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Rating:
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Archive Warnings:
Graphic Depictions Of ViolenceMajor Character DeathRape/Non-ConUnderage Sex
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Ashara Dayne & Harry PotterHarry Potter & Jon SnowArthur Dayne & Harry Potter
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Published:2023-06-17Completed:2024-12-27Words:182,365Chapters:21/21Comments:460Kudos:2,656Bookmarks:1,040Hits:130,318
Dragon of the morning (abandoned)
Clephne
Chapter 3: Chapter Three
Notes:
Hi everyone! I hope you enjoy this third chapter!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
284 A.C
Starfall
Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen, the Half-Year Queen
Rhaenyra Targaryen, the first female ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. The heir of King Viserys I Targaryen and Queen Aemma of House Arryn was born on the seventh day of the seventh moon of the year 97 A.C. Rhaenyra became a dragonrider at an earlier age than most, riding the Dragon Syrax on her eighth nameday.
Her mother, Queen Aemma, died giving birth to Prince Baelon Targaryen who followed his mother not a day later in 97 A.C. King Viserys I wed once more, taking the hand of his lord hand's daughter, Queen Alicent of House Hightower, who blessed the King with four children, Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron.
The firstborn, King Aegon II challenged the claim of his half-sister, which led to the events of the Dance of the Dragons, claiming the lives of countless lords and knights, as well as the death of six and ten of the twenty Targaryen Dragons.
The fools, Aemon almost felt the urge to shout in his anger but controlled himself, lest he alerts his guard that he was reading the book and not looking at the drawings.
How could they have done such a thing? To pit dragon and dragon, when there were so few of them, how could someone be so fucking stupid?
This book was a treasure trove of information regarding his family's past, but also an endless source of frustration as to the stupidity of his ancestors.
Some had been good kings sure, Aegon the Conqueror had brought fire and blood to the lands of Westeros, along with peace and prosperity, once the conquest was done.
The Conciliator had also been a good king, under which the realm had prospered, even if his life had been filled with loss.
But Maegor the Cruel? That was a piece of work for sure, he had murdered his way through the land to restore 'peace', and had ruled with an iron fist, which had ultimately spelled his demise.
He sighed, what else could be expected from the son of a union between a brother and a sister anyway? The wizarding world had known its fair chair of incest and other distasteful practices, but it never ended well, the Gaunts were a prime example of that, hundreds of years of inbreeding had led to Morfin and Merope Gaunt, and ultimately to Tom Riddle. But there were others, the Crabbes, the Goyles, and that was just on the British side of things.
If he was honest with himself, it was surprising not more of his family had turned up batshit crazy. The magic they possessed might have lessened the impact somewhat, but it was not foolproof.
Still, he had to read more. Find out what exactly the Dance of Dragons was and how the fools managed to kill almost all the dragons they possessed.
"Aemon," his mother called and he quickly switched pages, finding one with a drawing, and his eyes widened as he did so.
Balerion, the Black Dread
It depicted a flying black dragon and a city beneath, only the humongous wingspan of the dragon shrouded the entire city in its shadow.
"Aemon," his mother called and he rose his eyes to meet hers.
Though it was a different shade of purple, hers a shade darker than his, it was fairly close, and given her fair skin tone, he could understand why they had chosen to have him be her son.
"Yes, mama," he answered, so a smile appeared on her face as she came to look over his shoulder.
"It's time for supper," she said as she took him in her arms, and though he despised the fact that people were able to just take him, he could not help but relish the attention.
"Can I have a dragon, mama?" he asked and saw her smile widen.
"One day my little king,"
His Majesty, King Aegon Targaryen, fourth of his name, "The Unworthy"
Aegon IV Targaryen, also known as Aegon the Unworthy, the eleventh king of the Targaryen Dynasty. Firstborn of King Viserys II Targaryen and Lady Larra Rogare, Aegon IV was born during the third moon of the year 135 after Aegon's Conquest, not a fortnight after his aunt, the Princess Rhaena Targaryen first rod the last Dragon, Morning. His mother, Lady Larra Rogare returned to her native Lys not four summers after her firstborn's birth and died there, seven years later.
King Aegon the Unworthy was known to be a talented warrior in his youth, favoring the longsword and never one to refuse a hunt. And it was as a young man that he ascended the throne upon the death of his father, in the year 172 A.C, who had surprisingly ruled only for a year.
King Aegon was known for his active social life, and his reputation for amorous pursuits was widely acknowledged. While some contemporary chroniclers may have criticized him for his unbridled passions, others have noted that he was simply a man who enjoyed the company of women. Despite the controversy surrounding his personal life, this king maintained a strong grip on the reins of power, and his rule was characterized by a firm hand and an unflinching dedication to maintaining the stability of the realm.
However, this particular chronicler has to note, that this stability ended with his reign, in 184 A.C, when King Aegon the Fourth legitimized the many illegitimate children that he had sired during his countless amorous pursuits. Thus, plunging the realm into a long period of unrest and he is held responsible for the five Blackfyre rebellions led by the Great Bastards and their descendants in the years 196, 211, 219, 233, and 236 after Aegon's Conquest as well as the War of the Ninepenny Kings in 260 A.C.
Aemon snorted as he finished reading the page, the author certainly did not hide his disdain and even so, the language he used had been almost too polite given who the man had been.
It was easy to read between the lines and see this king had earned his moniker. Some would say he enjoyed life, but once more he could not hold his snort in, there was enjoying life and there was fathering enough bastards to start five rebellions and a war.
At least the maester writing this book had not sought to blame the bastards, though he made liberal use of the term.
To Aemon's ear, it was the same as being called a freak, and he hated that.
When one used this word, they were blaming the child, one who had not chosen to be birthed from a disgraceful father.
And thus, it bothered him to know his brother would be raised as such, even if his uncle somehow avoided the many trappings he would be faced with, it was a stigma shared by almost all.
What impact would it have on him? Hopefully, it could be lessened by telling him his true parentage, but that would have to be done soon enough. But then again, what age was right for one to learn of something so dangerous?
Not three, that was for sure. Children at that age could not be asked to keep such a secret. Something that if he believed his mother, could very well lead to their deaths.
As many times, she had not been aware he listened when she spoke, he could very well remember her words, 'Robert's hate for the Targaryens knows no bounds, if he learns of them, he'll go to war to see them dead,'
He still had no idea what his family had done to that man, though.
Going to war to see toddlers dead? It made no sense, what man would sacrifice their life for such a purpose? He knew of one, but Voldemort certainly did not consider that he could die in his pursuit.
Then again, it was not a democracy they lived in, here if you refused an order, your head could simply be removed, which ought to convince others. Though if one ruled that way, they should not be surprised to see the day they get relieved of their heads as well.
If there was one piece of information relevant about this king, it was the fact that he had been born on the day the last dragon was first ridden.
He had read about the Dance of Dragons and realized how his family had been manipulated. Viserys I was a fool, he had delegated so much that one could truly wonder who had ruled the realm during his reign, certainly not the king was the answer. Those he delegated to had only been too happy to provide and manipulated him into starting the succession war. And then the rest of the dragonriders had been even more foolish and had made dragons fight dragons.
Brother against sister, nephew against aunt, family against family.
In just a few years they had managed to kill off most of the dragons. Just like that. Those few that had not died were either too young, too old, or crippled and a few decades later, there were no dragons left.
It made his blood boil to even think of it.
Taking a few deep breaths, he quickly calmed himself.
As he began to change pages, he chanced one last look at Aegon's picture and snorted, he was ridiculous, perhaps even more than Vernon had been.
Turning to the next page, he began reading, 'Daeron II Targaryen, the Good'
Hopefully, this one would restore his faith in his ancestors, Aemon thought.
"What are you doing?" his mother asked from behind his back and his eyes widened.
'Fuck,' was the only word going through his mind, though he refused to open his mouth to speak it.
Fucked, he was fucked. He withheld his sigh, quickly thinking about what he should do.
"Reading…" he cringed as he said it and hoped she could not see.
"Reading," she chuckled but soon stopped and pulled a chair to sit by his side, raising his lowered head with her finger to have her eyes meet his own. "Aemon?"
This was his chance, he knew they thought him bright, brighter than most children his age, but he needed to have them think he was brilliant, a genius even. If they did not, they would never listen to what he had to say until he was much older. But as a genius, much could be explained away. He had yet to adventure beyond the castle but when he did, Aemon was sure he'd get a few ideas on how to improve things.
"How did you learn?" she asked, and he felt nothing but relief at seeing the pride in her eyes, clear as day.
He shrugged, "with the books,"
"With the books…" she whispered, clearly at a loss for words, "can you read for me, please?"
Aemon nodded tentatively, "King Daeron II Targaryen, also known as the good, was born to…" he could not finish as he rose in the air and he found himself at eye level with his beaming mother, her purple irises sparkling in the light.
"You hear this, Arthur! My son is the cleverest child in all the Seven kingdoms!" She exclaimed as she turned him to face her brother who watched on, clearly amused but somewhat proud also.
"He is, sister,"
284 A.C
Winterfell
Eddard looked on; an amused smile etched on his face as he observed his two sons playing together.
Well, his son and his nephew, he corrected himself.
Both looked as different as two Starks ever had. Robb with his auburn hair and blue eyes while Jon had dark brown hair and the Stark's classical grey eyes. Though if one looked closer, his grey eyes tended to turn indigo in the sunlight. Thankfully the North had little of that.
Still, Ned was glad they got along. Growing up with a brother, of sorts, was priceless. Though Brandon had always been difficult in his younger years, it was the time spent at the Eyrie with his chosen brother that he remembered most fondly.
He frowned as he spotted his lady-wife, the Lady Catelyn Stark of House Tully, who was wearing a disapproving look on her face, clear for all to see.
Bastards in the North were not looked on as they were in the South. Northmen and women knew better than to blame a child for their parent's sins. The South, it seemed, and the Riverlands most particularly felt different.
As was shown every time he looked at her when she thought none was looking.
While she and her father, Hoster Tully, had bought the tale he spun, they had not been pleased by it, and neither were they about his refusal to speak of the woman who had birthed his supposed son.
He knew very well how she felt about him, having had the discussion far too many times to count.
Eddard could not help but feel a pang of guilt squeeze his heart as he thought of Jon's room, twice as small as Robb's, one could call it cold and dreary in comparison.
And yet, when she had made the arrangements, he had not protested.
If only she knew the truth, he truly wondered what would happen if she ever learned of it, how her behavior would change. Would it change? Ned was not so sure of that, many had reasons to be angry with the Targaryens. But that could not happen, while he trusted her with most things, this he could not.
It certainly put a strain on their marriage. And as much as he wished it different, he could hardly blame her for her resentment, though he would have hoped she had not taken it out on Jon. Ned understood her fears, it was not like history had proven her wrong, except it was southron history. The North, his bannermen, as complicated as they may be, would never stand for such.
And the more Jon grew up, the more Ned knew it was not in his nephew's character.
Still, it was better this way, this way, Jon was protected. This way he was safe from Robert and this way he could keep his promise to his sister. Part of it at least. He could only hope Ser Arthur and Ashara protected the other half.
"My lord," Maester Luwin pulled him from his thoughts as he seemingly appeared out of nowhere, handing him a letter.
"Maester," Ned greeted the newly appointed maester.
It had taken some time to have one appointed and travel to the North on Walys' death.
"A letter from his grace, my lord, an invitation to a tournament in two moons,"
The warden of the North sighed, "Again?"
He had lost count of the number of invitations he had received over the past two years.
It seemed Robert did not remember his parting words after he had been presented with the slain bodies of the Targaryen children.
Ned could not help but feel a chill travel through his spine at the thought of the King learning of Jon's parentage.
"It seems his grace has learned he must send word in advance," Maester Luwin said and Eddard snorted, if truth be told, he got on much better with him than with the old Maester Walys. "May I be so bold to assume the Starks will not be attending, my lord?"
"You may, Maester, perhaps the Manderlys will wish to," he offered, knowing it would be better perceived if he sent someone to represent the North, but not caring if any did in the end. "Do I have other letters?"
"Some, my lord, waiting for you in your study,"
Ned restrained his sigh before nodding as he walked away. All the while knowing deep down it would have been all better if his brother had lived.
284 A.C
Starfall
"We need to tell him, Ash," Arthur said and she rose her eyes from her current reading, they had just received word House Blackmont agreed to part with some of their unexploited lands on the Torentine.
House Dayne needed to increase its revenues, especially if they kept spending gold at the rate they had. While wealthy it was no reason to see their House ruined, that would not help anyone, much less Aemon.
Food was always a profitable endeavor, especially considering the few arable lands in Dorne.
"I thought we had agreed, brother," she sighed, they had had this conversation many times, especially in the past few moons. "You said you'd wait until he began his training,"
"You see him, sister, every day he devours a book about his forefathers, as passionate as he is with the dragons," he chuckled but got no reaction other than a raised eyebrow, "he needs to know who he is, who his parents were and what his birthright is,"
They had been quite successful until now, hiding Aemon's identity. In Starfall, only their sister, Alysanne, knew who he truly was but as busy as she was with her newborn, she had little time to care.
The servants were never allowed in the same room as Aemon, Ser Oswell and Arthur being always near him helped with that a lot, though they knew he existed, they had taken to calling him Arthur and left it at that while the real Arthur and Ser Oswell had to keep their helmets on to make sure none of the servants could know for sure who it was that was hiding in Starfall.
"What will you tell him, Arthur? That is grandfather was a mad king who enjoyed burning people? That thousands died because his father loved his mother? Do you want to scar him for life?"
"Ash," he approached to take her hand in his, "I think, deep down, he already knows, but we can wait if you truly think it is best,"
She nodded, it was true her boy was smart, sometimes beyond belief. That he had taught himself how to read still blew her mind and she could not help but stare at him in disbelief when she found him deeply concentrated on a book.
It was not a stretch to think that given the amounts of books on Targaryens and Dragons he had read, her son knew something, but they had been careful, never calling him anything other than Aemon.
But how soon could a child be told that his family had been brutally hunted and murdered by men who now sat his throne? And so, she had argued, many times, with her brother who felt it was his duty to tell his king the truth and nothing but the truth.
"Maybe that's the case but we'll still wait until he holds a sword," Ashara said, unwilling to compromise more than she had, that time would come soon enough anyway. "Have you received word from the men?" she changed the subject.
"A few," Arthur sighed, "Ser Alliser is on his way back with seven knights and their squires, along with a dozen other men,"
Ashara rose her eyebrows, visibly the dour man was quite the recruiter. And the Dragon still held influence, despite what the Usurper would like.
"Ser Jaremy, has made contact with ten men he knows are leal, but I have not received further news, in total, we have another fifty men joining us as of now and twenty of them are knighted,"
She smiled, it was good, it was the third recruitment mission they had undertaken after having rescued the men sent to the wall. There were about two hundred men who had chosen to take the call to serve the Targaryen King, though none knew it was not Viserys. Likewise, it would wait until Aemon know who he was and even then, not all would be told until he was much older.
"The Blackmonts have agreed to part with the acres we asked for on the Torentine, they'll get a fifteen percent reduction on the food produced there for twenty years, and we are paying them ten thousand gold dragons,"
"Are the smallfolk ready to farm the land?" he asked.
"They're waiting for my word," Ashara smiled, she would do so immediately.
"My lady," they were interrupted and turned to face the other Kingsguard who nodded to his brother.
"Ser Oswell," she greeted the knight, his endeavors had each been successful and she was truly grateful that he too had survived.
"We've received word from Alanis' contact," he said handing her a note.
Alanis was the healer he had brought back from the House of the Red Hands, acquiring his services had been costly but well worth it. While Aemon had never taken ill since his birth, having a healer on hand was essential when one had men training with swords under one's roof.
And the Tyroshi healer had visibly more than one use, given he had traveled and healed people all over the free cities in his career. His contacts alone were worth a fair sum, one they were already paying for.
They were advancing slowly but surely, and most importantly, discreetly.
285 A.C
Starfall
There was one area Aemon made sure he did not get surprised by any, as practicing magic would be far harder to explain than reading.
As such he made sure he was alone when doing it, though calling it practice felt like it was an overstatement, given the lack of success he had.
For someone who had lived longer with magic than not, it was possibly the most difficult change, even more so than the very weak and fragile body he had become accustomed to.
Still, he trained and trained and trained and he had very little results to show for all the time he spent trying.
The most he managed, at almost four years old was to have objects roll to him, they did not fly, they simply rolled.
'Namedays' Aemon reminded himself, that was how they called birthdays here.
While he no longer had any issue with referring to himself as Aemon and answering when he was called such, there were a few weird aspects of language he had to get used to.
After all, how could he explain being entirely capable of reading on his own while not knowing how to count? Here eleven, twelve, and the like did not exist, instead, it was one and ten, two and ten and etcetera.
Still, the weirdness of the Common Tongue, as they called it, set aside. His lack of success with magic frustrated him beyond belief.
Where was the damned Elder Wand? He had asked himself that question many times, had Death not told him it would follow?
He could not help but feel there was something he was missing. Maybe he needed to wait for a certain age? Or for a certain event?
Having the hallows would certainly be a boon if he was to conquer a throne. With the cloak, he could slip inside any keep, and open its doors, or steal the food stores. The stone he saw little he could achieve with, it was the hallow he had the less used, not wishing to follow Cadmus' path nor to hurt the souls of his loved ones. But would it even work here? He knew he would try once he had it but it was best not to get his hopes up.
He would only be reunited with Ginny, if he succeeded, and he had no plan to let anyone stand on the path of their reunion.
And that was why he needed the Elder Wand the most, with it, there were almost no limits to what he could achieve.
With his wand, he could construct golems that fight for him, summon and manipulate the elements as well as kill with only two words. Though he never used that particular spell, it was a testament to the power of magic.
But could he use it freely? That was the question he often pondered and try as he might he was having trouble understanding how magic was viewed in Westeros.
They had had dragons, that meant they must have known it existed, right? Their existence could simply not be explained without it.
However, that did not mean magic was accepted. It had been a long time since the dragons had disappeared, over a century, enough of it for people to forget. Besides the dragons, there were few proofs magic existed;
The passage on Jaehaerys I and Queen Alysanne spoke of the North, where his brother was raised, it spoke of Winterfell and it spoke of the Wall.
A legendary structure eight hundred feet tall, hundreds of miles long, built by Brandon the Builder.
A legendary character who was mentioned several times in the books he had read. He was said to have built almost all of the most impressive structures and castles in Westeros and to have founded House Stark, eight thousand years ago.
If Aemon was honest with himself, he ignored where the truth ended, and where the myth began. But one thing was sure, every myth, every legend had a sliver of truth to it, especially when it was referenced so many times that it survived the passage of thousands of years.
It excited him to know of such, after all, how could one build an eight hundred feet tall wall that stretched over hundreds of miles without magic?
He knew one day, he would visit it, only to see if traces of the magic used were left after so many years. But that would only happen when he reunited with Daemon, and he had no doubt it would happen.
286 A.C
Starfall
Applying the latest shade of red his mother had gotten for him, Aemon felt his drawing represented his wife faithfully.
He had been trying for the past few months, knowing he should do something lest he forget. If there was one thing he never wanted to forget it was her face, there were others, sure, like the way her lips had felt against his own, or how her smaller hand would perfectly fit in his, or how it felt to make love to her.
Decades after her death, he still kept to his vows.
He still thought of the words his wife had said, of what he had thought at the moment. She was right, she always was, it was love that defeated Tom, the love of Lily Potter for her son, and his love for his friends and family. She was also right that he would need to love again or at least, to wed again.
Though he could not imagine living with a woman that he did not love for the next several decades.
But to wed was non-negotiable, if he was to see Ginny again, he needed to do what Death wanted, he needed to win. The throne, and the army of the dead. Preferably in that order, and the hand of a king was worth a lot.
Though that did not mean he would ever stop loving his wife.
Still, that was a long way from happening given he had just celebrated his fifth nameday.
Aemon had been born on the last day of the seventh month. Whether he had not realized it or simply had not cared enough to notice, he knew not. But the coincidence was simply too much for him to ignore any longer and he knew, deep down, that it was no coincidence.
Seven was a powerful number. Even more so magically wise, though he had never bothered to learn Arithmancy, Aemon knew that seven and a few other numbers held higher value. Why? Again, he had not bothered to learn during his previous life, Hermione had always been the one interested in the theoretical aspect of Magic, while he thrived in the practical one.
And after all, Voldemort had wished to divide his soul in seven for a reason. Because he thought it would make him more powerful, and safer from Death's clutches. Maybe it would have, had he realized he had gone beyond the number.
But it was far from the only use of the number he had seen, during the war, it had been essential for him to learn how to create and dismantle wards. Most times, the lives of his men and women had been entirely reliant on his capability. And if there was one thing that was true with wards, it was that the most powerful ones always relied on seven wardstones, even more so when carved with seven arrays of seven runes.
But it was not only in his previous world that the number seven held a particular significance, after all, why else would there have been Seven Kingsguards? Or even Seven Kingdoms?
No, the number was powerful, and it was no coincidence that it was present in both worlds.
"Aemon," his mother's voice pulled him from his thoughts, "Arthur and I always played in this garden when we were your age, know?"
"Really?" Aemon asked, while he did little playing, it was the one with the best view of the Summer Sea.
Ashara hummed in affirmation, "But it's time for your lessons,"
Aemon groaned, the lessons had only begun after his last nameday, as until then his mother had been perfectly happy to leave him to his devices. And while he understood the importance of learning the crests of every house in the Seven Kingdoms, it was no mean task.
Still, he took his mother's offered hand and let her lead him to the library, ser Oswell following as they did.
He sat at their usual table while she pulled a large grimoire from one of the shelves.
He could not help but wince at the sight of it, the book was huge, and aptly titled The Houses of Westeros.
"Let us see how much you remember," she smiled, "what can you tell me about House Tyrell?"
His eyebrows rose and he mentally shrugged, if she wanted to go easy on him, so be it. "Their crest is a golden rose on a green field, their words are Growing Strong, they reside in Highgarden, and they are Lord Paramount of the Mander and Warden of the South,"
She smiled again and he could not help but smile himself, "Very good, what about House Tully,"
"The trouts," Aemon snorted and was happy to see the amusement was shared, what House could choose a fish as a sigil, it was ridiculous. "Their words are Family, Duty, Honor, and their seat is Riverrun, I know the Great Houses…"
"Indeed, you do," she chuckled, "you want one more challenging?"
He nodded, if he had to learn them, he might as well put some effort into it.
"Very well, what about House Sunglass?"
Aemon frowned, "Crownlands, right?" She nodded at this, "Seven golden stars on a white field," She nodded again, "But I don't know their seat or words…"
"Their seat starts with an S," Ashara gave him a clue.
"Sweetport Sound?"
"Are you asking or telling me?"
"Sweetport Sound," he answered more firmly.
"Good, and their words are Unyielding Light, what of House Cerwyn?"
Aemon frowned once more, they were going to be at it for a long time.
286 A.C
Starfall
"Ser Oswell," Ashara Dayne greeted him as he passed the gates of Starfall and dismounted his mare.
"My lady," he said, taking the offered hand to kiss it and at the same time felt his heartbeat fasten.
Ashara Dayne, aside from the Targaryen princesses he had served, was the most beautiful woman in all the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps even beyond. He was not ashamed to say that were it not for his vows, he would have pursued her, as most of the realm had. Though he doubted that were it not for his vows, he would have seldom had the opportunity, not as a third son of a Riverland house.
Options for third sons were limited to three choices, either becoming a knight, a maester, or a man of the Faith.
Oswell had never been one who sought knowledge for the sake of knowledge, nor had he been a particularly religious man. While he kept to the Seven, his only interactions with the Faith had been on the Holy Days of the Seven and as a kingsguard.
No, if he was honest with himself, becoming a knight had always been his only choice. Or at least the only one he was willing to consider, and one for which he had a talent for.
"What news do you bring, Ser?" she asked as he was led inside the impressive keep.
Starfall was, as its lady, one of the most beautiful castles in the Realm. Its white marble stone contrasting heavily with the red stone of the Red Mountains and the deep blue of the Summer Sea.
Its design was intricate, more so than most keeps he had visited, and Oswell had visited a lot of those.
"The company has settled, my Lady, near Myr," he answered.
During the past few years, he had also visited a lot of Essos, trying in any way to further his king's cause. And in doing so, he had seen many impressive and different keeps, peoples, and monuments, but none that equaled those found in Westeros.
Though it was possible he was biased in that regard.
"I am sure my brother will be happy to hear of their progress," she answered with a smile and Oswell almost missed one of the steps as she led him through her castle to one of the upper floors.
Finally, they arrived in the uppermost garden of the castle. The fact that it was designed around those gardens was not lost on him and he could understand why, given the vision they gave and the warm Dornish climate.
But what stole his breath was not the view, it was the young boy, currently reading under a lemon tree.
He had grown so much, to think Oswell had only been gone for three moons.
And with each moon that passed, it seemed the son grew to resemble his father more and more.
The high cheekbones were directly from the prince, as were his purples eyes, the straight but refined nose was a mixture of both his mother and father, while his dark brown hair was strictly from the princess.
Any who had known the prince as a boy could have seen the resemblance, and it was only lucky that most of them were dead given the mummery they were playing.
"Oswell," Arthur smiled as he approached, and they squeezed each other forearms in greeting.
"It's good to see you, brother,"
"Ser Oswell," the young king greeted him and Oswell fought the urge to kneel.
"My… Aemon, you've grown even taller," he chuckled to mask his struggle not to call him how he knew he should.
As far as he knew the young Targaryen still had not begun his martial training and thus was still unaware of his status. Oswell longed for the day they would no longer be forced to play this mummery.
"Should we?" Ashara directed them to a table, a dozen feet away where they could keep an eye on the King.
"What news do you bring, brother?" Arthur asked as they sat.
"Ser Oswell was telling me the company fares well, that they have settled near Myr," Ashara answered first.
"They have," he confirmed, "when I left they numbered one thousand men, with one-third mounted, but they continue recruiting and training daily, they plan to start taking contracts in the next moon,"
"Good," Arthur nodded, "and what of our next project?"
Oswell sighed, "I still struggle to find the right person…" Despite his best effort, he could not hear nor think of someone suited to the job. Finding someone as competent as they needed them to be was hard enough without counting on the fact they needed someone reliable, who in time could become loyal. "But I think I might have localized an old friend,"
"An old friend?" Arthur frowned, not that Oswell could blame him, they had few of those left.
"Griff'," he nodded, "I believe he fights for the Golden Company, I intend to find him when I return."
Jon, while perhaps not the most competent master of whisperers had the advantage of being utterly loyal and a person most thought dead.
There were others he could not find, having too little time to truly dedicate to the search for the lost Targaryens. Viserys and Daenerys had disappeared in Essos and ever since learning of the Princess' existence, he had not heard more. So much so that the Dayne siblings had stopped asking after them, knowing he would tell them if he found something. But he had not, and he could only take comfort in the fact that if he struggled, so did others.
"Will you not be staying, Ser?" Ashara asked and he shook his head, while he would wish to, there was too much to do on the other side of the Narrow Sea.
"I have also received word from Barristan," he added and Arthur moved his seat forward, of all the contacts, it was always the one from King's Landing that interested the most the Sword of the Morning. "The Stag keeps spurning the Tyrells and remains steadfast in his belief that he must join his family and the Starks, especially since the Lady Stark just gave birth to a daughter,"
"She is only a few moons younger than his heir, isn't she?"
"Two moons, my lady," he confirmed,
"While Margaery Tyrell is closer to Aemon's age, yes?" Arthur asked and immediately his sister turned to him.
"You do not mean to…" she chanced a glance at the boy this was all about, making sure he was not paying attention, "Do you brother?"
Oswell gulped; this was one of the times he was glad he did not have a sister.
"He will need allies, sister," Arthur emphasized the last word, "no matter how the company grows, it'll never be enough, if the Stag keeps rejecting the roses, then he is a fool, not that we did not already know,"
Oswell could not help but snort at the jape, and Ashara chuckled, it was true that if anything had been proven true in the past few years, was that if Robert Baratheon was ever to have a moniker to replace 'the Usurper', it would be the Fool. Thankfully it was enough to dissipate the tension, though the conversation was far from being over.
287 A.C
Starfall
A wooden sword slashed through the air, cutting invisible enemies apart as Aemon repeated the stances shown by his guard. Repeating each as he had been bid to do.
It had started two moons ago when Arthur had seen fit to barge into his room and said it was time. But for the first two moons, he had not been allowed to even touch a sword, much less a steel one.
The training with the wooden sword had only started after Arthur was satisfied he understood what footwork was.
Aemon almost snorted at the thought, he had spent most of his life as Harry Potter fighting, one way or another. And spells were considerably faster than swords or arrows.
"Very good," Arthur praised, and Aemon smiled, praise from the knight was rare, though ever since they had begun, it had been happening more and more. "Again,"
For the umpteenth time that day, the purple-eyed boy followed the instructions given, feeling the drops of sweat roll down his brow under the blazing Dornish sun. Though he had gotten used to it, for someone who had lived the majority of his life in Scotland, it was a major change.
While he had always kept in shape as Harry Potter, he had never trained so much, especially not a such a young age. It made him hopeful he would never be the scrawny type he had been before. Though he had outgrown that phase decades ago, he still remembered how uncomfortable it had been.
"Again," Arthur instructed once more and Aemon followed suit, repeating the movements shown by the knight.
He was not foolish enough to think mastery of the sword would come easy, nor would it come soon, but the more he learned of this world, the more he understood how essential it was.
For one, he had many enemies, and the more he learned, the more they seem to be.
But it was not the only reason, being able to handle a sword afforded respect, and being extremely good at it only made it more so. And if he was one day to be king, he needed to be exceptional at it.
For a while, he had thought it unnecessary. After all, with magic, what kind of threat could a sword possibly be? But the fact remained that his trials with magic had all revealed unsuccessful. Until he had a wand, he would unlikely be able to defend himself with it. If that was all there was to it, it would have been fine, but it turned out magic while few doubted it existed, or had existed at some point, was not well-seen.
Unsurprisingly, its main opponent seemed to be the Faith of the Seven, the main religion in Westeros. Which to his biased opinion, resembled too much like Christianity for him to abide by it.
Religions had been a major source of war in his world, and what held true there, did so here as well.
But like the Christians, the Faith believed in a single god, that had seven entities instead of three. The Father, the Mother, the Crone, the Warrior, the Maiden, the Smith, and the Stranger.
Of them, only one did Aemon believe existed. He had met the Stranger, or rather Death, but both were one and the same.
He had never been one to believe in god, or gods, assuming the tale of the three brothers was nothing but that, a tale. His main theory had been that the Peverell brothers had managed an incredible feat of magic and created incredibly powerful objects.
He had been proven wrong, obviously, but to think other entities existed? Especially ones so specific? No, while it did not bother him to think there was perhaps a being to represent Life. After all, Death existed so why not the opposite? And maybe there was one for Magic, maybe, and Fate also, those were the only ones he could accept possibly existed, and as far as he knew, none required worship.
And certainly, not one that would embody the values the Faith tried to imbue in its followers.
The similarities with Christianity were such that he could not help but feel it would be a mistake to use magic for everyone to see. Sure, if he had no choice, then it was not even a question whether or not he would use magic, but otherwise, it was perhaps better hidden in plain sight.
In that aspect, it could have been easier to grow in the North. There, another religion was followed, one far less restrictive than the other.
North of the Neck, it was the Old Gods people believed in. Far more abstract beings that are nameless and numerous, it was believed they resided everywhere in the natural world and that weirwood trees allowed them to see the world.
There, only a few rules existed, one that he found far more acceptable. One could not lie in front of a heart tree, one could not practice slavery, incest, or kinslaying. And the guests' rights were held as sacred, to break them was to incur the wrath of the Old Gods.
While Aemon was not one to become religious, he could not help but want to see a weirwood tree, only to satisfy his curiosity.
"Empty your mind, Aemon," Arthur chastised him as he missed a move, "think of nothing but the sword in your hand,"
"Right," Aemon retook his position and began once more, if he knew the knight, they were going to be at it for a long time.
287 A.C
Starfall
This was the day she had feared the most for the past six years.
She had fought Arthur, again and again, to push it back. Their arguments had kept getting more frequent ever since his fifth nameday and it was the reason she let her brother begin Aemon's training.
It was earlier than most did, but given the life ahead of him, it was surely for the best. And she had to admit Aemon had taken well to it. So much so that both Ser Oswell and her brother sang his praises whenever the boy was out of earshot.
According to them, never had they seen such a natural before, Arthur even claimed he had not been this good at the beginning. Aemon had reflexes that could not simply be taught, an innate talent for them.
Truth be told, it relieved her, Arthur had been right. His enemies would be plenty, and he needed to be a true warrior king, one of the likes of the Conqueror. And he also needed to inspire those around him, as his namesake, Aemon the Dragonknight, had.
Though it was a tall order for anyone, the barely six namedays old in front of her would achieve it, and more, there was no doubt in her mind.
"Aemon," she said, taking a seat on her son's side as he rose his eyes from his current reading, though his reading had decreased with Arthur's training, he still devoured book after book. In that aspect, he was much like his father had been, as it had been said Queen Rhaella had swallowed a book during her pregnancy. And it seemed Lyanna had done the same and more, given Aemon's natural talent with a sword. "There is something we have to tell you, but before I do, you need to know it changes nothing, you will always be my son and I'll always love you, yes?"
"I'll always love you too, mother," he answered, and she felt her heart soar at his words, though she could only hope he did not change his mind after learning the truth.
"There is no easy way to say it, I'm sorry," she began, feeling her nerves build up, "I am not your real mother, I did not give you birth," she said and instinctively held her breath waiting for the disaster to happen.
"I know," he smiled and her eyes widened as she sought his purple eyes with her own as she was once more reminded of his sheer intelligence.
"How…" she could not help but say.
"I listen," he shrugged, "but you're wrong,"
She frowned and was about to say something but he continued.
"You raised me, you're my mother,"
Immediately, her arms were wrapped around him as she felt the tears fill her eyes. He was perhaps the most intelligent and important boy in the Seven Kingdoms, but he was hers.
"You must have questions…" she said once they separated, she could not hope to comprehend what was going through his mind.
"I know I am a Targaryen but…" he said and once more she was shocked, it seemed Arthur had been right, he did know. "Who were they?" he asked, "my parents, I mean,"
"Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, well, Princess Lyanna Targaryen. They…" she struggled to find her next words, "it's a long and complicated story, do you want to hear it?"
"Please," he nodded eagerly and she smiled, of course he did, "Your father, was the heir of the Mad King, Aerys, but unlike his father, he was kind and good, and he was charming, almost all the ladies of the realm fancied themselves at his arm," she said with a chuckle, not lying but not expending on how mad Aerys exactly was, "but he married Princess Elia Martell of Dorne, and they had two children, Rhaenys and Aegon,"
"But I thought you said…"
"Patience, my little dragon," she smiled, "but they were not happy, they never loved each other, and so, they decided they were free to try and find love with other people."
"Rhaegar met Lyanna at a tourney, in Harrenhal, he competed in the joust and managed to unseat ser Barristan Selmy before he crowned Lyanna the queen of love and beauty." She smiled sadly in remembrance of that day, while she was aware of her friend's arrangement with her husband, it had been far too public for her taste, for many. There was a reason they called it 'the day the smiles died'. "They fell in love, very fast, except your mother was betrothed to another, a man she despised, but a soon-to-be Lord Paramount," she sighed, knowing perfectly well what came next.
"One year later, your mother disappeared, most believe she was kidnapped by your father, but she joined him of her own free will, when they learned of it, your uncle Brandon Stark rushed to King's Landing to demand she was returned and challenged your father, he was imprisoned and your grandfather, Rickard Stark, came to plea for his son, but the Mad King hurt them…"
"My grandfather killed my other grandfather?" he half-asked, half-stated and she slowly nodded, knowing how hard the truth was.
Though it seemed Aemon took it in his stride and once more, she could not help but be impressed.
"It was not the only reason but soon, a rebellion began, the North, the Stormlands, the Vale, and the Riverlands all raised their banners against Aerys, and they won," she skipped over the rebellion, it was not her expertise and she could not help but feel he was too young to know the truth of war.
Aemon fell silent, she could see the many thoughts warring inside his mind for attention, and for a moment, she feared she had broken him.
"What happened to them?" he asked, and she frowned.
"Them?" she asked, confused.
"Aegon and Rhaenys? And Elia?" he said, lowering his eyes as he did.
She closed her eyes and exhaled a deep breath, her heart clenching at the thought of her deceased friend and her children.
"I am sorry my little dragon," she sighed as she went to hug her son once more, "they did not make it,"
"They were killed?" he asked but his voice came out muffled as she held him and she could do nothing but nod.
Aemon began to shake and she squeezed him harder, trying to bring whatever comfort she could to him and rubbing soothing circles on his back to try and give him some peace. While she had been reluctant to breach such a heavy subject as the death of Elia's children, Aemon was no stranger to death, and given the amount of death they had seen in the past decade, perhaps it was for the best.
Finally, she released him from her embrace, but instead of the red and puffy eyes she was expecting, his purple orbs were shining, not with tears, no, but with rage. Hatred even, a hatred so strong it seemed to light a fire inside Aemon's eyes, and for a moment, she was reminded of the ferocious rage some Targaryens were born with.
'When a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin, and the world holds its breath…' She could still remember the day Elia had pronounced those words, soon after the birth of Rhaenys.
Ashara had no doubt on which side Aemon's coin had landed, he was far too gentle and caring with those he loved for it to have landed on the same side as the Mad King. She could see it almost every day when he'd take his cousin, Edric, on some exploration or another.
Her sister's son was still very young, he would reach his second nameday in a few moons, and yet, Aemon took the time to spend an hour every day with him. Even though they shared vastly different interests, it was a constant of their lives, and both she and her sister, Alysanne, would wear beaming smiles as they followed them.
But when she saw his eyes, shining with pure malevolent intent, she was reminded that Aemon was not a Dayne, Aemon was a Targaryen, a dragon. And dragons had tempers, it was well-known that one should avoid pulling on the tail of one lest they find themselves immolated.
"How?" he asked through clenched teeth, obviously trying to control his raging emotions and she could not help but be shocked by the control he showed, one no child should be able to have.
"I can't, sweetling, you're too young to know," she once more hugged him to her chest, trying to assuage his thoughts the only way she knew and though his next words came muffled, she heard them well enough for a chill to travel through her spine.
"I'll kill them, I swear it on the old gods and the new, I'll kill them all,"
She squeezed him even harder, unknowing as she was of what else there was to do. She could hardly blame him, she too held the same murderous thoughts. She had imagined countless times how she would make Robert Baratheon suffer for what he had done and had laughed at the thought of Oberyn Martell finally getting to him.
After all the Red Viper had, through sheer force of will, managed to gather a ten thousand men host upon learning the fate of his sister and her children. At the time, it had been useless, foolish even and it seemed Oberyn had seen it, as he led the men back home himself. But there was no doubt in her mind Dorne was planning, plotting their revenge, because, like the North, Dorne remembers.
"There is something Arthur has been meaning to do for a long time if you're alright with it?" she asked as she felt him settle down and broke the embrace.
"What?" he asked, frowning.
"You'll see," she gave a mysterious smile as she answered and went to open the door, "Come inside, brother,"
She had to admit he cut an impressive figure, wearing his gleaming white armor with the hilt of his legendary sword appearing above his shoulder, but what attracted the most attention was the absence of his pristine white cloak.
There were no other words exchanged and Arthur made his way to Aemon, who almost instinctively stood up as her brother approached and in a single and practiced motion, he unsheathed Dawn and knelt in front of his king.
She could see Aemon's eyes widening as he realized what was happening and what it meant, she only needed to nod at his questioning look as her brother bowed his head and presented Dawn to her son.
"In the light of the Seven, I, Ser Arthur Dayne, swear my undying fealty to Aemon of House Targaryen, the first of his name, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, I vow to give my life for his, my blood for his blood. I vow to obey my King's commands without question or doubt, I vow to keep his secrets and to give council when asked and keep silent when not. I vow to father no child, to take no wife, and to hold no lands. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I am a sworn brother of the Kingsguard, the protectors of the King, and I pledge my life for this day and all the days to come,"
She was about to interrupt to give Aemon the words he needed to say, but once more, he surprised her with his already extensive knowledge.
"I, Aemon of House Targaryen, the first of his name, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, King of the Andals, the First Men, and the Rhoynar, vow to always have meat and mead for you at my table, I vow to value your council and to ask no service that would bring you dishonor. Arise, Ser Arthur, I name you Lord Commander and Brother of the Kingsguard,"
Barely had he finished his words that she exhaled a deep breath, having not realized she was holding it and she could not help the chuckle at seeing Arthur swipe his king into his arms, in a rare show of affection, and the young boy returning it immediately.
Notes:
I hope you liked it, don't hesitate to leave a review and see you guys next week ;)
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