Aemon had been in an unusually joyful mood for the past two days. The reason was simple: Viserys had cured his blindness.
After more than ten years of living in darkness, Aemon could finally see again. Everything felt new and exciting. He wandered around, feeling things here, gazing at things there, much like a child discovering the world for the first time. What thrilled him even more was that the moment he opened his eyes, he saw the dragons—and they seemed to show a special closeness to him.
Jon, who had been looking after Aemon, observed these changes and realized something profound: Aemon was truly a Targaryen. The once dull grey of Aemon's eyes now had a distinct purple hue.
"You seem to have a bit of purple in your eyes as well," Aemon remarked with a smile. "Perhaps your mother was Ashara of House Dayne."
Still basking in his newfound happiness, Aemon, with his vast knowledge and life experience, ventured a guess about Jon's origins.
Aemon continued, "Ned was deeply in love with Ashara when he was young."
"Ashara?" Jon echoed, feeling a strange connection to the name.
"Yes," Aemon confirmed. "They say she was a very beautiful woman."
Jon suddenly drifted into thought, his chest tightening, and his eyes began to sting. 'Mother!' he thought. 'Could it be her?'
He had never known his mother, and even in his dreams, he couldn't picture her face. Sometimes, he'd dreamt of Lady Catelyn. When he was younger, he had even dared to imagine that she might be his mother. But the cold, disdainful look she always gave him shattered that illusion.
'A mother would never look at her child like that.'
"Maester Aemon, His Grace and Commander Mormont have summoned you to a meeting," Jon said respectfully.
"Yes, Jon. Let's go," Aemon replied, his voice filled with warmth.
Seated comfortably in the wheelchair that Viserys had gifted him, Aemon felt an unexpected wave of happiness. But to his surprise, as Jon pushed him out of the room, he saw Viserys waiting at the bottom of the steps.
"Your Grace!" Jon bowed low.
Since his dragons hatched, Viserys had been in noticeably higher spirits. His suspicions of Jon had faded, and he even began to recognize Jon's potential role in ruling the North alongside him in the future.
"Get up," Viserys said, moving to walk behind Aemon.
"Viserys, you're a king now. You don't need to tend to me like this," Aemon remarked with a helpless smile, noticing Viserys' intention to push the wheelchair himself.
"Hey, an old man in the family is a treasure," Viserys replied cheerfully. "I hope that in the future, both the Seven Kingdoms and the Nine Free Cities will honor the elderly as a virtue. As a king, I must lead by example, right?"
In ancient times, a man of seventy didn't even have to kneel before an emperor. Aemon was a hundred years old and part of his family. A bit of care from me won't hurt "His Grace."
Before Aemon could respond, he suddenly found himself being lifted—smoothly, effortlessly. He marveled at Viserys' strength.
"No wonder you're a king who has fought on the battlefield!" Aemon chuckled, his admiration for the young monarch growing.
Jon, standing nearby, was just as surprised. Aemon, frail and aged, weighed only about 100 pounds, but the wheelchair, crafted by Viserys for durability and comfort, was at least 150 pounds on its own. Yet Viserys handled the combined weight of over 200 pounds with ease.
Viserys pushed Aemon all the way to the Night's Watch dining hall. As they entered, everyone stood to greet them.
"Your Grace."
"Your Grace!" they echoed, with Ser Alliser's voice being the most sincere of them all.
He had shed his black Night's Watch cloak and now wore the red battle cloak Viserys had prepared for him. The deep crimson matched the primary color of House Thorne's coat of arms. Inwardly, Alliser had begun to genuinely admire the resurgence of House Targaryen. Especially after hearing how Viserys had burned Robert Baratheon's fleet, he knew the fall of House Baratheon was only a matter of time.
As Viserys had once told him, Alliser was in this "hellhole" because of his loyalty to the Targaryens. Over the past few days, he had been actively seeking ways to "earn goodwill." He even went as far as volunteering for night watch duty, claiming he was doing it to "protect His Grace." This newfound eagerness only deepened the disdain Jon and his friends felt for him.
Viserys pushed Aemon's wheelchair next to the main seat before taking his place at the head of the table. With everyone seated, the meeting officially began.
"Your Grace, our people have delivered the letter to Mance, and he has already sent his reply. Now, we need to decide on a location for the meeting," Jorah began, outlining the purpose of the council.
"Does Commander Mormont have any suggestions?" Viserys asked, his tone neutral.
"It is entirely up to Your Grace," Mormont replied, still uneasy about the idea of negotiating with the wildlings.
"Your Grace," Alliser interjected, choosing his words carefully, "perhaps you could receive Mance at Craster's Keep. Craster is a wildling, and Mance may trust him more than any of us."
Alliser had wisely chosen to replace the word "meeting" with "receive," but Viserys was too deep in thought to notice such subtleties. His mind was preoccupied with the details he remembered about Craster.
Craster—the infamous "Monster" in the game of thrones. A man who slept with his daughters and killed his sons (and grandsons). 'A beast,' Viserys thought, 'no, worse than a beast.'
He recalled that Craster had a disturbing habit of sacrificing his male offspring to the White Walkers. 'Maybe he's tied to the Night King,' Viserys speculated grimly.
'I need to keep an eye on this Craster,' he resolved.
There were theories that Craster's father was a Stark, and some believed the Stark bloodline was somehow linked to the Night King and the White Walkers. 'Maybe this Craster is nothing more than a "domesticated animal" for the White Walkers or the Night King,' Viserys mused darkly. 'If he sacrifices his sons to the White Walkers, perhaps we can use that to our advantage... capture one for study.'
"Ser Alliser," Viserys called out.
"Your Grace," Alliser responded promptly, pleased to receive an order.
"Take a group of men to Craster's Keep," Viserys commanded. "Look into his... wife, or whatever he calls them. See if any of his women are pregnant. You're to keep a close watch on him."
Alliser didn't fully understand why Viserys suddenly had such interest, but he didn't question the order. He would execute it to the letter. Viserys had plans for Craster, ones that couldn't risk alarming either Craster or the White Walkers. The last thing they needed was to lose the element of surprise.
Because of these secretive plans, Viserys knew Craster's Keep was not suitable for a meeting with Mance Rayder, King of the Wildlings. Beyond the Wall, a river called the Milkwater split the wilderness in two. Craster's Keep lay on the east side of the river, but Viserys decided to hold the meeting with Mance on the west side.
"Let's meet at the Skirling Pass," Benjen Stark suggested, breaking his long silence.
"There are canyons everywhere, making it easy to hide and retreat. It will also give the wildlings a sense of security."
As First Ranger, no one knew the terrain Beyond the Wall better than Benjen, and his advice carried weight. Viserys nodded, trusting in Benjen's expertise.