296 AC
The godswood of Winterfell was cloaked in shadows, the moonlight filtering through the red leaves of the ancient weirwood tree. The carved face of the heart tree watched in silent judgment as two men stood beneath its boughs, the cold Northern air thick with tension and unspoken words.
Aemon Targaryen—once Jon Snow—faced the man who had raised him, the man he had called father. Ned Stark stood opposite him, his face a mask of sorrow and conflict, his grey eyes reflecting the weight of duty and love.
For a moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the rustling of leaves and the distant howl of a lone wolf.
A Clash of Blood and Duty
"Jon…" Ned's voice was barely a whisper, laced with emotion. His lips trembled around the name. "Or should I call you Aemon now?"
Aemon's eyes softened, a flicker of pain in their depths, but his voice was firm. "Aemon. Jon Snow was a name for a boy who didn't know who he was."
Ned took a deep breath, his gaze dropping to the snow-covered ground before meeting Aemon's eyes again. "You've grown into a man I barely recognize."
"I had to," Aemon replied quietly, bitterness creeping into his tone. "The world doesn't allow boys to survive."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with the weight of years and secrets. The cold gnawed at their skin, but neither man moved, as if frozen in time.
Finally, Aemon broke it, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade. "I didn't come here to talk about the past, Ned. I came for your support."
Ned's jaw tightened, his shoulders stiffening. "Support?"
"I intend to claim the Iron Throne," Aemon said, his voice steady but tinged with desperation. "It is my birthright—the legacy of House Targaryen. And I need the North to stand with me."
Ned's face hardened, the sorrow in his eyes replaced by a steely resolve. "No."
The word hung in the air, final and unyielding.
Aemon's brows furrowed, his heart pounding. "Why?"
Ned stepped closer, his voice low but firm, each word a dagger. "Because it would bring nothing but war and destruction. The Seven Kingdoms have suffered enough under Targaryen rule. Your family lost the throne during Robert's Rebellion. That war ended with the fall of your house."
Aemon's eyes flashed with anger, his voice rising. "It ended with the murder of innocents!" His breath quickened, each word dripping with pain. "My mother, my brother… and countless others. Is that justice, Ned?"
Ned's expression softened, his voice trembling with guilt. "I mourned Lyanna every day of my life. But revenge will not bring her back. And war will only bring more death."
Aemon took a step forward, his voice lowering to a dangerous whisper, his eyes burning with fury. "This isn't about revenge. It's about what's rightfully mine."
"The realm doesn't need another Targaryen on the throne," Ned replied, his voice cold, his gaze unflinching. "It needs peace."
The Offer
Aemon's frustration simmered beneath the surface, his fists clenching at his sides. "I understand your fears, Ned. But I offer you more than just war and blood."
Ned's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in his gaze. "What do you mean?"
Aemon took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest. "I offer an alliance. I will wed Sansa. She is my cousin, and through her, the North will have a queen when I sit the Iron Throne."
Ned's face went pale, his hands clenching into fists at his sides, his voice rising with anger. "You would use my daughter as a bargaining chip?"
"I would honor her," Aemon said, his voice soft but firm, desperation creeping into his tone. "She would be queen, and the Starks would hold a place of power in the realm. Together, we could change the fate of the North."
Ned shook his head violently, his eyes blazing with fury. "No. I will not trade my daughter's freedom for power. She deserves more than to be a pawn in this game."
Aemon's frustration boiled over, his voice rising in anger. "This isn't just about power, Ned! If you don't support me, the North will suffer. You know what's coming. The South will never respect the Starks, and your family will be dragged into wars and schemes. I can change that."
Ned's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, his eyes cold and unyielding. "And what if I don't want to change it at the cost of more bloodshed?"
The Breaking Point
The two men stood in silence, the gulf between them growing wider with each passing moment.
Aemon's heart ached with the weight of Ned's refusal, his chest tightening with sorrow and frustration. He had hoped—prayed—that the man who had raised him would stand by his side. But the cold reality was sinking in.
"You're making a mistake," Aemon said quietly, his voice trembling with emotion. "If you don't support me, the Starks will suffer. I've seen what happens. Your family's fate is tied to this."
Ned's jaw clenched, his eyes filled with pain and regret. "I'll take that risk. I won't let the North be dragged into another war."
Aemon's shoulders sagged, the fight draining from him. His vision blurred with unshed tears, his heart breaking under the weight of rejection. He had come here seeking an ally, but he was leaving with a shattered heart.
"Then listen to me," Aemon said, his voice barely above a whisper, his throat tight with emotion. "Whatever happens, never take Sansa or Arya to the South. The South is no place for a Stark."
Ned's eyes softened, a flicker of understanding passing between them, but he said nothing. The weight of Aemon's words lingered in the cold night air, heavy with unspoken truths and lost hopes.
Without another word, Aemon turned and walked into the shadows, his footsteps fading into the silence of the godswood, leaving Ned alone beneath the weirwood tree, the echoes of their conversation haunting the frozen air.