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Chapter Text

Aerys Targaryen
Dragonstone, 299 AL.

Peace and prosperity. Aerys smiled at himself, admiring the sight in the mirror. His teeth were no longer yellow, nor was his long hair in tangles. He had done this. Everything his grandfather had ever hoped for, was now within the grasp of House Targaryen. No...in my grasp. I am House Targaryen, the dragon. 

"Your Grace," a servant said, his eyes to the floor beneath Aerys' feet. This one dares disturb me!

"Ser Gerold!" Aerys called for the old man. "Kill this pest!" 

The knight moved from his side, unsheathing his sword as gracefully as a dragon tore meat. 

"Stop," Aerys said and the knight eased. 

The servant was trembling, now on his knees. 

"Perhaps tomorrow." Aerys smiled as the servant looked up. "Who knows? Life is not very predictable, is it?" 

Aerys had never seen this servant before. "Ser Gerold, tell me, is this man an assasin? I do not recall seeing his face before." 

The knight made a show of looking closer, as if Aerys could not see through his deception. "Let me ask the steward, Your Grace. If his is indeed an unknown face, he could very well be an assasin." 

And my son named it fear of shadows. Then, Aerys remembered the face of the servant as he cried at his feet. "I had you whipped a moon past, did I not?" 

The man nodded. "Yes!....yes you did, Your Grace!" As if it were an honour.

"Ser Gerold. Have him whipped again. I do not want to forget his face." New faces are a danger. 

I remember this face... but, what if he's a faceless man? They use faces I would know! 

The Sealord would not dare challenge House Targaryen. But, the Iron Bank would certainly prefer a weak man rule the Seven Kingdoms. Their time too will come. 

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Daven Lannister tried to smile as he held out a letter for the aging Pycelle to take. Aerys did not trust Ser Daven, or any Lannister. Tywin hid beneath his Rock, moping about his dead ambition.

"Your Grace, Lord Tywin......he.....he sends his apologies," Pycelle said, sounding twice his eighty years. "His health has worsened – a passing sickness, he assures." 

What passing sickness lasts near twenty years? Fear.....fear and cowardice. "His brother's presence will suffice, Maester. Lord Tywin is a dear friend, his health is most important to me." Kevan Lannister was worthless to Tywin, but Aerys had a competent Master of Coin in him. 

Aerys had already known what the letter contained. He was glad he had not sent Ser Daven away from Dragonstone the day before, for it would not have allowed this mummery – an absence of a proper messenger would set too many tongues whispering talk of lions and treason. Who protects whom now, old friend?

Of course. Even the dragon has to be a mummer for the court. Aerys had once loved the games and the lies. These days though, he cursed the Conquerer for not ridding the realm of the vilest of its battlefields – the court. It was one that did not allow swords.....or fire. I have the true fire now.....no need for that green abomination. Stark had been the last one to die by wildfire. 

It had taken him a few years but his patience had been well rewarded. The Martells never learned their lesson, nor their place. But, their sacrifice had taught the other Houses – traitors and the worse traitors alike – that treason would be punished with fire from the skies. I finished your work, Aerys thought as he imagined the Conquerer on the same seat three hundred years ago. The stone was cold, but a dragon never was. 

"His Grace Viserys of House Targaryen, the Prince of Dragonstone," a herald announced. Viserys was dressed in a bright red set of clothes more fit for a Volantene or a Lyseni. Aerys had voiced his displeasure with the boy's ways. But Viserys persisted, knowing how the future of House Targaryen rested on his shoulders. He should know....he should know what is expected of him. 

"Your Grace," Viserys lowered himself to a knee. "I bring petitioners from the smallfolk of King's Landing, as Your Grace so generously invited on this day of fortune."

Petitioners. A kind name for beggars and derelicts. Tywin had loved to deal with the smallfolk – not out of kindness – never. Tywin saw every petition as a chance for the crown to exert power over the lesser folk. Pitiful ways of trivial men. Aerys did not need to deny the commoners their requests to remind them of their place. He did not even need wildfire these days. Aerys chuckled to himself, but saw the court looking at him as if he had returned to the worst of his former state. They did not understand, they never did. Lesser minds. 

"You may state your case, kind woman," Ser Gerold offered the eldest of the group before the throne. 

The old woman dared not lay her eyes upon the dias, let alone his royal person. The woman remained silent, even when prompted by the other smallfolk who were with her. Vermin. No spine and no strength. 

His son must have sensed his impatience. "Step forward, Septa, you are free to speak your mind," Viserys said. Free indeed. 

"Your Grace....my King, I helped in an orphanage in....in the city. A moon turn past, a few boys were called to the docks–the Goldcloaks offered them work, they said, and good pay was promised," the Septa said and broke into sobs. "It's been a moon, and I am yet to see them. I fear they may be lost...." 

"Have others been lost in a similar manner, Septa?" Viserys asked. 

"Near half a hundred now, my Prince. And there are other orphanages in the city who have suffered the same tragedy." 

"And what compelled you to bring your case before His Grace, honored Septa?" asked Adrian Celtigar. 

"Do you question the King's love for his people, Lord Celtigar?" Monford Velaryon said. 

"I would never presume to, young Ser," Old Adrian said. "But, the matter pertains to the City of King's Landing – " 

"King's Landing is still mine, Lord Adrian," Aerys said. 

Celtigar smiled and bowed–an unnecessary gesture, but it still pleased Aerys. The old Lord spoke, "The realm in its entirety is yours my King – us lords rule our humble holdings in your name, by your will, for your glory. In your generosity, we thrive, and you were most generous in granting the stewardship of the city to....the boy. Had the good Septa's troubles resolved by those directly responsible, Your Grace – "

"You overstep, my Lord of Celtigar," young Monford said. "In questioning the leadership in the city, you question the very decisions made by His Grace." 

"Oh, no my young friend, incompetence on the part of the City Watch of King's Landing is not a stain on His Grace's decision, but a betrayal of his generous trust." 

"It is you who lacks trust, Lord Celtigar," Monford said. 

As much as Aerys enjoyed the mummery of a debate before him, he had little patience now. 

"Peace, my Lords, we shall return to the issue presented here before us this day," Aerys said. "My son the Prince will return to the City and personally oversee that the boys are found and returned swiftly." 

The Septa smiled and bowed, thanking Aerys. Gullible fools. 

"Your Grace, with the Prince taking charge in King's Landing the matter of the lost boys is as good as solved, I am sure," Celtigar began again, "But the issue of the incompetence on the part of the young Lord Commander, now more than mere rumors, remains to be addressed." 

Enough, you fool! Aerys wished he could feed the old man to his pets. 

"That too shall be handled by my son. I leave the decision to him. Upon his return to the city, he may do as he sees fit." 

Adrian glared at Monford before bowing to Aerys and retreated to the small crowd of his own kin behind him. 

Aerys knew rumors and accusations would always follow the bastard everywhere he went. It was the reason he had separated him from Viserys, and more importantly, from Daenerys. The bastard's stain could not be allowed near his true dragons. If only the boy resembled Rhaegar in more than mere appearance....Aerys pushed the thought away from his mind. No good would come from thinking of the failure his firstborn had died as, made only worse by the promise Rhaegar had shown before the accursed tourney.

Aerys would have preferred to send the boy to his blasted kin in the North, but Stark would never have knelt before him without his nephew a hostage. Lyanna Stark's runt had even grown to be quite useful these days. The boy was most eager to please, such hunger for even the slightest of honours. Very useful indeed. 

Naming the bastard after the greatest men of House Targaryen was done not on a whim. Let the traitors think the boy their savior...their hope. 

How the realm trembles at the thought of another bastard's rebellion, Aerys chuckled at the thought. 

Though in the end...

Fire will reign. 

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Aerys sat before his desk, admiring the tapestry that hung on opposite wall. It depicted a red three-headed dragon, with a stag, a trout, and a lion in each of its jaws, a wolf and a falcon under its clawed feet. 

I am the dragon. The true heir to Aegon's dream of a united realm. 

Even dragons grow old and die, Aerys mused, though it was not known how long each dragon would live for. The old text from Valyria he was reading mentioned recorded ages of some dragons to have been as high as nearly a thousand years. 

Baelor the Blasted, Aerys cursed the man who had ordered the destruction of every copy of Septon Barth's book. Not that Barth was likely to have written down any information from Valyria itself. What Aerys needed was the tomes Barth had read and used in his own learnings on the subject of dragons. Not even the names of old Valyrian texts had survived. Cursed rats, the maesters. Pycelle had promised many things to Aerys, but had produced no results in the nearly twenty years since the dragons had hatched. 

The door to his chambers opened, and Axell Celtigar escorted Aerys' children inside. Viserys looked like Aerys had at that age, but dressed like a peacock on display. Daenerys looked exactly like Rhaella had on the day of their wedding, only, Daenerys had a fire in her Rhaella never had. 

"Your Grace," they both greeted. 

"Come, sit," Aerys said to his children. 

Viserys seemed excited, whereas Daenerys appeared tense. Has the boy been troubling her again? Aerys had put an end to the shameful behavior years ago. A dragon does not cry for his mother. And Rhaella had died to birth a worthy daughter, not a fool like Rhaegar or a weakling like Viserys. It had taken Aerys years to mold his remaining son into a fine prince. The lack of Rhaella's weakening influence had helped, Aerys supposed. 

Aerys looked Viserys in the eyes. "When you return to King's Landing, you will take charge of my affairs there – hold court for the highborn of the Crownlands twice a week, and once a week for the commoners. I will continue to hear the petitions from the other kingdoms here on Dragonstone. You leave in three days." 

Viserys bowed his head. "I shall do as you command. Would you grant me a council, Your Grace? Or am I supposed to – "

Aerys frowned. "You will not lower yourself to dealing with commoners, Viserys. You may have Ser Gerold and Ser Barristan to guard you, but you will heed their council when it comes to your safety. Old men they may be, but they have kept kings alive for decades now, and they know the city and its people well. I will not have my heir be killed in a damn bread riot." 

"Yes, Your Grace," Viserys said, though reluctantly. 

Oh, my son, I know you prefer the younger guards who are easily swayed. Aerys had no wish to have another son taken by his own fanciful dreams, and fools in white who chose the heir over their king. Once was enough. 

"And you my child," Aerys said to his daughter. "You are of an age to be wed. Have your ladies spoken of what it means?" 

"They have, Your Grace," Daenerys said, still tense. "I will do my duty to our house." 

Aerys nodded, satisfied. He had not forced his daughter of ten and three to wed and bed a man, not like his own father had done to Rhaella. Another weak fool. Viserys would not suffer the death of his babes as Aerys had. I promised, did I not, sweet sister? Even if it is Daenerys, and not Shaena? 

"Who do you wish to wed, my son?" 

Viserys feigned pondering the question, as if Aerys did not already know the answer. 

"The most beneficial match would be Lady Margaery Tyrell," Viserys said. Aerys nodded, and Viserys continued. "It would also send the message that loyalty will be rewarded, as surely as treason will be punished." 

Aerys agreed with the sentiment, though he did not voice it. 

"Though the reconstruction work at the Red Keep is nearly complete, we need grain, or gold to purchase the grain to keep the city fed throughout the winter. It has already begun snowing in the North, the Conclave believes winter is two years away at the worst. An alliance with the Reach would give us both." 

Aerys nodded, though winter would not be an issue as dreadful as Viserys seemed to think. A few more dead peasants would not bring ruin, there were too many in the city anyway. Burning down Flea Bottom seems tempting.....but no, I cannot burden the gods for more favours. 

"And what of your sister? Is she to wed a lord? A great lord, perhaps?" 

And let lesser men claim dragons?

"No Andal will ride a dragon," Viserys answered quickly, already expecting the question. "Which is why I am hesitant to wed Lady Margaery, or any lady of the realm. Andals and First Men are beneath us, and beneath us they must remain." 

Aerys allowed a small smile to show. "Our blood holds true power, even my weakling of a father knew it. It was blood that gave me the ability to hatch dragons once more, and it will be your blood that will ensure that your children be able to claim dragons, and their children after them. Without dragons, we will once more be beholden to the wishes of the great lords," Aerys said to his children. "What is a lord but flesh and blood? What is a mere man before the power of dragons? Ha! Never forget that." 

"Then, my children, you will wed each other in a year when Daenerys turns six and ten. The realm will celebrate your union, and three hundred years of our dynasty."

Viserys seemed relieved, and Daenerys turned red. 

"You will prepare the city for a year of celebration, Viserys, I want no expense spared. Make sure the Red Keep is free of rats – of every kind. Tongues, hands, heads – do what you need, but the smallfolk must learn fear once more." 

Viserys nodded. "As you command, father. What of the Gold Cloaks? And their Lord Commander?" 

Aerys' mood soured at the mention of the bastard. "If the boy has not earned his place in half a year, he never will. If the boy does succeed, make sure Ser Allister Thorne understands his duty." 

"Of course, father."

Aerys waved his hand, dismissing his children. 

Once more, Aerys turned the pages of the tome before him, desperate for answers.

How do I breed more dragons? 

How can I control more than one? 

Even hours later, there were no answers to be found. Instead, Aerys recalled every detail he could remember of the night he had made miracle possible. The cost had been high, Aerys knew, but the reward? Sweeter than any victory. 

As he recalled the yellow flames rising higher and higher within the Maidenvault, Aerys heard the voices once more. 

" – High in the halls – " 

....the harp bloody and broken, its song a pain to hear....

" – spare them, please....I beg – "

....a babe cries in agony, another cries for the mother....

" – no, father, do not – "

....three eggs on a pyre.... 

" – demand trial by combat – " 

....three lives to ....

" – seems the Prince is not alone in – " 

....ashes, ashes everywhere....

" – the delay is intentional – "

....stench of blood and perfume....

" – no friend of yours – "

....three heads, always....

" – of the kings who are gone – "

....only the struggle, all eternal....

"No....stop it! I have had enough!" Aerys pleaded to the gods. "Spare me the agony! Please!" 

As always, the gods cared not for his begging, and the voices remained. "Commander! Gerold!" Aerys called. 

The old man rushed inside, and opened the drawer on his desk. 

Aerys knew what was coming. 

" – I want it to stop – "

"Quickly!" Aerys pleaded. 

Gerold measured the concoction in drops as he mixed it with wine. 

" – then why does it feel so right – "

Aerys grabbed the goblet of wine and emptied it in one gulp. "Keep my children away, Gerold." 

The knight nodded. "Of course, my king." 

Aerys already felt his hands growing heavier, and his eyes refused to stay open. 

Peace....for now. 

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Chapter Text

Aemon Waters

Two of Aemon's men greeted him at the stairs. "Ser Allister is within, m'lord," said Symon, his plate-armour marking him a captain in the City Watch. The men wore brass-coated steel that glared under the bright sun, his headache worsening on the warm day. 

It had been nearly a decade since the last winter had ended, but there was no sign of the white winds returning. 

"It was not easy to get him to wait," said Ser Desmond, a Velaryon by birth, but not by any skill at the sea or at trade. "The lesson from the last moonturn helped, I believe."

"Old Allister?" Aemon snorted. "I doubt that." 

The building had belonged to a guild of winemongers who had fought amongst each other a few decades past and been left in disrepair since the merchants had dissolved their alliance. Aemon had ordered it repaired – just enough to make it a respectable place to hold their meetings. Fucking Varys and his horde of mutes. 

"Tell me again," Aemon said. "Why was I not informed of this last night?" 

The two men slowed and Aemon turned to see them looking to the other to answer. "I sent my squire, my lord, but..." 

Aemon let it rest. He did not wish to speak of the true reason, and the men were wise to avoid it.

They headed to the hall the merchants had once used to gather to haggle over prices and taxes. And now it is a place of bickering among the officers. 

As he entered through the great oak doors, Aemon heard Ser Allister's voice break through the murmurs. 

" – what do you say in your defense, Ser Lucen?"  

How dare they begin the enquiry in my absence? 

Aemon saw the accused knight Before he could open his mouth, Symon grabbed his elbow. 

"It is too late now. Thorne has already laid the charges before the captains," Symon said. 

"You would have me abandon an ally?" Aemon had too few of those already. 

"A rotten apple, m'lord, better throw it away before the rot spreads," Symon said. 

Of course, Aemon thought. Symon had warned him from making allies of men with questionable reputations -- even if those allies came cheap. 

On the other hand, Symon would be even more valuable to Aemon with fewer allies at his side. No, I cannot doubt a man without proof, Aemon told himself. That is the way to madness.

"I have gotten myself into a tight little spot, have I not?" 

Symon shrugged. "You did promise to clean up the Goldcloaks."

And what an excellent job I have done. "That was before I learnt that I would cease to be useful if I fail here." Aemon did not let many know of his tenous position, but Symon was one of the few who did. 

Desmond gestured to the high table where Thorne and his thugs sat. Slynt's grin vanished at the sight of Aemon. He glared at the butcher's son for good measure. 

Thorne smiled. Something was not right, not if Thorne was happy to see Aemon present at the trial. 

"Lord Commander!" Thorne called out, standing up far too slow to be of any sign of respect. "Forgive me, I was informed you were not attending this blessed trial."

No, you sly cunt, you wanted me here. Aemon said nothing as he made his way through the gathered men. He did notice the sheer number of the officers present -- everyone from a lowly sergeant to the captains of the seven gates. 

This was your plan, Thorne? 

Painting Aemon as incompetent would only endear him to the corrupt officers, of whom there not few. But it may get me killed though. I cannot be seen as corrupt -- Aerys has killed for less. 

Taking his seat at the head of the table, Aemon surveyed the faces around him. Ser Gyles, a Wendwater from a lesser branch based in the city itself, seemed amused. Impossible to get a read on that one. Ser Ryon, the captain of the River Gate was staring at Aemon, waiting to see which way he would go. Dornishmen are not to be trusted, Aemon recalled being told -- not that any man with sense need to be told. After what the King had done to Sunspear and the army that had gathered in its shadow, Aemon doubted there was a single sand-dweller who did not desire Aemon's death.  

"Ser Lucen was about to answer to the charges leveled against him, my lord," said Jacelyn Bywater. 

"And what are these charges, I ask?" Desmond Velaryon asked.

"Theft, amounting to over half a thousand gold dragons stolen from the vault here. Bribery, the cases of that beyond count," Slynt answered, like a good dog. 

"And beyond doubt, if I may add," said Ser Allister.

"I will be the judge of that, Ser," Aemon said. By law, he was the one who had the last say in the matter of the City Watch. Not that Prince Viserys would care. "So, how do you plead?" Aemon finally looked Lucen in the eye. 

To his credit, Ser Lucen, the Captain of the Mud Gate looked unshaken. "Innocent, m'lord. They're all lies, every single one," he said from his place at the center of the hall.

"You dare name Ser Allister a liar?" Slynt said, while Thorne ignored the man's looks begging approval. 

Aemon knew Allister Thorne had enough sense to not alienate every low-born man  in the Watch. Declaring Lucen guilty for a slight against his honour would do exectly that -- playing right into Aemon's hands.  

Can I prove Allister acted against the interest of the Watch? 

Before Aemon could think more on it, Lucen himself broke the tense quiet. "I would, had it been Ser Allister who brought these charges on me. It was you Slynt, you and your vile ambition that's the true cause behind this farce!"

No gasps of surprise were heard at Lucen's words against Slynt. Even the dogs in King's Landing knew of the butcher's desire to climb high. 

Slynt stood up, "Careful now, scum, careful -- " 

"Sergeant Slynt!" Aemon's voice stopped the fool before he could reach Lucen. "This behaviour is unbecoming of an officer of the City Watch," he said, hiding his glee at seeing the troublesome brute shame himself. "You shame the very gold you wear so proudly!" 

Slynt looked to Thorne for protection, and Aemon breathed a sigh of relief when the old knight refused to even look Slynt in the eye. 

"Ser Allister?" Slynt pleaded, desperation ringing his voice. 

It was laid bare for all to see where Slynt's allegiance laid. I have to ensure the men understand it was Thorne's plot all along, Aemon thought to himself. They must see Thorne as the one who betrayed Slynt, his own man. But that would come later.

When Slynt was forced back to his seat by the pointed stares the other officers sent his way, Aemon asked, "And what evidence do you present this day, Slynt?"

Slynt looked to Ser Allister once more, only to be met with silence. "Witnesses, Lord Commander, and even better – victims of Ser Lucen's extortion rackets." 

"And where are they? Not hiding beneath your cloak, I pray," Jacelyn Bywater said, and with his iron mask of a face, none would risk the man's anger.

"Don't you worry, Bywater. They will be there when the time comes," Slynt said. "Ser," the fool added after a pause. 

If he was offended, Bywater did not show it. But Aemon could clearly see many of the lower ranks angered at the disrespect shown to the man they saw as a honorable leader. 

"When will that be? The Lord Commander is right here with us. I say we decide here and now, no need to let the scum ruin the good name of the Watch any longer," Slynt said. 

"Only His Grace the King has the right to judge a senior officer, Slynt, and in his absence, the Small Council does. This is no barbaric order we serve, nor is it a slaughterhouse we run," Ser Desmond said. 

"Before that," Bywater said firmly, "The Lord Commander must judge upon the validity of the accusations. Only then can the matter be presented before the Small Council."

Allister Thorne scowled at that, and the brief look of panic on Slynt's face told Aemon what was their game. Bywater's gaze was iron, immovable, like his will.

"Seeing that we do not have the necessary witnesses present before us this day," Aemon said, and looked straight at the accuser. "Sergeant Slynt, do you swear on the Seven that the accusations against Ser Lucen, Captain of the Mud Gate, are true?"

"My lord!" Slynt said, panic straining his voice. "I...I...this is..."

"Speak, Sargeant!" Ser Allister said.

Slynt wiped the sweat off his face. "Lord Commander, I have a confession to make!"

Aemon held himself from smiling. Will the toad finally throw his master to the dogs? 

"I know of no witnesses, my lord," Slynt finally confessed. "It was Ser Allister! It was him who came to me with the proposal -- "

All hell broke loose at that. Allister's supporter were not few, and Slynt had his own band of thugs among the lesser officers. Some even tried to tackle Slynt to the floor.

" -- he told me he had witnesses," Slynt shouted over the others. "I trusted his word! Do you hear me? I trusted him!"

"Enough!" Thorne's voice cut through the clamour. "Sargeant Slynt will be given the chance to prove his accusations, as is his right. Is that understood?"

There was some grumbling, but no clear agreement. Noble-born men never banded together like they did whenever a lowborn accused one of their own, Aemon had learnt long ago.

"I said," Thorne said, slower. "Is that understood?"

Slowly, the men voiced their agreement. 

"Now, Sargeant Slynt," Aemon said. "You may speak."

"I accuse Ser Allister Thorne of plotting against the Lo....Ser Lucen -- " 

No one missed what Slynt had truly wished to name.

"Whether his accusations against Ser Lucen are true or false," Slynt continued. "He asked that I be the one to bring these accusations forward." He turned to Thorne, "You said this would mark a new order, the begining of a Watch free of corruption. Forgive me for believing in you, Ser Allister. I shall not make that mistake again."

"And you won't," Bywater said. "If your accusations have merit, that is." Looking the other officers in the eye, he continued, "It is a grave offense to plot against another officer of the City Watch. The lessons learnt from the history of the City Watch of Lannisport and that of Oldtown are not ones to be taken lightly."

"Would you please enlighten us of these lessons, Ser Jacelyn," Symon said and offered a short bow to Bywater. "For those of us who were not born behind the walls of a castle, or blessed with a strong memory." 

Aemon had heard the stories a thousand times from Symon himself.

Bywater nodded, seemingly pleased with the request. "Lannisport burned for three days and three nights when lion fought lion for the control of the Redcloaks -- half of whom were kiled or sent to the Wall when the Lannister of the Rock came down with an army. This was before the dragons came. The tale from Oldtown is even older, and even bloodier. When the officers of the City Watch turned against each other, much like this -- " 

Ser Jacelyn waved his hands at the crowd before him, " -- and the Lord of Hightower knowing of not much beyond his own tower, put to death every officer that was brought to him, and before long, there were barely half a dozen men to command thousands. It is said there were no less than a hundred riots that year -- peace returning only when every lordling in the Hightower was given a command. Since then, only a Hightower leads the City Watch there, even today."    
   
"So, Janos Slynt," Aemon addressed the trembling man that stood before him. "Name your witnesses." 

"Ser Gyles Wendwater," Slynt said. 

When the gathered mwn looked to the captain for his answer, "I do not recall hearing such a conversation, if it ever did happen, Lord Commander," the man said, giving nothing else away. 

Oh, do not bother, Wendwater, Aemon thought. You were there, but siding with Thorne is better for the trade interests your family has in King's Landing. 

"Liar!" Slynt shouted. "I name you a liar, ser."

"Anyone else, Slynt?" Bywater asked.

"There was one more," Slynt said, turning to the crowd of lesser officers behind him. "I name Allar Deem as my witness." 

Another low-born man, Aemon noted. He had seen Deem with Slynt several times, but had not paid much mind to Thorne's man being with Slynt.

Deem stepped forward reluctantly. 

From the corner of his eye, Aemon saw Thorne clenching his fist beneath the table. So it was Slynt's man with Thorne, Aemon realised. Slynt is more cunning than he seems. 

Allar Deem looked at Slynt, then at Thorne, and finally to Aemon. "It is true m'lord, that Ser Allister encouraged Sargeant Slynt to level these charges against Ser Lucen," he said, earning the ire of every officer on Thorne's side. Deem continued undeterred. "But, m'lord, it was Janos Slynt himself who brought these accusations to light, not Ser Allister. On the Seven, I was there when they spoke, Lord Commander, there was no talk of any plot against Ser Lucen, or any other man in the Goldcloaks."

Deem is smarter than he lets on.

If Thorne was relieved, Aemon could not see it when the man was seated right beside him.

"You would betray me, Deem?" Slynt shouted. "Speak the truth, I challenge you in the name of the Seven!"       

"Betray you?" Deem scoffed. "Are you my lord and liege? My loyalty is to King Aerys, and to the Goldcloaks."

"Damn right," Bywater said. 

"You will pay for this, Deem! Do you hear me? I will see to it -- " Slynt raged, held back by the others. 

"Throw him in a cell," Aemon said. "I will not have division in this order of honourable men."

Slynt was dragged away, losing whatever was left of his dignity. 

Thorne turned to Aemon and gave a slight nod before turning back to the men. "In light of Sargeant Slynt's deception, I recommend that the charges leveled against Ser Lucen be dismissed. Lord Commander?" 

Now he turns my moves against me.

Aemon was aware of the room full of eyes upon him. They expect me to dismiss these charges, even though it is no secret Lucen was more corrupt than most. As Lord Commander of the City Watch, Aemon had sworn to eradicate the corruption that plagued the Order. Seven knew the people of the city had suffered enough under the tyranny of men like Slynt, Lucen, and the hundred other men of the kind. 

Aemon looked to the end of the table. It seemed Symon understood and nodded ever so slightly. My work has to start somewere, Aemon told himself. "The case brought forward by Janos Slynt is dismissed," he said, observing the men before him for the faces that lit up at the declaration. Too many. 

Aemon continued, "But Ser Lucen is far from innocent. I, Aemon Waters, son of Prince Rhaegar, Lord Commander of the City Watch of King's Landing, accuse Ser Lucen, Captain of the Mud Gate of bribery and extortion, the counts of which number in the dozens. I declare Ser Lucen dismissed from this honourable order, and order his confinement in the Black Cells to await trial before the Small Council." 

The scribe boy seated below the high table noted down the order in haste and handed it to Aemon for his seal upon the yellow wax. 

"Take him away," Aemon said and handed the order to his men. 

There was utter silence in the room for a while. Whispers and murmurs flooded the room until Aemon silenced them with a raised hand. "I am well aware the rot does not end wth Ser Lucen, but let his be an example for the rest. I will run the City Watch with half the officers if I must, but any man found misusing the powers vested in him by the cloak of gold, will be punished as per the law. If you resist, you will find yourself before a far less patient audience." 

Aemon stood there and watched every face in the room. Most were indifferent, but there were those who seemed to panic at his declaration, and others who seemed more at ease with the events of that day. 

"You may return to your duties now," Aemon said, dismissing the gathring. As the lesser officers left the hall, Ser Jacelyn Bywater raised a closed fist to his chest, and offered a nod of respect. 

At the least, I have his approval, Aemon thought. Is that all it takes to win the loyalty of an honest man? 

Aemon knew though, that not all he men in the City Watch were as honourable as Bywater. Most were crooks with a cloak of gold -- men who would never answer to a man such as Bywater.

Symon joined him as he walked out of the old manse. "It may be unsettling now, m'lord, but I assure you, there are many who appreciate the value of an honest and just City Watch." 

"May be so, Symon, but I fear I may have pushed the worst of the men into Ser Allister's hands," Aemon said. "In turn, he would have to let the crooks do as they please to hold on to his share of control over the Watch."

Symon snorted. "Thorne is old. His days serving the Goldcloaks are numbered. You have the blood of the king running in your veins, the men understand they cannot get rid of you any sooner. It was not many days past when I heard the merchants threaten Ser Ryon with a petition to the Prince, that they were robbed in the name of a 'safety tax'. The days of the the Watch as a gang of thugs and thieves is at an end."

"I do not share your optimism, Symon," Aemon said. "Why did the merchants keep paying over several moons when Ryon was so bold in his scheme? A simple petition to the King would have sufficed."

"Fear, as always," Symon said. "Some braavosi found himself with a slit throat in a whore's bed. Ryon seemed to have implied that there was a 'merchant-killer' on the loose, maybe even a rogue Faceless Man. Ser Ryon even had his men show the merchants the corpse to convince them."

"And on what did he spend all this gold? Buying back his bastard from the Lyseni?" 

The Lyseni were proud of the 'specimens' they kept in their pleasure gardens – and nothing was as curious as a 'sunset lord'. Aemon doubted the lyseni would part with their acquisition for any less than the man's weight in gold. When the king had reduced Sunspear to molten stone, the sellsword companied had turned on the Dornish, and sacked every castle within reach to collect their promised gold. Hundreds of highorn were taken back to the Free Cities before the King's armies could chase the foreigners away. 

"Arse of a Hundred Tears, I believe was the name given to the poor boy," Symon said. "Though I cannot say of the tears were from the eye, or...." 

He laughed, despite the sympathy Aemon held for the fate of a fellow bastard. "Knowing the Lyseni, they might even let Ser Ryon meet his son -- should he agree to pay by the hour." Even among the infamous collection of slaves the Lyseni boasted of, tales of the Bastard of Godsgrace were heard in every port. The Lyseni were proud to have broken the bold and defiant warrior, reducing him to a pleasure slave.

Symon laughed as well. "I hear the King may return to the city soon."

Aemon shrugged. "Those rumors have been around for more than a year now, ever since the workers last of the repairs were completed. But, I can say that Prince Viserys is set to arrive within the moonturn."

Symon patted Aemon's armoured shoulder. "Still worried about that business with the Septa and her orphans?" 

"Ser Desmond tells me the vultures at the court seemed quick to pounce at the slightest chance to see me fed to a dragon."    

"Surely the king would not harm his own blood," Symon said. "The Seven and the Old Gods forbid it. Even the bloody Drowned God those savages follow curses the kinslayer."

"Don't be so certain," Aemon said, looking around to ensure they were not being overheard. "Before the Rebellion, perhaps. Now, the Targaryens are closer to the gods themselves than to men." Aemon was well aware how quickly his value would decline once the king recognised the end of Robb Stark's regency. Benjen Stark's love for his sister had kept Aemon alive, and the new Lord of Winterfell was under no obligation to fight for his bastard cousin. 

"Does the king not care for you, his last remaining grandchild?" 

Aemon smiled, hoping it coulf hide his pain. "He does, in his own way. He did name me to this position, did he not? I am grateful for his trust in me."

"Of course," Symon said. 

Some truths are too dangerous, Aemon reminded himself. He would bring nothing but trouble to Symon if he spoke the truth. 

Aemon knew his worth. 

■▪︎■▪︎■▪︎■▪︎■▪︎■
 

Chapter Text

Daenerys Targaryen

"Soves!" 

Daenerys herself barely heard the command, but the dragon heard it as if the wind did not howl and the waves did not roar beneath the cliffside. The dragon, her sweet Quicksilver, was in a playful mood, it seemed. With a few steps, the dragon leapt off the edge, and closed her wings tight to her body, hurtling straight towards the foaming waves. 

Will I taste the salt water? Daenerys did not know. She could not know. 

Quicksilver did as she pleased. 

Will the rocks crush me to bits? She wondered as the wind rushed past her. 

Rise! Daenerys thought but did not utter the command. I trust you, my friend.

When it seemed that her heart could beat no faster, the dragon spread her vast wings. The sudden change in direction nearly crushed her, held in place only by the saddle and the chains tied to the leather armour around her waist and her thighs. She struggled to hold her breath when the tethers tightened too much, but the laughter that broke out immediately once the dragon slowed down, was worth all the pain. Daenerys laughed again as the dragon flew too close to the waves and the cool water sprayed into her face, washing away all trace of the day's weariness. 

"Paez!" Now that they were away from the island, the dragon slowed down. The winds were not too harsh. The slender, wyrm-like body of her dragon did not need pace to overcome such calm winds. Daenerys let go of the reins, freeing the dragon's horns from her guidance. I am yours now, Quicksilver, Daenerys thought. Take me where your heart pleases.

They flew for hours, and Daenerys was free to let her mind roam free as the dragon flew with the winds, rarely needing to beat her wings. There were no eyes on her, here in the open skies, inspecting every breath she took. Daenerys was free of the whispers and the muttered curses, and no ladies to mind or courtiers to please with her smiles. 

I would gladly give up everything for the freedom to fly away into the horizon, forever chasing the place where the sea meets the skies. Life itself paled in comparison

A wonder the Valyrians ever accomplished all they did, Daenerys thought. There was nothing like flight on dragonback. The Valyrians had waged wars – bloody and brutal enough to displease the Fourteen themselves – all over a single city. It had vexed ever since she had begun to ride her dragon. Why settle for a city, when the whole world was within their reach?

"When a dragon is unlike any other creature, then why do the men who ride dragons think the way every lesser man thinks?" Daenerys recalled the writings of Jaenaera Belaerys, the ancient dragonrider who had tried to reach the southern end of Sothoryos. Whether truly in search of the end of the savage land, or as an escape from Valyria, Jaenaera had written her name in the books of history, outshining the thousands of dragonriders of her time. 

What will I be remembered as? Daenerys shook her head, not wanting the answer to that question. 

There were few ships north of Dragonstone, choosing to hug the coast and risk running aground in the treacherous waters, rather than the vast open Gullet that too led into the Blackwater Bay. What few ships she saw, were fishing boats, small and easy to navigate through the rocky coast. The rest were the smaller galleys of her father's fleet, warships with a shallow draft and rugged hulls that no rocks could sink – or so claimed the captains.

Men on ships cheered as she passed over them, the winds from the beating of Quicksilver's wings strong enough to shake the galley. Daenerys waved her hand, hoping the sailors could see her. A King always made his people feel valued, Daenerys recalled reading about Jaehaerys the First. 

Viserys is no Conciliator. Daenerys had come to understand this long ago. But, I can be the Good Queen come again. With a dragon to command, Daenerys was not without power of her own. Though she had been raised as a flower made of the finest glass in Myr, Daenerys could utter a single command and entire fleets would burn, whole cities would be razed, great armies turned to ash – not that the realm needed a reminder of the cost of defiance. 

The Dornish had been mere shadows of their Rhoynar ancestors, but the remnants of Valyria were not their glorious past self either. Yet, the final battle between th two once-great powers was more decisive than any of the Spice Wars of old. Nothing remained of House Martell, only tales of caution.

He rode for his kin, he rode for his blood, 
In the plains he fought, in the dunes he hid.
Fire takes it all...

Daenerys muttered the words, the cursed song that kept the realm in line. 

....he ran with his men, he ran for the mountains red,
In the caves he hid, in his hope he died, 
A dragon sees it all....

The last stand of the Rhoynar was a song not fit for the ears of a child, but she had heard it all the same. You are a dragon, she was told. Prince Oberyn's petty uprising had been defeated long before the first drops of blood had been shed – the First Men and Andals of Dorne had refused to raise their banners.

....he cried for his women, he fought for his young,
In the night he struck, in his rage he drowned,
A dragon fears it not....

The madman – if the song was to be believed – Prince Oberyn had lost his sanity when he had lost his sister and her children in the chaos of the wildfire accident. Near the end of the year two hundred and eighty-three, wildfire had nearly destroyed the Red Keep, killing Rhaegar's family. 

Daenerys mourned for her eldest brother, dead before she was even born. Would Rhaegar have forced me into a dress and a castle? Would he wed me to his heir? She would never know. All that is left of Rhaegar is his shame, his mistake. And for a bastard child, her father had started a war -- when the mad viper had called for the blood of Lyanna Stark's son. His and many others'.

....under the Dragon's Eye....

As she grew, Daenerys could see it was a question of pride for her father, more than love for his grandson. In the end, Dorne had been shattered by King Aerys the Second. The Daynes and the Yornwoods now held power in their corners of the desert kingdom, and the once great seat of the Martells home to ghosts and ashes. 

....under the Dragon fire.... 

When the sun touched the horizon to her west, Daenerys had the dragon land on a nameless little island that sat near the forested cliffs of the Cracklaw Point. It was easily recognised by its crescent-shaped beach and the tall rocks that broke the larger waves from the Bay. 

She took her boots off, eager to feel the cool water and the warm sand. Giggles broke out of her when the waves swept out the sand beneath her feet. She waded into the waves till the water reached her knees and bent down to touch the sea. 

Having spotted a bunch of birds, Daenerys ran along the edge of the waves with her arms spread wide. The poor birds fled as if she were a dragon herself. Laughter – free and true – bubbled forth as she danced in the waves as she ran along the length of the beach. 

In her joy, Daenerys did not notice the shadow that passed over her until she heard the screech – that is not Quicksilver. 

Her hand shielding her eyes from the setting sun, Daenerys recognised the dragon that was turning back towards the isle, her own dragon answering as it screeched once more. 

The larger dragon's great purple wings were only a shade lighter than its body, with scales that shone like amethysts under the evening sun. 

Sion

Named for an old Valyrian legend, her father's dragon fit the tale well. The beast landed amidst the shallow waves, it's rider jumped off the saddle and landed with a grace not many knew her father still capable of. 

"Overproud beast!" 

Daenerys giggled as she waited for the other dragon to fly off. The great beast returned to the skies to chase after Quicksilver. 

"Well, it seems I have raised the daughter of a fisherman, not a princess," her father said with a hint of a smile as he neared her. "At least, fishermen have happier lives, even if they smell terrible."

"No, father," Daenerys said, half-hearted disapproval in her voice.  "Valyrians were sheep herders before they tamed dragons, father. You cannot mock those of humble means without displeasing our own forefathers." 

Away from Dragonstone and the court and it's vipers, her father was quick to smile. "Little dragon! How long have your claws grown..."

Daenerys caught his hand and pulled him to walk beside her. "How did you find me, father?"

"Sion brought me here. I left when I heard that it had been hours since you had left," the King said. 

They walked along the beach in silence, both enjoying the tickle beneaththeir feet as the waves receded. "Tell me, daughter, does the life as a queen call to you? Do you not feel there is more to your destiny than your duties to your brother and our House?"

Daenerys tried not to show that she was taken aback by the question. Since she was old enough to understand, she had been told that it was her duty as a woman to wed and bear children, to raise strong sons and dutiful daughters. 

On the other hand, every time she reached for the skies on the back of her dragon, the troubles of court and her duties as a princess seemed to fade away, even if only for a few hours. 

"I can be more, father – more than than just a wife to Viserys," Daenerys said, trying not to be intimidated under the cold look her father gave her. "But, I understand my duties to our House, to the realm, father. Should the blood of the dragon thin down, we may even lose what remains of control we have on our dragons. I would never be cause to any difficulty Viserys suffers."

Aerys nodded slowly, a sign of aproval if there was ever one. "It is painfuly obvious that you do not love Viserys, it is a predicament your mother too suffered. I am not proud of it, but if it is any consolation, Viserys is a far better man than I ever was. Rhaegar was greater still, until he let himself be bewitched by that Stark girl," he said, both anger and sadness clear to see. "You were born a princess, and there is no escape from your duty, but I do hope you find joy in motherhood, my child. Besides, none can stop you from having your own little island of freedom every once in a while."

Daenerys wiped the tears from her face. She hugged her father tightly, giggling when he laid a kiss on her head. "Thank you, father."

"You deserve everything, my little dragon," Aerys Targaryen said, "Everything, and more." He pulled apart to look into her eyes. "Beware of the dangers though -- I too had my own little islands, and even with so little in them, it was so very easy to lose myself. Without pain, one cannot appreciate pleasure. One without the other is -- "

" -- maddening..." Daenerys muttered. 

Aerys laughed, free and true. "Yes...yes, excatly, my dear. It can be quite maddening," he said. "And there is none who knows madness better than I."

Daenerys lost her smile. The Mad King...a terrible monicker for a man forced to act harshly. 

"I care not for the rumors, Daenerys," the King said. "I did what was necessary...even though I have not always. Soon, the realm will be reminded of our strength. Rhaegar's boy writes that the Red Keep is fit to house us once more."

"I understand, father. You sacrificed the love of the people to keep them safe from the schemes of men like Tywin Lannister and Rickard Stark. You brought back the dragons....Viserys and I, we only have to hold the Kingdoms together."

"I do not doubt you will."

I cannot be free, Daenerys thought, but I shall be loved by my people.

"Is it to your liking, princess?"

Daenerys inspected the embroidery done on the white silk. Done in a thread the colour of white gold, the likeness of flames was visible only when near. The rest of the components of her dress were being prepared elsewhere in the castle. "It certainly is subtle -- "

" -- Just like the Princess requested," the dressmaker interrupted.

Swallowing her instinct to reprimand the lysene, Daenerys continued. "Yes, Master Ozzel, but it might appear a bit too....plain for my taste -- "

The slight man gasped -- quite dramatically, Daenerys thought. 

"Plain?"  Lysono Ozzel said, incredulous. "You may as well name it dull, Princess."

"Thousands will attend the ceromony, Master Ozzel. The dress must be a show of purity, yes -- it does not mean you have my permission to make it so dull."

Ozzel frowned in thought. "Perhaps the Princess can give me a few days' time to prepare more examples..."

Daenerys looked once more at the cloth before her. Still, it was beautiful work. "I want you to add thread of gold to the flames. Not too much, mind you, but enough to lend the entire dress a bit more sparkle."

Ozzel bowed. "As my Princess wishes."

Daenerys left the antechamber and sat down before the mirrror as her maids undid the elaborate braid, replaced by something simpler. Satisfied, she returned to her ladies in the balcony. 

"Returning to bed, Princess? This early?" asked Larissa. 

The other ladies chuckled. 

Daenerys did not show her disapproval. They should know better. Despite being just over nine years old, Larissa was not spared from her mistakes by the others of the bunch -- as if their mothers had trusted them not to shame their House at that young an age. 

Daenerys gave the Velaryon a pointed look and soon enough, the girl blushed and sunk back into her chair. She has much to learn. 

"No, little cousin," Daenerys said. "I intend to pay a visit to the Sept. Later, the harbour markets – I hear that more ships from the Free Cities have arrived. Perhaps I can find some fabric I may like."

"Good," Lady Grafton declared. "A Lady can never have too many dresses." The widow of Lord Marq, she was the eldest of Daenerys' entourage. 

"That had not been your opinion a moonturn past, Lady Grafton, to your own good-daughter, no less," Ysilla Royce said. 

Lady Grafton did not even bother to look to her irritant. "The Lord of Gulltown cannot spend gold like kings, girl. My son has no inhibitions when it comes to your cousin. A pity, the peace treaty did not specify which Royce would marry into my house," the Lady said.

"You will find I have no regrets, my lady," Ysilla said. 

Daenerys remained quiet, her eyes on the small book of poetry in her hands. Her ladies spoke freely when they thought she was not paying any attention to their bickering. 

"And nothing of value was lost, dear, worry not," Grafton said. "Your cousin makes my son happy. That is all that matters. With her in his bed, he must be the only lord in the Vale to not stray elsewhere."

Ysilla did not speak further. Her eldest brother, Lord Andar had recently passed, and if the rumors were to be believed, he had caught the pox from a whore. Ever since Jon Arryn had been sent to the Wall after the failed Rebellion, the prestige of House Royce had fallen sharply. A pity, Daenerys thought. The House had served her ancestors loyally -- from the Dance to the Blackfyre Rebellions. 

Should one man's mistakes be enough to invalidate centuries of loyal service? Daenerys oft wondered. Her father had ended House Darklyn root and stem for Lord Denys' crimes. What the man had done to her father during his captivity, Daenerys could never convince her father to reveal. But, it appeared Lord Darklyn's actions had been far worse than a bloody Rebellion that had claimed her eldest brother's life. In comparison, the lords Stark, Arryn and Tully had been sent to the Night's Watch. 

Daenerys could stand no more of the quarreling flock for the day. "Larissa, would you -- "

The girl jumped up from her seat, "The docks? Yes! I will -- " she stopped, her face red. "Forgive me, Princess."

Daenerys smiled despite the girl's lack of proper behavior. "Inform Ser Barristan to send for my litter. Be quick."

The ladies took their leave -- except one. 

"Your indulgence does not do the girl any favour, Princess," Alysanne Lefford said. 

Heir to the Golden Tooth, Alysanne was near a decade older than Daenerys, yet she remained unwed. From all the carefully worded questions she asked, Daenerys suspected she was one of the informants who answered to Casterly Rock. Pycelle, that toad, was the obvious one. The lady before her was a bit more subtle. 

"Larissa is just a child," Daenerys said. "There is still time for her."

Alysanne snorted. "A motherless child. Like chickens, they attach themselves to the first creature that gives them warmth. I know, Princess... I know it too well."

Daenerys swllowed. "Unfortuntely, as do I.  There is no need to burden her with the expectations of others -- Larissa will not be a queen."

"Would Lady Ashara see it the same way?" Lefford asked. 

Daenerys firmed her lips. "Lady Ashara was not my mother, Alysanne." 

Alysanne moved to sit beside Daenerys. "Yes, Lady Ashara left the day she was allowed to. But she was as much a hostage as I. You can deny that all you want, Princess. You were the only child she ever raised. True, she did help me regain my wits after my mother passed....but I was no more than a friend to her. She was proud of you, I could tell. It is precisely why you should be firm with Larissa. The realm is not kind to motherless girls...especially those who do not ride dragons."

Daenerys patted her hand. There was wisdom in the older woman's words. "She will learn, I promise."

The small stone dias was ill-prepared to host a princess, much less her unpremeditated court out in the open. The village sat between a ridge on the south and a small patch of woods to the north, with the Dragonmont looming over it – not unlike the embrace of a dragon. 

"....is too fair a price, princess," the merchant said, handing her a parchment. "As you can see in my ledger, Your Grace, wool may not be heavy, but it does take much space on the ships – ships that are not of the Vale, nor are the captains – who see fit to charge us poor merchants as they like. Ever since Lord Jon was taken from us – "

"Jon Arryn was a traitor!" Larissa blurted. 

"What do you know of treason, child?" the merchant said, clearly angered. Then he looked to Daenerys,  "And us poor commoners had little to do with Lord Arryn's rebellion, princess." 

Daenerys certainly held sympathies for the suffering of the smallfolk, but the needleworkers of Dragonstone too were her people. "This was not an issue a few moons past, was it?" 

"The issue is as old as you, Princess," the merchant said, his own group in agreement. "Gulltown's taxes on the shipwrights and their import of wood from the North saw to it that no ships remained to Valemen. I sold mine own ships when the cost of repairs became too high for common men like me." 

Lady Grafton did not bother to hide her displeasure.

"It was the price of treason, young man, but, I agree that you must not bear the burdens of others. Tell me your name. I shall write to my son – Lord Gyles is a reasonable man, I have raised him well." 

The man bowed swiftly, and straightened with a wry smile. "Forgive me, my lady, I did wish to trouble you at the royal court. You must understand, my lady, I would never have approached His Grace's Small Council had the situation been less dire..."

"Has something happened in Gulltown?" Ysilla Royce asked, frighted. "Is my cousin, the Lady Myranda, in good health?"

The merchant was quick to recognise the Royce. "Your concern is heartening, my lady, but fortunately, it is quite unnecessary. The Lady Grafton was quite well, last I heard," the man said. Then he turned to Daenerys, "But Gulltown itself is, if I am honest, in a state of fear. With the snows getting deeper at Eastwatch, the northmen say winter is coming, and soon. The prices of bread and meat have gone up, and the fishmongers see it as their chance to make a copper or two more." 

"And what has Lord Grafton done to lessen the prices of food?" Daenerys asked, and saw Lady Grafton's head turn to her quickly. "Surely, it can be solved with increasing the supply of grain and meat from elsewhere...." her voice faded as she realised that the cost of grain from across the Narrow Sea would be even greater. 

The merchant sighed wearily. "Lord Grafton wished to raise taxes on trade of wool and firewood, but in her kindness, the Lady Grafton convinced him otherwise." Then he looked to Ysilla. "Your lord brother sent fifty wagons of barley to ease the prices, but Grafton men-at-arms seized the grain at the gates." He looked to Daenerys once more, his hands joined, "I had petitioned the lord to grant me his time, but ever since Lord Shett replaced Mathos Arryn as the Seneschal, no commoner has been granted audience with the lord. Seeing no hope on the horizon, I was forced to move my wife and children to Addam's vill on Driftmark." 

Silence. Not one of her retinue spoke when the merchant finished. 

Daenerys saw Lady Grafton rub her neck, though her face remained stone. So, that is what it takes to see the old woman rattled – nothing short of Gulltown on the brink of a bread riot. 

"I must give this issue time and thought, I hope you understand," Daenerys said to the merchant. 

"Yes, Your Grace, I would never urge for haste, but..." 

" – women and children starve even as we speak," Ysilla Royce added, giving Lady Grafton a sidelong glance. "What is of utmost import, is the Volantene silks and Lysene wine....or is it Lysene silk and Volantene wine.... I am not familiar with such lux –" the girl said, her voice as sweet as the venom of her words. 
 
"Oh, enough, you twit!" Lady Grafton snapped at last. She turned to Daenerys, "Is it not clear that this man here was encouraged to put forth this farce?" 

The merchant was indignant. "My lady! Not one word I – "

The man stopped when Daenerys raised her hand. "You forget yourself, Lady Grafton, this man has a right to be heard," she said. Satisfied with the chastised nod from the older woman, Daenerys gave Ysilla a short glare, wiping the smirk on her face. Daenerys nodded to the scribe at her side, and in a small book, the man noted down the merchant's name and the issue brought forward. 

"Princess, I believe it is time we left for the harbour," Ser Barristan said. 

To the west, the sun was already halfway on its quest to the horizon. "Then we proceed to the harbour." The kingsguard fell in step beside her, his heavy armour replaced with lighter mail and leather. "You may remove your helm, ser," she said, reaching up to knock on the great dome of steel – an indulgence the old knight had allowed ever since she was old enough to remember. "Remove it, Ser Barristan, I wish to hear your words, not just muffled grumble." 

The old knight laughed as he placed his helm beneath his arm. "Oh, I would never complain, Princess. You are as delightful – "

"As a dragon, ser," she answered. "I have tormented you far too many times to be deemed delightful." 

"While that is true," the knight said. "In the five years I spent saving your nephew from his own self, I have learnt to appreciate the little disaster you used to be, Princess." 

Daenerys gasped. "A disaster you name me?" She swatted at his shoulder, only to hurt her own hand. "I would have you know, Ser Grandfather, I happen to command a dragon."

The old man laughed. "Oh, I have missed you, little Princess."

Pleased with the old knight joyous once more, Daenerys allowed herself a smile, a true one. Sworn to celibacy, the Kingsguard had no choice but to see the royal children as the only children they would have a hand in raising. For ten years, Ser Barristan had been her sworn shield, though no songs were sung of the promise he had given her then.

"Tell me, what kind of a man is your squire?" Daenerys asked as her litter was prepared.

The knight gave her a sad smile and before he could answer, they heard her ladies approach them. "Another time, Princess," he said, and looked down to his feet. "Though I will say this – he is your brother's son, perhaps heedless to my guidance....other than that, he is every bit the good man his father was." 

Daenerys smiled. She did not remember much of her nephew, only that they had been separated soon after their stay in the nursery. Viserys had spoken fondly of Aemon, no doubt seeing Rhaegar come again. "Will you knight him soon, then?"

"I should not speak this, but His Grace forbade me from doing so, Princess...." 

Daenerys did not ask the reason. The knight would not have one – Kingsguard never demanded reasons for their commands. 

Still, her father had named Aemon to the City Watch, the Lord Commander even. Despite the complaints that Aemon's youth was unsuited to the role, her father had remained firm. He must truly miss Rhaegar to honour his son, even a bastard.

"I am sure His Grace has his reasons..." 

Ser Barristan nodded, not meeting her eyes. "I have no doubt he does, Princess." 

Late into the evening, Daenerys and her retinue were yet to leave for the castle. Though Ser Barristan had protested, the old knight did not have it in him to deny his charge. 

While the small town overlooking the harbour was beautiful during the day, it was in the evenings that the place gained true life. The fishermen returned with their catch, flooding the market with the smell of fish. Daenerys resisted the urge to cover her nose. 

I must appear humble, the velvet glove to my brother's fist of steel. 

The fishmongers knew a princess herself would never buy their produce, but they tried anyway -- a sense of optimism Daenerys admired. 

Having crossed the lower streets full of fish, they entered the cleaner parts of the town where the merchants sold goods of luxury. The shops were few, just over a score at the most. Daenerys had once snuck a look into the scrolls for the tax collection on Dragonstone, she had learnt it was the merchants who paid more gold than the rest combined. 

Of course, the scores of lords who ruled over the rather small trade towns and shipwrights' villages did pay more gold, but that was likely a fraction of what the petty lords themsleves collected for their coffers -- most of which was supposed to be spent on galleys and harbour defence. But with the return of dragons to the skies of the Blakwater Bay, the pirates and slave-raiders did not dare cross the Gullet. 

Considering the enormous cost of rebuilding the Red Keep, Daenerys had expected her father to have already raised the taxes on the petty lords sworn to Dragonstone, but it was not so. The long peace brought with it the long summer -- the longest in known memory. The Summer of Dragons, as King Aerys named it, had brought enough wealth to even begin the rebuild of the long-ruined Summerhall.

"Will you grant Summerhall to Aemon?" Daenerys had heard Ser Gerold ask her father, many moonturns past. 

"Why not?" he had asked. "His father was born there, it will be a fine gift once complete."

"He is not without ambition, Your Grace...."

"What is a dragon without fire, Gerold?" 

The fear of another rebellion -- this one led by a dragon -- had plagued the court ever since Aemon's birth. Years after the dust had settled from the Viper's petty uprising, the same fears had returned. Her father seemed to be unbothered, but Viserys had tried to purge the court of the fearmongering. Yet, there remained those who would use it to further their own cause. 

"....twenty of gold!" a man said, holding up a gauntlet. "The finest steel in all of Essos...." 

Viserys would appreciate the gift, Daenerys thought.

"Twenty gold dragons for a pair, is it not?" Daenerys asked. 

The merchant's face brightened at the sight of her approaching his shop. 

"You are correct, Princess, it is twenty for a pair." 

Ser Barristan beside her snorted. "One could buy an entire suit of armour for twenty dragons at the smithy in King's Landing." 

The merchant waved his hand. "The quality of my wares, I assure you Princess, will find no match on this side of the Narrrow Sea. This is Qohorik steel, blessed by the great Black Goat," the merchant said, and held the gauntlets to the kingsguard. "Try it, Ser, nothing less than Valyrian steel itself can cut through the metal – I, Garm-Bel give my word. Look at the fine gaps, look within, Ser, there is steel within steel. Has any westerosi smith ever managed so clever a creation?" 

Reluctantly, Ser Barristan signed to the red-cloaked guards to remain vigilant. He accepted the steel glove and wore it on his right hand. Flexing both his hands, the knight smiled. "Truly....marvelous." 

Garm-Bel smiled widely. "It would make a fine addition to the armour of your guards," he said, nodding at the guards standing behind her. 

"The guards?" Daenerys raised an eyebrow. "Many would think it a great honour to have their wares graced by the Prince....or even the King."

The merchant smiled, like the others of the kind always did. "A great honour it is, Princess, no doubt there," he said, placing an even more ornate gauntlet before them. "But, this is the one worthy of royal hands. Gold details painstakingly inlaid, and the metal itself blackened by the spell-forges of the deepest pits of Qohor. It would be the honour of my life to sell my goods to the dragon kings."

Daenerys admired the second piece. It was indeed beautiful, and the black steel even matched the suit of armour Viserys treasured. 

"So you could sell of all your pieces at once?" Ser Barristan said before turning to her. "I have to admit, Princess, the individual joints for each of the fingers do allow for a greater grip on the sword. I cannot say if it still protects the fingers as well as a lobstered gauntlet." 

Daenerys had not worn a single piece of plate in her life, but she could understand the knight's assessment. "Then consult with the Lord Commander, Ser. Whatever our guards need, it shall be provided." 

"That is very kind of you, Princess," the knight bowed his head, the rest of her guards following. 

The merchant was eyeing the exchange keenly, unable to hide his smile at his fortune. 

"Well done, Lydus, well done," came a mocking voice. 

"Go away, you old fool!" the merchant said. 

From the alleyway beside the shop, a tall figure emerged. "Hello there, Princess." 

"Not a step further," Ser Barristan said, unsheathing his sword. "Shed the cloak, slowly."

The mysterious figure raised his hands in surrender. "I am no threat, Andal."

"Pay him no mind, Princess, I beg of you..." the merchant Lydus said. "He is nothing but a charlatan -- a man of low trickery, nothing more."  

Daenerys observed as the cloaked man left the shadows and dropped the hood covering his face. His colouring was as brown as that of any other Essosi, but the face and eyes were....different. Who am I to know every face in Essos? Daenerys assumed the man must be of some lesser known part of Essos. Dothraki blood, mayhaps. She had only heard stories of the horselords.

"Is that any way to treat your own brother, Lydus?"

"You are no brother of mine, fool. I curse the day my father gave my sister's hand to an eastern charlatan – you have no magic, as you claim."

"One should not lie before royalty, Lydus," the man of mystery said with a chuckle. "You know that last bit too, is not quite true...at least, not in more than a decade." There was a mad gleam to hs eyes as he said it. 

Lydus the merchant snorted. "And what of it? Tricks on the mind do not earn you gold. Even so, do not disturb my business with Her Grace. Leave, I will bring you some bread and wine if you do." 

The man listened, and sighed, as if he had come to a decision. It had Ser Barristan and the guards stiffening in their armour, their hands on their swords. "I am unarmed, Ser," he said and shed his cloak. "However, I do have something to offer to the Princess."

"I suggest we leave, Your Grace. The sun has already set," Ser Barristan said. 

"What I offer, is her legacy as the blood of Old Valyria," the man said, his dark eyes narrowed in irritation. "I do not ask for coin, nor do I ask for royal favour."

"Then what do you want in exchange for this...gift, as you claim it?" Daenerys asked, intrigued. "And what exactly is it that you possess?"

The dark skinned man smiled. "What I have is...invaluable, Princess. It was forged in the flames of Old Valyria. My tent is not far, and for your protection, you may bring as many guards as you wish – if it eases their minds."

"We cannot trust this strange man, Princess..." one of her ladies said, after having kept quiet all this time. 

"Princess, this is highly unusual. His Grace will be displeased when he hears of you being in danger," Ser Barristan said. 

"Look at him, Princess – he even looks Dornish...what if he is a Dornishman?" Lady Grafton said.  

"I am curious what he has to offer. Perhaps it is nothing more than a trick from the Free Cities, or a spectacle from further east -- those not new," Daenerys said. "We are on Dragonstone. There is nothing that can harm us here."

Despite their clear disagreement, they obeyed. 

"Please, follow me, Princess," the mysterious man said, making a mockery of a bow. 

"If you cannot hide your uncouth ways, at least bless us with your name..." Ser Barristan said. 

"I am called Nasc'ylon'arrus," the man said, and chuckled at the silence that followed. "Not many can speak the names of my people. You may address me as 'Cylon'."

"Cylon..." Ser Barristan tried. "A strange name, even for an Essosi." 

"That is because the lands I hail from lie far beyond what you know as Essos."

"There is nothing beyond Essos – just storms and giant creatures that swallow ships whole!" little Larissa said. 

This Cylon, the man from lands-beyond-Essos nodded in all seriousness as he held open the door to his little shop. "You would be right, young one, and I would not blame these primitive sailors for their ignorance – "

"Primitive?" Larissa shrieked, "Corlys Velaryon was the greatest sailor to ever live, and he was my ancestor. If he couldn't sail beyond Asshai, no one can." 

Cylon merely seemed amused. "Not many of my people travel this far – even if they do, they always try to keep themselves in the shadows. I would not reveal myself if there was no need," he said. 

"Where do you come from then? Yi-Ti?" Ysilla asked.

"Asshai lies east of Yi-Ti, and he did say he was from beyond Asshai," Larissa corrected the Royce. "Though I do not believe he speaks the truth." 

Cylon ignored the young girl. "I hail from the land of a thousand kingdoms – your king rules over a mere seven."

"Then your kings are weak," Alysanne Lefford said. "The Seven Kingdoms too once numbered in the hundreds, until the Great Kings united what petty kingdoms they could." 

"That is....interesting," Cylon said. "Where I come from, we are one people, even when we belong to a thousand different kingdoms. Not even the Golden Empire can match my people....the only people who could have challenged us died out ten millenia ago. What remains of our ancient enemies is naught but stories and legend – your learned men, these maesters, call them the Empire of the Dawn, I believe." 

"If what you say is true, why would you ever leave your land?" Larissa asked.

"Curiosity, perhaps," Cylon said, lifting the lid of a large wooden trunk, and allowed the kingsguard to inspect the contents before inviting Daenerys herself to have a look inside. "I did travel far and wide in search of wisdom, hoping I would uncover the secrets lost when the Empire of the Dawn fell," he said, unwrapping the leather and cloth off of a long and thin object. 

"What did you hope to find? If your people are as great as you claim, then...." 

"Something ails my lands, something sinister thrives among my people. I may not have found our salvation, but I did find love when I sailed west of the Bone Mountains. Lydus out there, was once my brother-by-law. He hates that I remind him of his dead sister, but he cannot afford to hire a warrior to guard him and his wares. I protect him, he lets me explore lands not mine own."

Ser Barristan's grip on Daenerys' arm tightened ever so slightly. 

"Is this it?" Daenerys asked, inspecting the long object made of a darkened glass. "Is it made of obsidian?" 

"Correct, Princess. This is a glass candle, an instrument of great power in the proper hands."

"Sorcery is evil!" said one of her ladies. 

Daenerys gave the girl a pointed look. Had their presence not been necessary, she would have rid herself of at least half of the hens that followed her.

"Sorcery can be whatever you want it to be. It is the people that are evil, more often than not," Cylon said.
 
"Besides, no glass candle has ever been lit since the Doom," Daenerys assured her ladies, soothing the few among them truly pious.

Cylon stared at the candle before him. "What few remain, are in the hands of fools and pretenders. I only hope to restore the priceless object to its rightful owner," he said, offering Daenerys the ancient candle. 

"It would make a fine addition to the mantle in my chambers," Daenerys said. "What is your price, Cylon? I would be happy to pay you in gold or gemstones, assuming you allow a maester to verify the authenticity of the candle, of course." 

"Authenticity? Yes, yes," Cylon said. "Why wait, Princess? Take it in your hands, here," he said, holding the candle forward for Daenerys to take. 

Before Daenerys could think, her hands shot forward to grab the candle, only to be stopped by Ser Barristan. What if it is cursed? The stories she had heard of Valyria were enough to restrain herself. Not until it is deemed safe, she told herself. 

Though disappointed, Cylon shrugged. "I will wait here, Princess. You may carry the candle to your maester, and if it is what I claim, then you may pay me."

"You are aware of the cost of defrauding a highborn, I presume?" Ser Barristan said. 

"It does not concern me, Andal," the strange foreigner said. "I am not some poor charlatan desperate for a bit of coin, though Lydus likes to think so. My goals are..." he sighed, "beyond that."

Ser Barristan gave Cylon one last glare as they left. 

Lightning pierced through the pitch-black of the sky. Daenerys shuddered as a strange howl sounded amidst the thunder. She was in a forest, it seemed. She walked towards a hill in the distance – a hill with a massive tree, cursed with branches twisted and terrible.

Her breath froze as the cold winds blew, but she kept moving towards the great white tree. A wierwood, Daenerys recognised from the tales. 

The wind whispered, but she was alone in the forest. 

Suddenly, a howl sounded in the distance, and Daenerys could see a wolf crest a hill beneath the wierwood. The wolf howled again aand disappeared behind the tree. 

"... pale wyrm ends all..." she heard the wind carry the whisper once more. 

Daenerys woke up hungry for breath. She rubbed her arms and legs for warmth. Merely a dream. It seemed her nightmares had returned. 

Knowing it was futile to try to fall into sleep once more, she rose from the bed and walked to the study. As she entered the small room, she noticed a candle was already lit. 

No...impossible, then she truly realised it was no mere candle that was lit -- instead, the glass candle from the stranger burned steadily, a flame of pure white. 

Magic still lives. True, the dragons were proof that the maesters were not entirely corect in their assertion. But at times, she could not deny that dragons were just beasts -- unnatural, perhaps, but flesh and blood still. Dragons, like any beast, ate and rested, were born and were killed. 

Daenerys neared the burning candle, fascinated with its flame. She did not realise she had the candle in her hands until her hands stung. She released the candle and saw two cuts on her palms, from the sharp spiral ridges on the candle. Before she could grab a piece of cloth to tie the cuts, her eyes began to burn. Tears flowed freely as she rubbed her eyes, but in vain. 

The torment did not stop. 

Suddenly, she could see once more, but it was not her chambers she saw. The pain fadeed away as the sound of horns blowing and became clearer. The walls of the chamber were a blue-tinged black, not unlike the night sky. She seemed to move towards the open door to a gallery. Standing at the railing, she could see brightly decorated streets of a city, a city that seemed to stretch forever into the horizon. The city was in a celebration,  and the crowds below cheered at the sight of her. 

This is a city I do not recognise, people I do not know, a time I have never lived through. And yet, the people cheers were louder when she waved at them. 

Daenerys heard someone speak from behind her, in a language she had never heard before. Still, she found herself turning to the voice, and saw a tall man with short silver hair, dressed in strange clothes resembling valyrian robes and a great greatsword strapped to his back.

The man smiled and spoke once more, and though Daenerys did not know the language, she found herself responding, her voice that of a stranger's. 

A memory, Daenerys realised as she neared the man. This must be the memories of another woman. 

The man embraced her in a hug, and their lips met in a kiss. Daenerys had never been kissed by a man before – it was strange and exciting, but it was not her in the woman's place, not truly. Yet, it felt real. 

The man broke the kiss and spoke softly, love clear in his nearly black eyes. He held her hands in his, and without a single word, flames of pure white sparked to life in their hands. Their hands did not burn as the flames danced at her fingertips. She spoke in the strange tongue again, and before the man could respond, the vision faded from her mind, and Daenerys found herself in her chambers once more. 

A vision – Daenerys knew she had been gifted with a vision. I am no dreamer. The glass candle had granted her the vision, it was clear. 

Or....is this a path to madness? 

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