Maester Aemon Targaryen (295 A.C. Sixth moon)
Castle Black
He sat hunched over his desk, a thick woolen blanket draped over his frail shoulders. He was a dragon, yet a dragon can get the cold even at the Wall. 'Now, I wonder why Sliverwing refused to bring Alysanne past the Wall. As I read part of his family history, I how much of this was true.' The sudden knock on his door pulled him from his reverie.
"Enter," He called, his voice steady despite his years.
The door opened to reveal Benjen Stark, his face grim and serious. He closed the door behind him, shutting out the biting cold of the Wall.
"Benjen," He greeted, "what brings you here at this hour?"
"Maester Aemon," Benjen replied, his voice low and urgent. "I have news that must remain in the strictest confidence."
His eyes, though clouded with age, sharpened with curiosity. "Speak, Benjen. What is it that weighs so heavily on your heart?"
Benjen stepped closer, his voice barely above a whisper. " I must tell you, but hopefully, it will grant you happiness." 'Happiness? That curious?' He wondered, yet some hope swelled in his heart. "Your nephew, Aemon. A son Rhaegar's still lives."
Aemon's heart skipped a beat. "Rhaegar's son? But Aegon died in Kingslanding, his head smashed in by the mountain. Wait, you said a son?" He said, his voice shaky. 'Anther litte Aegon and Rhaenys were Rhaegar's only children.' He wondered.
"Not Aegon, he was lost," Benjen answered sadly. " He is my own nephew, the same as yours. He has been hidden to keep him safe. He is known to the world as Jon Snow, my brother's bastard, but his true name is Aenar Targaryen."
"Aenar and his mother is Lyanna. I never believed that Rhaegar had kidnapped the girl. Rhaegar was coming over, always kind and thoughtful in his letters." Aemon murmured, the name resonating with memories of old prophecies and lost glories. "You correspond with Rhaegar?" Benjen asked, "I did, over many a year, mostly of the prophecies and dreams, but please tell me where he is now.
"He is at Greywater Watch, under the protection of Lord Howland Reed," Benjen explained. "He is twelve years old. He had a dream where he spoke to something, which led him to the truth. Otherwise, my brother would have told at his six and ten nameday, as he promised my sister."
Aemon leaned back, processing this revelation. "He has dreams, like my ancestors? The boy bears the weight of a heavy legacy. It can be a dangerous thing."
"Indeed," Benjen agreed. "And he is not alone. Ser Arthur Dayne and a trusted me of Winterfell to guard and ensure his safety. Plus, the Lord of Greywater Watch was very fond of Lyanna." He said in a gasp. "Ser Arthur Dayne?" Aemon echoed, his mind racing. "The Sword of the Morning lives, too?"
"Yes," Benjen confirmed. "Aenar is well-protected, but he will need guidance, Aemon. Guidance that only you can provide. As the last Targaryen alive on this continent. As Viserys and Danaerys are somewhere in Essos."
His eyes saddened at the thoughts of his kin on the run and alone in Essos, and then his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "How can I reach him without arousing suspicion?"
Benjen stepped even closer, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. "You can write to Lord Greywater about specific herbs found in the Neck. Within those letters, you can include messages for Aenar."
He nodded slowly, understanding the plan. "I will write to Lord Greywater. To speak to Aenar, he needs to know part of his other family. The part of the Dragon." He ended.
Benjen nodded in agreement. "hmm, it is true, he is a Stark, but he is also a Targaryen." "Please tell me how he lived. I know some of the tale but not all." He questioned, and Benjen started the tale of how it all happened.
295 A.C. Eighth moon
Castle Black
He had endured the fall of his noble house for twelve long years since the slaughter of his kin and a shattered world he once knew, and he, bound by duty, could do naught but watch in despair. Duty, a cruel mistress, extinguished love, just as love could snuff out duty. However, when Benjen Stark approached him with an almost fantastical tale, a flicker of hope and longing ignited within his heart—the same yearning he hadn't felt since the news of his family's demise and exile. The babe born of Lyanna Stark still lived, the last son of his nephew, hidden away and trained in the mysterious stronghold of Greywater Watch.
'Oh, Rhaegar, how misguided were your beliefs! The promised Visenya was not to be found, but instead, a boy named Aenar Targaryen emerged—a son born of both ice and fire. It seemed to fulfill the ancient pact of ice and fire, signed centuries ago by Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Targaryen.
He pledged to aid his nephew in securing his rightful future. Oaths and duties mattered little in the face of this calling. No more, he contemplated, can I bear the constraints of the Night's Watch. I shall stand by the true King, and the treacherous stags and lions shall pay for their atrocities, bathed in the fires of retribution and bloodshed.'
His thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock on the door. "Maester Aemon, a scroll has arrived from Greywater Watch, bearing the seal of the lizard-lion. It addressed inquiries about the herbs of the Neck," Benjen Stark's voice echoed through the chamber.
"Ah, wonderful, herbs for the Neck will be useful for the Watch," He spoke aloud, ensuring his words were far all to hear.
"Mmm, show the scroll." He said, and he cracked open the scroll. Two letters, one from Lord the Neck and the other from Aenar, bearing a stamped seal Direwolf at the bottom. 'One day, he can use the seal of their family openly,' he thought.
He then started to read the letter of the Lord of Greywater Watch aloud.
Maester Aemon,
I have heard your request to acquire herbs from the Neck. It certainly is an option, and I have been planning an expedition toward the Wall for some time. My son and ward both wanted to see the Wall and visited the night fort. When I come, I will send some samples with me on the journey for you to examine after we can start to discuss the prices for shipments of the herbs to Watch.
Best regards,
Lord Howland Reed,
"That's wonderful. News supplies like these herbs will indeed be useful. The matter of payment is a different matter. The Watch has always had a lack of supplies and coins." He said as he ended the letter. "True enough, but Howland is a good man. I think we will be able to strike a good bargain." Benjen added.
Then, let Benjen read the letter meant for him, even if it was addressed to Benjen, to try to disguise the message further.
Dear uncle,
I'm now Greywater Watch. I hope the news reaches you well and fills your heart with hope. As I suppose you have always wanted something like this for me. To live a happy life and learn.
In that regard, I learn a lot. The Neck is an ideal place to learn about the old gods and my dreams. I even met my aunt.
At that, he paused the reading. 'He met his aunt? He met Daenerys! Oh, our little Dragon is quite the dreamer.' He thought happily, looking at Benjen, whose eyes widened the news.
I know how it sounds, but it is true, and she was delighted to see me. As I hear it, I will tell her next time I'm in contact with you.
As for the master of arms, he has been quite helpful in learning more ways of the blade, and my skill of the bow and spear is improving much in the teaching of Lord Reed and his daughter.
One more thing about one of my dreams is that I will find a symbol of our house in a place known for cannibals when I visit Wall. I plan to go there, and I find it. It has always been waiting for me, even before I was born.
Both his eyes and Benjen's eyes nearly jumped out of their sockets. 'Aenar had seen a dragon, which is his vision. Bye all the gods, oh it would be wonders to see? Perhaps his eyes would allow a few more years of sight. I wouldn't mind seeing a dragon.' He thought hopefully.
I hope to see you soon, and we can talk more.
Yours truly
Your Nephew Jon Snow.
"Well, this most interesting news, is it not?" He started. "Very, it is good now he is coming here. It has been a while since I have seen him. Plus, any child of the North should see the Wall and the far North. As well as what he says is true, much and more will come from this visit." Benjen added.
"True, he will need all the help we can give from her. I was thinking, Lord Reed said he wanted to visit Nightfort, but seeing Jon's letter, it probably has something to do with him. It is the largest of all of them, and I suspect much knowledge was lost during its abandonment. Old knowledge, something a future." He whispered out the last part, "A future King could need."
Benjen nodded. "True, it still has old vaults of old times and tunnels leading to chambers. Who knows what is to be found there? It could be worth investigating and seeing what is to be found."
"That's the payment we can grant them. We don't have coins, but we could give them the things we find there." He said, and a smile graced Benjen's lips. "Benjen, I need you to go Nightfort and wander its ruins. Bring five men you trust with you. I don't think you can do everything alone." He added.
"It seems I have a trip to Nightfort to plan," Benjen said.
Chapter 10: Eddard Stark (295 A.C. Eight Moon)
Eddard Stark (295 A.C. Eighth Moon)
Winterfell courtyard.
He stood at the head of the assembled company, his eyes trained on the entrance to the courtyard. The air was crisp with the cool bite of the North, the sky above a pale gray that promised rain later in the day. He clasped his hands behind his back, his mind momentarily drifting to Arya's question about Lord Wyman Manderly. "Is it true? That lord White Harbor is too big to sit a horse?" He had seen Wyman since the Greyjoy rebellion, and the lord of White Harbor was sout back then. Had he grown that much since their last meeting?' His wonderings were broken.
The gates of Winterfell creaked open, and a richly adorned carriage rolled into view, drawn by sturdy northern horses. The carriage, painted in the green and white colors of House Manderly, bore the sigil of the merman holding a trident. Behind it, a small retinue of Manderly guards rode in disciplined formation, their armor glinting dully in the gray light of the North.
A herald stepped forward and announced with a clear voice, "Lord of White Harbor, Lord Wyman Manderly."
He nodded to the herald, and the carriage came to a halt before the gathered Starks. The door swung open, and the first to emerge was Wyman Manderly himself. The man who stepped down from the carriage was indeed larger than life. His girth seemed even more pronounced than Eddard remembered, but there was a sharpness in his eyes and a graciousness in his smile that belied his formidable size. He moved with a slow but steady grace, nodding in greeting as he approached he.
Following him, a servant helped down two young women. Wynafryd, the elder of the two, was poised and graceful as she descended, her green eyes taking in Winterfell with quiet curiosity. Her brown hair was tied back in an elegant braid, and she wore a dark green gown that suited the Manderly colors. Wylla, younger by four years, emerged with a bright smile, her loose blond hair bouncing with her eager movements. Her excitement was palpable, and she looked around the courtyard with wide-eyed wonder.
As Wyman and his granddaughters approached, he stepped forward with a warm smile. "Lord Wyman, welcome to Winterfell. It is good to see you again."
Wyman's voice rumbled like distant thunder as he clasped Eddard's hand. " My lord is always welcome at Winterfell. The North remains as strong and proud as ever under your care."
He nodded and then turned to his family, who stood in a line behind him. "May I introduce my family? This is my lady wife, Catelyn." He was still stiff, but it was necessary for her to here.
Catelyn stepped forward, and the lord kissed her hand. "Lord Wyman, it is a pleasure to welcome you to our home."
"And mine, Lady Stark," Wyman replied with a courteous bow of his head.
He continued, gesturing to his children. "My eldest, Robb," he said, and Robb, a young man now nearing manhood, stepped forward with a respectful nod.
"Sansa," Eddard continued, and Sansa curtsied gracefully, her red hair catching the faint sunlight.
"Arya," he said next, and Arya, always restless, managed a quick, impatient bow.
"Bran," Eddard said, and Bran, eyes wide with curiosity, nodded at the visitors.
"There is also Rickon, but he is currently still sleeping. He brought up later, and he is still a babe after all." He finished with little Rickon, still a child, clinging to his mother's skirts.
Wyman smiled warmly at them all. "A fine family, Lord Eddard."
Eddard acknowledged the compliment with a nod and then turned to introduce the wards. "You have also met some of our wards: Lyanna Mormont of Bear Island," Lyanna stepped forward, her small frame belying her fierce spirit as she nodded firmly, "and Alys Karstark of Karhold," Alys curtsied, her demeanor composed and serene. "Theon Greyjoy, son of Balon Greyjoy of Pyke," Eddard finished, and Theon inclined his head, a slight smirk playing on his lips. At last, Wyman frowned a bit, but it wasn't surprising that the Greyjoys weren't well-liked in the North.
A brief shadow crossed Eddard's face as he thought of Jon, who was currently in Greywater Watch as a ward of Howland Reed. But he quickly pushed the thought aside, refocusing on the task at hand.
Wyman then introduced his granddaughters. "Allow me to present my granddaughters, Lady Wynafryd and Lady Wylla Manderly, and my second son, Wendel."
"My Lord, Winterfell, is grandiose as last time we feasted the victory over the Greyjoys," Wendel said as he arrived after having dismounted. After Wendel, Wynafryd, and Wylla curtsied in unison, Wynafryd spoke calmly and politely. "We are honored to be welcomed to Winterfell, Lord Stark."
Wylla nodded enthusiastically, her smile infectious. "Yes, very honored!" she echoed, earning a chuckle from the gathered onlookers.
His expression softened as he looked at the two girls. "You are most welcome here, both of you. Winterfell has been your home for as long as you wish it to be. I hope you enjoy your wardship here."
"Now," Eddard said, gesturing towards the doors of the Great Hall, "come inside, all of you. The journey from White Harbor is long, and you must be in need of rest and refreshment. We have prepared a feast in your honor."
With that, the group began to make their way towards the keep, the promise of warmth and hospitality awaiting them.
Later that evening – Eddard Starks Solar.
The flickering light of the hearth in his solar cast long shadows across the room. The smell of burning wood and the quiet crackle of the fire added to the cozy yet somber atmosphere. Eddard sat in his high-backed chair, a goblet of wine in his hand, as he listened to the familiar rumble of Wyman Manderly's voice.
"Ah, Ned, it has been ages since I have seen you. You look grimmer than you used to. I thought you would be happy now that the Moat is finally getting renovated. Then the canal, Ned. Brilliant! Think about how much trade in the region will increase," Wyman exclaimed happily, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
HE managed a small smile. "It is a good project for the North. I want to thank you for offering to help with the construction of the canal. The Moat Cailin and the town are invaluable. Winterfell owes White Harbor a great debt for its efforts."
Wyman waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense, Ned. It is in our best interest as well. Trade will flourish, and the North will grow stronger. A strong North benefits us all."
He nodded in agreement, but his expression remained serious. Wyman continued, "And as well as your second boy, a future lord of a new house. A cadet branch to the Starks and a match with a lord paramount's daughter of the Reach is good for the North, too. That connection will help in winter, I'm sure."
"If only it were that simple, Wyman. Ties to the South would also bring you into that world. Mine and your house know that better than any other," He replied, his tone somber.
Wyman's face grew thoughtful, and he nodded slowly. "True, Ned. Yet, with Moat Cailin restored and the canal, not many will be able to attack us. The King also granted your son the ability to build a navy of forty ships, if I'm not mistaken. The Ironborn will have a difficult time raiding us because of it."
"Still, I feel less content than I was a few moons ago. Jon's departure caused some problems in my family circle. I suppose you have heard of why Maege is here?" Eddard asked, his eyes searching Wyman's face.
The lord of White Harbor nodded. "I have heard rumors, Ned. It is a difficult situation."
"Well," He continued, "my wife has done some things to my son I couldn't accept, and part of the reason for those things is her faith and upbringing. So, I wanted my daughters to learn Northern ways and not those of the South. No offense to you or your faith, Wyman. I saw what happened, and my eldest daughter already started to distance herself from Jon, so I acted."
Wyman sighed, his large hand resting on the arm of his chair. "I understand, Ned. The North has its ways, and the South has its own. Sometimes, they clash, even within our own families."
He looked into the fire, the flames reflecting in his gray eyes. "I know I proposed the wardship for your granddaughters. I wanted to ask about something else, Wyman. The possibility of a betrothal for Robb with one of your granddaughters. Wynafryd or Wylla. But I will let Robb choose, which is also why Alys is here. It is important as it will be his Lady of Winterfell and his future duty, and protect the North."
Wyman's face lit up with a smile. "It would be an honor to have one of my granddaughters betrothed to your son, Ned. Wynafryd is a sensible girl, and Wylla, though young, has a strong spirit. Either would be a good match for Robb. Or Alys, she's Northern, and the Karstarks are part of the Stark line. I will be content either way."
He nodded thoughtfully. "I will speak to Robb about it. It will be his decision. But Wylla is ten or nine, correct?"
"She reached her tenth nameday the previous moon past," Wyman confirmed, his expression warm.
He considered this and then spoke carefully. "If a marriage proposal with Robb doesn't work out, I propose a match between Brandon and Wylla. Brandon is almost seven namedays, and he's a good lad. Perhaps in the future, a wardship might be arranged as well."
Wyman's eyes gleamed with approval. "A wonderful proposal. From what I've seen, Brandon is a bright young man, so I accept. A union with Brandon would be most welcome if young Robb chooses another path than one of my granddaughters. I know you can't marry two of my granddaughters or two of your sons to them; it would cause discontent among your vassals. So we have to see which way the current flows."
He nodded, a small smile touching his lips. "Indeed. Balance must be maintained."
With that, he raised his goblet in a silent toast, and Wyman did the same. The bond between their houses was strong, and they would ensure it remained so for the North's good and their children's future.
"To the future, and let our children be happy," he said, his voice steady with resolve.
"To the future," Wyman echoed, their goblets clinking softly in the quiet room.
Chapter 10: Peter Bealish (295 A.C. Eight Moon)
Peter Baelish (295 A.C. Eighth Moon)
King's Landing – Littlefinger's Brothel
'The realm was taring itself slowly apart, and the fact that the lions weren't aligning with the roses was a good sign. Being commanded to marry their daughter to the new lord of Moat Cailin was even better. The only thing he didn't like was all the gold that would be sent to them. Nevertheless, it would weaken the North's unity, making it ripe for a takeover. If perhaps a conflict between the bastard and the trueborn could be orchestrated, providing an opportunity for manipulation.
The matter of Cat's children bothered him deeply. They should have been his offspring; he should have been with her. Not with her sister, Lysa, who was a poor substitute for Cat. Despite her foolishness, Lysa could at least be used to serve his desires.
He had to lie with Lysa, feigning affection his entire life, only revealing his true self near Cat. However, ever since that damned bastard Brandon wounded him, a thirst for revenge had consumed him. He was determined to ensure that one day, no one could humiliate him as the Starks had.
Telling that hotheaded fool that his sister had been kidnapped had been a simple task. But she was never meant to marry the other brother. Dealing with Eddard would be straightforward. The current Hand was aged, leaving Eddard Stark as the only suitable candidate for Robert. Eddard's son could be wed to the bastard of the Lannister twins. Lions, wolves, roses, and stags would inevitably turn on each other. And from the resulting chaos, the mockingbird would rise in the chaos.'
He wondered about his plan as he woke in his bed and stared at the auburn hair of the whore who looked a bit like Cat. The young woman, most likely around fourteen namedays, had been taken from a farm in the Riverlands. The farmer had been paid well—ten gold dragons for a wench—but the girl satisfied his needs. She was of an age with Cat when he had first desired her. The thought made him hard and brought a smile to his lips.
He deflowered the girl last night, thinking of the time he had taken Cats at that moment. The girl had squealed. He smirked at him, a lowly noble who had taken the maidenheads of two of the daughters of the lord Paramount of the Trident. He looked at her. 'Mmm, another go, why not.' He fumbled with the girl and took his pleasure.
"Go away and take moon tea, girl. Do your work well and be presentable tonight." He ordered after he was done. The girl grabbed her grab and ran away red-eyed. Thinking of how he would have her untouched ass tonight as she walked out of the room.
He dressed and went to his office, where he kept the records of the Seven Kingdoms. A smirk played across his face at the thought. This was the place where he had cunningly purchased businesses in the city and debts in the Vale—his first stepping stones toward power in the Seven Kingdoms. But for the present, he needed to focus on Cat.
As he perused the scrolls and letters he had received, his attention was caught by a trout emblem. His curiosity piqued. 'Lysa must have sent him a message through her little mockingbird. In her mind, he was her husband. He recalled her unattractive smile when she informed him of that fact.' He wondered as he unsealed the letter with the trout emblem, and began to read.
Dear Petyr,
I write to you as a friend from our childhood, someone whom I consider family. I find myself in dire need of assistance.
The bastard offspring of my husband—as I'm certain you're aware—has now assumed the title of Lord of Moat Cailin. I am convinced that he aims to displace my children. He has already turned my own family against me, and I suspect he has coerced my husband into allowing him to possess the Rose girl as well. To make matters worse, my son is may soon be wedded to a northerner who I can only describe as a heathen. Even the Manderlys are savages, Notherns.
I fervently pray to the Mother and the Father for strength to shield my family from the wickedness of this bastard. Petyr, you have always guided me, and I am now reaching out for your counsel. I did attempt to seek assistance from my father, but he dismissed the threat with a wave of his hand. He insists that the North would never acknowledge a rose and a bastard as legitimate heirs to Winterfell.
Therefore, I implore you please help. The bastard holds sway over the northern entrance and commands the largest army in the realm if the marriage to the Tyrells is complete. All it would take is for him to muster these forces, and they would pose a lethal threat to my loyal children.
Petyr, I beseech you for your aid, just as you have consistently provided. Your care for me has never wavered.
Yours faithfully,
Your Cat, Lady of Winterfell
'Wonderful. Now all I need to do is fane the flames, and as planned, the wolves will be disordered, and timing it all right, the South would be much the same place. By the end, you, Cat, will be mine.' He thought happily.
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