have mine oath on that, and I'll swear it in blood should you request it of me."
"No, words are enough. Blood is so terribly difficult to clean up after all." Lady Jeyne smiled.
They left one day later. Aemon spoke to Lady Jeyne atop the parapets alone, and it took until they were outside Gulltown for Aemon to tell him what they'd spoken about.
"The lady had some concerns that she wished assuaged, nothing more than that."
"What concerns?"
"About her and Lady Jessamyn and their relationship." Aemon looked at him curiously, and while Jacaerys had already somewhat figured out the nature of the relationship between the two women, it was only now that he truly understood it.
"They are together," he stated, and Aemon nodded. "And such a thing bothers you not?" he asked curiously.
"Love is the death of duty. You've heard me say that more than once." Aemon said, and Jace nodded, "My great-uncle told me that many years ago. And yet those words are untrue and misunderstood at times. There is no greater duty than that which can be found between two people in love. Nothing in this world or the next should ever be enough to break that bond. When you give your heart to another completely, then your greatest duty shall always be to them and them alone."
"I understand not." Jace was confused as Aemon had spoken different words when they'd talked about Sara Snow. Still, he wished to, and so he waited for Aemon to continue.
"There is nothing I'd not have done for my wives and children, Jace. Not a thing I'll not now do for mine House. I have no greater duty than that, and that is a duty that is borne only out of love."
"And Lady Jeyne and Lady Jessamyn?"
"I had a Goodbrother once." Aemon smiled. "More than one. Ser Loras Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers." Jace saw Aemon look wistfully off in the distance. "Loras loved and lay only with men, Jace. He loved no lesser nor no truer than I did, and yet some name what he was, what he did, as abomination."
"It was not?" he asked, not because he believed it was but more to hear Aemon's own thoughts on it. His father supposedly lay with men, too, and Jacaerys had never thought him lesser or different because he did so.
"Love is pure, Jace. In whatever form it takes, it is pure, and no man and certainly no so-called servant of the gods, can name it not so. Mine Goodbrother was one of the very best men I've ever known. Who he chose to lay with changed that not, and his heart was as true as he himself ever was. Lady Jeyne, Lady Jessamyn, who cares that it's each other they name as their loves. And what business is it of anyone else's but their own."
"I'll speak not of it," Jacaerys said, and Aemon turned to look at him. A prideful look, he'd name it, and one he much welcomed seeing once more.
"I know you won't, my prince."
They flew over Gulltown. Over the seas of the Bay of Crabs. Jacaerys looked down on Crackclaw Point and Claw Isle, and soon enough, Dragonstone came into view. He was happy to be home, and he had much that he needed to share with his mother. Yet after they landed and he saw Baela hurry to embrace him the moment he'd climbed down off his dragon, Jace felt it deep within his heart. So the words he whispered into her ear were words of longing and love.
"I missed you," he kissed her cheek. "I love you."
Winterfell 128 AC,
Prince Cregan Stark.
He had already spoken to some of the lords and ladies of the North, though the need to speak to more of them was pressing. Cregan wished for, though he did not need their counsel. The mere fact that Aemon Targaryen, Aemon Snow as he named himself, walked the realm once more demanded that of him. While thoughts of wars to come meant that the North needed to be readied and readied sooner rather than later.
So ravens flew, and a meeting was called for. The lords and ladies of the North all soon arrived, and Cregan welcomed some more than others. Ethan Glover and Robar Ryswell, along with Jarrod Mormont, were among the first to arrive. Roderick Dustin was a most welcome sight, and Cregan almost rejoiced to see his true friend Merrick Cerywn's party when it rode through the gates. The Mountain Clans arrived with the Karstarks and Umbers. In contrast, the Boltons arrived alone, as was their wont.
House Manderly was among the last to arrive, and Cregan knew it was no slight that was the reason for their late arrival. Looking to see who they had travelled with was enough to explain their lateness, and out of all his lords and ladies, it was mayhap Jaygen Reed who had the true answers that Cregan knew others would seek. He, too, would like it confirmed from the Lord of the Crannogs that the man they were to follow in the wars to come truly was Aemon Targaryen. Not that he didn't already believe, but he was raised to always bear just a little doubt.
"Lord Reed, we have much to discuss."
"Aye, that we do, my prince."
"Desmond, you old goat," he said, moving to embrace the Lord of White Harbor, happy to see that he'd brought Medrick with him. It would fall to Desmond's sons rather than he himself to lead White Harbor's warriors into battle. "Come, winter may be some time away yet, but food and warmth will still be welcomed, no doubt."
"Aye, my prince, that they would," Desmond replied happily.
They spoke not the words that night. Winterfell could more than manage the numbers that now required rooms and quarters, and Cregan always ensured that their food stocks overflowed. An easier thing done in times of peace and summer than when either war or winter bites. Besides, he needed to speak to Jaygen Reed first before he spoke of Prince Jacaerys' visit and the White Wolf's call.
After looking in on his newborn son, he made his way to the Godswood to wait for his meeting with the Lord of the Crannogs. Once there, he knelt and prayed. Cregan was somehow able to offer up thanks to the Old Gods rather than to curse at them for what the life of his son had cost him. He'd only just risen to his feet when he heard the sound of footsteps behind him.
"My prince." Jaygen knelt even though it was not required or even asked for.
"Rise, Jaygen, I don't stand for ceremony as well, you know." his words earned him a chuckle from the diminutive and slightly older man.
Jaygen Reed was mayhap five or more years older than Cregan. He stood only to Cregan's chest and had the greenest eyes that the prince of the north had ever seen. Though a serious man on almost all the other occasions he'd met him, he seemed to be less so now for some reason. There was a lightness about his features and even his stance that Cregan had certainly never noticed before. One that he was about to find out was but a recent thing.
"You met him then," Jaygen said, and Cregan nodded. "I had both prayed we'd never see him again and hoped for it in equal measure. The dreams when they came…the knowledge of who he truly is. May the gods strike me down if I say I don't feel honoured that it's fallen to me, as it did my twice-great-grandfather."
"He truly is the White Wolf?"
"You doubt it?" Jaygen asked curiously. Those green eyes stared deeply into Cregan's dark grey ones as he did so.
"How could I?" Cregan shook his head. "Were it not for the dragon and the wolf itself….he bested me in mine own yard as if I were but a green boy…"
"Seven of mine finest guards he did the same to, my prince." Jaygen smiled as he held up seven fingers. "Seven. In one sitting."
"For true?"
"Aye, and he killed even more men than that in King's Landing. Men sent to end him and paid good coin to do so."
"They tried to kill him?" Cregan was affronted.
"And found themselves outmatched."
There were many more questions he sought answers to that night, and not all of them were in Jaygen's power to offer up explanations for. How Aemon was even possible, let alone why he'd been sent back in time, was something neither of them could understand.
Oh, Cregan listened while Jaygen spoke of the Night King, the war against the dead, and the Long Night, but it made little sense. Aemon had lost, and the Old Gods had sent him back to the very beginning to ready the realm to fight and win when the time came. They'd done so rather than simply give him the tools to win or send him to stop the Night King from rising altogether.
In the end, it truly mattered not. It was not for the likes of Cregan Stark to question the Old Gods or their plans. Instead, he was simply to either follow or ignore them. The latter of those two things was something that neither he nor the Lords and Ladies of the North could ever countenance. Cregan concentrated on the days, weeks and moons to come and left the years and mayhap even centuries to take care of themselves.
"We win the war in front of us and worry not about the one decades and centuries away."
Many questions were raised at the meeting held in the Great Hall. Some refused to accept that sending a man back in time was possible. Others marvelled at the tale of the Green Dragon, White Wolf, and the man both answered to. As Cregan expected, however, not a single man or woman there felt it wrong to support Princess Rhaenyra's rightful claim on the Iron Throne. No voice was raised in support of Prince Aegon as king. The North had sworn its oaths already, and to break those oaths was to damn themselves as oath breakers for all eternity.
"We live and die by the oaths we swear," Cregan said to the wind as he stood on the parapets. The North had declared for Princess Rhaenyra, and those who doubted that it was truly Aemon Targaryen whom they'd be fighting under would find the truth of him where all truths were found. "On the battlefield."
King's Landing 128 AC,
Melisandre.
If there was one benefit to her prince having been lost to time for more than a hundred years, it was that none knew of their own connection. Not just the one between Melisandre and Prince Aemon, but the one between the Lord of Light and the Prince that was Promised. For when the Maesters in their infinite wisdom had writ Aemon out of history, they'd written Melisandre out too.
The books told no tale of how she had offered counsel and support to Princess Visenya or King Aerion. There were no words writ about how it had been Prince Aemon and he alone who'd declared that King's Landing and Westeros were to be served by many faiths and not just one. Melisandre knew that were she to look up the charter that had seen the Red Temple built, it would bear not Aemon's name but that of King Aegon and Queen Rhaenys.
'Yet it is by my prince's will and his will alone that R'hllor was given a foothold in this city and these lands.'
The acolytes knew some of the truth of Aemon Targaryen. Tales of the White Wolf and Green Dragon were among the first inklings of knowledge that was imparted to any who'd one day spread the word of R'hllor. Priests and Priestesses knew more of that truth, while the very highest of their order knew almost all of it and certainly how important it was that his will be followed as much as R'hllor's own.
"Only I know it all," she smiled.
Melisandre knew she was in a charmed position. She had been chosen by their god to guide the Prince that was Promised and to see that his will was never interfered with, challenged or subverted. Aemon Targaryen had placed his hand on her shoulder and named her a true friend of his. There were few, if any, that the man named as such. He'd tasked her to watch and wait, and thus far, Melisandre had done just that. Now, as she unwrapped the scroll from the eagle's foot, she was about to find herself set to another task.
Melisandre,
The time has come to judge the worthy from those who are very much not. To find the truth of some of the players in the great game and to see if your truth lines up with mine own. Princes, Princesses, Queens and Kingsguard, Members of the Small Council and those raised to positions where they wield power or influence. Even those who name themselves as men and women of faith, and those who'd simply turn their coats if it were but a breeze that blew and not a strong wind.
Judge them for me, my lady. Then on the first moon of the new year, set sail for Pentos and await me there.
Your friend,
Aemon.
She smiled to see her name written in her prince's hand. To see herself be named as a friend to the promised prince. More than any of that, Melisandre felt her heart race at the thoughts of completing the mission she'd now been tasked with.
Some she could judge most quickly, for there were converts who'd left the Faith behind and had welcomed R'hllor into their hearts. The Lord Commander of the Gold Cloaks was such a man. As was the Steward at the docks. Not a single member of the Small Council prayed to any but the Seven, however. While this was true too for the Kingsguard and the Royal Family. All but one, that was.
Donning her best clothing, Melisandre made her way from her chambers and began the walk to the Red Keep. She was welcomed inside in a far more friendly manner than she usually was. The two guards who did so had been to more than one sermon she'd performed, and they'd been more than happy to welcome the flame of truth into their hearts. As did other guards among the Royal Household.
She passed not the Hand of the King nor his Master of Whisperers, which she was most pleased about. Neither Otto Hightower or Larys Strong was a friend of her prince, and both men wished to see Aemon dead. Something that brought a small smirk to her face as she continued walking down corridors and up and then down stairs.
'Better men than you, and even things that are not, have tried and failed.'
Seeing the one-eyed prince walking her way, Melisandre steeled herself. Aemond Targaryen wished to bed her. He desired to bed a number of her fellow priestesses, and yet, unlike his brother, the Crown Prince, he at least accepted being told he could not. Prince Aegon had come close to raping one of their younger acolytes. Had it not been for the warning from the bird at her window and the number of men of the Fiery Hand she had brought with her to the alley, he may very well have done so. The angered words he'd spoken had been the mere threats of a foolish boy, however.
"You'll pay for this. I'm the Crown Prince and one day I'll be king."
"And yet our service to you is lesser than that to our god, Prince Aegon. Force yourself on one of our order again and be ready to bring down R'hllor's fury atop your head."
"You Dare Threaten Me!"
"I am but a servant of mine god, my prince. I don't threaten, I simply relay R'hllor's good and true word."
It had been the prince's wife who'd both offered up an apology and had promised that such a thing would never happen again. Princess Helaena, whose chambers Melisandre had now arrived at, and who had since sought instruction in the word of R'hllor. Melisandre knocked not at the door, and when she entered the room, it was to see Helaena looking far more troubled than she had when they'd spoken of her husband's actions that day some moons ago.
"My princess…" Melisandre moved and took a seat beside the princess, uninvited. She took her hand in her own and placed another upon the princess's forehead. Though she found no signs of fever and the princess, if anything, was cold to her touch. "My Princess?"
"I…I've seen such terrible things. Such horrors. Surely they were but dreams and not portents of mine fate? My children are innocent, Lady Melisandre, surely R'hllor wills them not to suffer so?"
"Speak to me, my princess. Unburden yourself of your fears and worries and let R'hllor and me be your guiding light."
Melisandre listened, and the tales that Helaena spun were indeed ones of horror and terror. A mother forced to choose between two of her children and then having that choice basically spat back in her face. Being forced to listen as the son she chose was told that his mother wished him dead, while the son she'd not chosen was then murdered in front of her eyes. Hearing then of the death of her second son at the hands of a mob that tore the young boy apart. Watching helplessly as her daughter was thrown from her window and died impaled on the spikes below.
'No wonder she forced herself to accept the same fate and found a window of her own'
"Come, my princess. Take my hand and join me at the fire."
"I…"
"I know not who sent those dreams to you, and while I believe you see them as visions, mine own visions come only when I look to the flames."
"I…I looked to the flames and saw only death…" Helaena wept.
"Look with me. Together we may see a different truth," Melisandre said as she offered up a prayer to both R'hllor and Aemon to see that it was so.
Eventually, the princess moved with her, and when Melisandre asked her for a drop of her blood, Helaena reluctantly allowed her to pierce her finger. Four drops were all that Melisandre allowed to fall into the fire once she did so. One for the princess and one each for her three children.
War ravaged the land, and dragon fought dragon. Armies burned and men died, though none of them were recognised by either Melisandre or Helaena. King's Landing knelt and bowed to Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Daemon, while a woman, three children, and men of the Fiery Hand moved through the city. Their destination was the Red Temple, and Melisandre and Helaena looked on as they were brought before her. The princess then revealed who she was and begged for sanctuary.
The sight of Aemon Targaryen and the White Wolf was enough to cause panic in the princess, and yet her three children wore smiles on their faces as they moved to where Ghost allowed them to softly stroke his pristine white fur. Aemon's words were spoken first to the children and then to their mother. Helaena calmed before praising R'hllor and thanking Aemon for his mercy.
"All children are innocent, and I name these children and you, princess, as being under my protection and the protection of the God of Light and Shadows. By R'hllor's will and mine wolf, mine dragon and mine sword, none shall harm you, Princess Helaena. Nor shall even a hair on your children's heads be disturbed. I swear it on mine own children. I swear it on their mothers. I swear it by fire and blood."
No mention was made of Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. None of Prince Daeron. They, along with Queen Alicent and Otto Hightower, were conspicuous by their absence in both the vision that R'hllor had gifted the princess and in the oath sworn by Aemon Targaryen. Yet as she looked into the princess's violet eyes, rarely if ever had Melisandre seen such a look of peace and contentment.
"Blessed be R'hllor." Princess Helaena said, and Melisandre just nodded.
Over the next three weeks, Melisandre fulfilled the task that Aemon had set her to. Every single day brought the princess to the Red Temple, and more than once, she brought her children with her. It was enough to bring a true smile to Melisandre's face and to allow her to even more truly name her prince as her god's chosen.
Both Aemon Targaryen and R'hllor protected the innocent and punished only the guilty.
"As it should ever be."
Oldtown's Beacon 128 AC,
Ser Gawen Hightower.
Gawen bore a heavy weight on his shoulders. To be tasked with both bringing allies to his House's cause and finding a Catspaw to take out, mayhap, the most dangerous man in Westeros, was no mean feat. The sheer amount of coin that the latter of those two things would cost was mind-blowing. While the thought of failing in the former was overwhelming.
He'd set sail at once, and though there were numerous guilds that assassins worked for in Essos, there was only one place that he could truly travel to. One order that he could seek to do as his father wished, and who had the skills to actually carry out the assassination. Gawen was under no illusions that even Ser Criston Cole was capable of putting Aemon Snow in the ground.
The Faceless Men, however…
As far as he knew, and Larys Strong had agreed, they'd never failed to remove a target that someone had paid them to remove. They were legendary and their methods unknown, but always successful. No matter how highly protected their target was, in the end, the Faceless Men prevailed once more. Gawen knew that the very future of their House required them to do so this time. For while others may name Prince Daemon or even the dragons as their greatest threat, his father very much did not.
"And none can identify a threat as surely as mine father can."
Sailing was dull, and while it was at first thoughts of adventure that filled Gawen's mind, that too soon became tiresome. What made it somewhat worse was that he needed to travel in the wrong direction first of all, which would add weeks to his travel to Volantis, Tyrosh, Lys and Myr. Gawen's father had named the need to remove Aemon Snow as the most pressing, and who was Gawen to argue with him. So it was to Braavos first, and after a week of sailing, they were still a day or so away.
To keep active, Gawen went about his forms on deck. At night, he read books on warfare, hoping to find some secret tactic that could be brought to bear in the wars to come. Inevitable wars, as Gawen was under no illusion that Rhaenyra or Daemon would go quietly into the night. The Rogue Prince was ever ambitious, and Rhaenyra believed herself to be the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.
"As if a woman could ever rule," he snorted.
Gawen named his sister as one of, if not the, most capable woman in the Seven Kingdoms. Yet even he understood that it was his father and not his sister who truly wielded the Iron Throne's power. His nephew, Aegon, would one day come into his own and be able to rule alone, but he'd have the guidance of his grandfather until that day came.
Who would guide Rhaenyra?
What man would she listen to?
Whose will would be done should she sit the throne?
The answer to each of those questions was the same one.
Daemon Targaryen.
It would be his tune that the realm danced to should Rhaenyra be named queen. A tune that Gawen's father, his sister, and Gawen himself rightly believed had no place in it for House Hightower or any whose claim bettered or matched Daemon's own.
"No, I'll see Aemon Snow dead and then his father too," Gawen swore.
When Braavos came into view, Gawen breathed in relief. The sailing had been uneventful and the seas calm, but you always took a risk when you set out to sea. Gawen had lost friends to storms. So he far preferred it be a horse's hoof or his own feet touching solid ground rather than the wooden planks that made up a ship's hull as it sailed one of the eleven seas.
Together with his guards and the large chest of coin, Gawen disembarked and made his way to the island that housed the House of Black and White. He was sorely tempted to treat with the Sealord, yet his father had bid him not to. The same with the Prince of Pentos, as both men had much liked Daemon Targaryen, apparently. It would be among the Triarchy, the Old Blood, the Elephants and the Tigers that he was apt to find more willing ears and support for his father's plans.
The House of Black and White was a large, imposing building. Its doors alone were more than twelve feet high, and looking at them, Gawen could see that the left one was made of white wood, Weirwood, while the right was Ebony. There were no windows, and the thoughts of going inside were not pleasant ones. Yet needs must, so Gawen knocked and waited for an answer.
Twelve days later.
One million gold dragons to kill a single man. The mere thought of it was unbelievable. Gawen had tried to negotiate and had almost lost his own life in the process. Haggling was not something that they welcomed in the House of Black and White, apparently. Nor did they care when Gawen named it a single life that they sought to end and not an entire household.
"Not every life is of the same value. Some we take for but the coins in one's purse. Others demand very much more, and the one you seek is not a mere man who is simply dangerous. For were that so, then what use would you have of our services?"
"We seek it to be clean and untraceable back to us." Gawen lied, and the old man with whom he was negotiating laughed.
"You are a poor liar, Gawen Hightower. Your House, your father, and you yourself care not if it's your names that are spoken of when Aemon Snow falls, For you already know that they will be."
"I…"
"One million gold dragons. That is our price, and you can pay it or not. Death is the domain of the Many-Faced God, and should you decide not to pay our price, its gentle hand shall fall not upon Aemon Snow's shoulders. Feel free to go with our friends in Qarth or those in Qohor. Hire yourself an entire company of sellswords, should that be your wish. Aemon Snow dies only when our god wills it, and as of now….The Many-Faced God wills it not."
In the end, he had no other choice. The coin was paid, and he'd been told the assassin would be sent out that very day. Gawen's only true regret was that he'd not be there when news arrived of Aemon Snow's fall. He was but a few days away from Myr, and from there he'd sail to Tyrosh. On to Lys and finally to Volantis. When he returned home in two moons or more, Aemon Snow would already be dead. It was almost time for Gawen to ensure that he succeeded in the second part of his father's task, as he had in the first.
Dragonstone 128 AC,
Aemon Targaryen.
Travelling to Dragonstone.
There had been many other keeps he'd wished to travel to with Jace as his companion. He knew that they'd been away too long, however. Jace had almost fallen into the same trap he'd supposedly done in Aemon's time. He'd seen how the young man had looked at Cregan Stark's bastard sister, and Aemon had then remembered the tale he'd heard when he was but a boy.
"Prince Jacaerys wed Sara Snow and Vermax laid a clutch of eggs deep in Winterfell's crypts in honor of the union." Old Nan said as they all huddled under the blankets on a cold, stormy night.
It annoyed Aemon that he'd not remembered it before they'd travelled to the North. Then it made him question what other things he'd forgotten about the Dance of Dragons and events that were soon to occur, or at least had occurred during Aemon's time. Some of which he remembered clearly, while others were on the fringes of his memory as if they were threads his fingers could reach not.
Betrayals. Dragonseeds. Allies and Enemies. Aemon remembered some of them well enough. Events, little moments that had led to huge consequences, some of those he had seemingly forgotten or simply never known. He needed to speak to Melisandre. Aemon would seek answers in the fires, and though he'd long been named as R'hllor's champion, he'd never been gifted by the Lord of Light in such things.
So an eagle was sent requesting a meeting and bidding Melisandre to judge the key players in the wars to come. Aemon had done so himself with some of them, and over the next few weeks and moons, he'd do so with even more. Once he had, then and only then would he truly begin to plan out the war and write the tune that this particular dance would be sung to. A dance that he would see led to not only Rhaenyra being named queen, but more of his House and more of the dragons being alive when it was finished being sung.
"Aemon," Jace asked worriedly. The young prince longed to be back home, and Aemon, too, wished to be back on Dragonstone.
"It's nought, Jace." he waved away Jace's concerns and was happy enough to rest, sleep and then fly and arrive on Dragonstone the next day.
After Arriving at Dragonstone.
Seeing Jace with his betrothed brought a smile to Aemon's face. As did seeing the children welcome Ghost back so enthusiastically. Aemon even japed that no one cared that he'd come back, and those words rang with a little truth until he caught sight of Rhaenyra and Daemon moving his way. One of them was much happier to see him than the other.
"Welcome back, Aemon." Rhaenyra greeted him warmly. Aemon was somehow able to look more at her face than her swollen belly.
"Your travels were good, Aemon?" Prince Daemon asked, and Aemon offered a small smile and nod of his head.
"Fruitful too," he said, and while Jace was allowed time with his betrothed and his siblings, Aemon was bid join Rhaenyra and Daemon in the princess's solar.
They spoke little as they walked. Aemon noticed that Daemon actually held Rhaenyra's hand, and though he was a little saddened that it was not he who did so, he was happy for them both. If he'd helped change their relationship for the better, then that could only bear well for the future.
It was ale and not wine that he was offered once they reached the solar. A good ale, too, and he offered Rhaenyra a polite bow to show how much he welcomed the consideration. Aemon was asked if he was hungry, and though he was, he wished to bathe and rest more so than he wished to eat, so he lied and said he was not.
"How fared your discussions, Aemon?" Rhaenyra asked eagerly. "Does the North hold as true to their oaths as you and I both hope they will?"
"Not only the North, Rhaenyra." Aemon took out the letters signed by Lord Grover Tully, Lady Jeyne Arryn and Prince Cregan Stark.
"For true!" Rhaenyra exclaimed. "The North, Riverlands and Vale declare for me once more."
"They do. Lady Jeyne sought but a guarantee that should it be required, a Dragonrider would offer its protection to the Eyrie."
"And you offered such?" Prince Daemon asked.
"I vowed to come to her aid once she spoke the very words writ in her letter, my prince."
"And House Tully? House Stark?"
"The North lives up to its oaths, Rhaenyra. My going there changed that not, other than for them to swear them once again and do so before the war starts, than after it does."
"And the Tullys?" Prince Daemon almost spat.
"Lord Grover was a fool who believed that a woman can't rule as well as a man, my prince."
"Was?" Rhaenyra looked at him curiously.
"He's been persuaded of the folly of that thinking and of the quality of the Princess who will be Queen," Aemon replied to a beaming smile.
They spoke little more of any consequence that night. Aemon washed, bathed, and ate his meal as his and Jace's return was somewhat feasted. He spoke to Prince Joffrey, who requested and was granted truer lessons than he'd been able to partake in up to now. Aemon looked not forlornly at Rhaenyra and Daemon when they retired earlier than anyone else. He welcomed that they not only did so, but apparently had done so on many other nights since he and Jace had flown north.
He slept not that night either. Instead, Aemon looked to his familiars and saw that Otto Hightower had sent new spies to both Dragonstone and Driftmark. Spies that he'd deal with soon enough. Aemon sat at the small desk in his room with only a candle and Ghost for company, and closing his eyes, brushing his hand through Ghost's fur, he wrote down all he could remember about the Dance of Dragons.
When he looked at it the next morning, two names stood out among the several he'd underlined.
Blood.
Cheese.
Aemon nodded and resolved himself to seeing both men dead before the year was done.
It took four days until he and Rhaenyra got to spend any time alone. Under the pretence of a lesson in the best use of a dragon in warfare, they'd taken to the sky while Daemon helped train the children in a different facet of war. They flew over Dragonstone and Driftmark and landed atop the cliffs, where, to his surprise and delight, Aemon was allowed to softly stroke Rhaenyra's belly and feel his child growing in her womb.
"She's fierce," he laughed as Rhaenyra looked at him oddly.
"She?"
"Aye, I believe it to be a daughter…."
The sound of a dragon approaching stopped him from finishing his words. Or to be more truthful, the look of astonishment on Rhaenyra's face at the sight of the dragon was what did so. Aemon turned, and he too bore the very same look he'd just seen Rhaenyra wear. For the dragon that landed beside them. The one who bid him take Rhaenyra by the hand and lead her to it was cause enough for that to be so. Looking on in sheer amazement, both he and Rhaenyra could find no words to speak as the silver dragon brushed its enormous head ever so gently against Rhaenyra's swollen belly.
Aemon swore he heard the dragon in his head. He swore he heard his unborn daughter's voice, too, as she reached out her barely formed hand so as to touch the dragon that would one day be her mount. What he heard that he could be certain of was the word that Rhaenyra eventually spoke. The name she gave the dragon that had chosen their daughter to be her rider. Though he had recognised the dragon and needed no name to be uttered.
"Meraxes," Rhaenyra said reverently.