Qcp3

It is the year 104 AC. The Old King Jaeherys, has recently passed away and King Viserys Targaryen has assumed the Throne.

But not all is well in the Realm. On the one hand the Velaryons smart at being passed over for Kingship. On the other, Prince Daemon covets the title of Heir. Despite the Concilliator's great efforts the Realm remains a step away from war.

And now, it all falls upon a dragon who isn't a dragon at all, to ensure their survival.

Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text104 AC

King's Landing 

The Street of Steel, true to it's name was filled with the sounds of striking metal. 

It was a narrow cobbled street leading up Visenya's Hill, from Fishmonger's Square to the top of the Hill were there was a modest, but beautifully designed Sept for the City's faithful.

Both sides of this Street were lined with the forges and workshops of some of the best blacksmiths in Westeros.

Aemon had come here with his father.

Prince Daemon, wanted to buy his son his first sword.

Three years, had passed since the Great Council and since then, many things had changed.

For one thing, Viserys was King and his father Prince Daemon, the Master of Coin.

As for another, his work in the training yard seemed to have finally paid off, and he was supposed to squire for Ser Steffon Darklyn of the Kingsguard. 

And as a squire, he had graduated from using wooden swords and blunted practice blades, or so his father said, before bringing him here.

"Father, where are we going? We have already passed by so many shops." Aemon asked.

"You're a Prince of House Targaryen boy, a Dragon, you will wield the best sword that money can buy." Daemon declared.

I nodded in acquiescence, as we rode along the Street.

Daemon on his fierce destrier Arrax and Aemon on his docile pony who he had named Lady.

As we progressed along the Street, I saw the shops become grander. 

Some even had people outside them shouting for our patronage.

Finally, after a long uphill ride we reached a shop that was grander than any others in the vicinity.

It was a squat, three story building made of pale red stone. 

It had oak double doors, on which was the beautiful image of two dragons intertwined together, carved upon.

One of them ebony and the other white, and both with sparkling, ruby red eyes.

There was a man standing guard outside, who let ushered us in immediately. 

The owner of the shop was a Volantene man, named Lysandro Valar.

He was a slender, bald man, with pale chalk-white skin and bright blue eyes.

And, with the jagged lightning bolt tattoo running down his cheek he probably was a former slave.

He guided us to a cushioned leather settee and as we got seated, a slender Lysene girl with served us some Arbor Gold wine in two silver cups.

"Master Armorer, I need a good sword for my son." Daemon said, taking a drink of the wine.

"All our blades are of fine quality. In fact, I would say that my work is unrivaled in the Seven Kingdoms and even in the wider world, only the Qohorik make better blades and that too, because they imbue their works with sorcery." Lysandro said.

"That all sounds well and good but words are wind, why don't you show me your steel." Daemon said.

"Very well. Vana, go and bring out some of the shortswords from the back" Lysandro ordered.

The Lysene girl, Vana carried in six finely crafted shortswords one by one.

"Now, these swords all have basic wooden hilts select the blade that you like and then I will design the hilt for it, according to your specifications." Lysandro said.

So Aemon tried out the shortswords, performing imaginary parries and slashes with the blades.

Finally, after much testing he decided that neither of the blades were a proper fit for him.

In truth, he desired a longsword but logically he knew, that it would be much too heavy for his scrawny seven year self.

So he asked Daemon, "Father, I do not want a shortsword the balance isn't right. If possible I would like a longsword."

Lysandro looked at me inquisitively as he said, "I can forge you a longsword, proportioned to your size if that is your wish. It won't be cheap though."

Aemon looked at his father imploringly, who just chuckled.

"Of course son, you can have any sword you want. I meant it, when I said I'll buy you the best sword that money can buy." 

Aemon's face split into a grin, on hearing his father's words.

The idea of having his own sword was somehow, strangely exciting.

So he was in a good mood even though he had to stand quietly for the next hour or so, as Vana took his measurements. 

It wouldn't have taken that long, but Prince Daemon had abruptly decided to get him a chainmail hauberk to wear underneath the padded gambeson he had given to Aemon for his nameday.

And so, the day was waning by the time they had exited Master Lysandro's workshop.

They had left the Red Keep after lunch so Aemon wasn't very hungry when Daemon bought some meat skewers from a vendor.

He still ate them though.

After all, in a world such as this, where food was such a scarcity, wasting it wasn't an option.

A voice in his head argued, that getting fat wasn't an option either.

That voice, Aemon chose to ignore.

Still, there wasn't much need for worry since Aemon had been exercising regularly since he was three years old.

He didn't do it because he particularly enjoyed it. 

He did it because he knew that in this world physical capability directly determined one's survivability.

And, Aemon very much wanted to survive.

Daemon's voice brought him out of his thoughts.

He asked Aemon, " So, now that we are done with all that. What else do you want to do? I have the entire day free today. Let's go enjoy ourselves, son." Daemon said.

"You're free because of the Tourney?" Aemon asked.

"Yes, I told Viserys that I had, had enough of this bloody coronation Tourney! So he let me rest for today Daemon said."

"I thought you liked Tourneys". Aemon joked. 

"I like fighting, in Tourneys", Daemon grinned as he said, "But instead, I have spent the last few weeks crunching numbers and tallying goods for this bloody Tourney."

"So yes, I can only be truly happy when it has ended." Daemon grumbled.

"Will you participate in the Tourney, father? Aemon asked his father.

"Well, you may find me in the lists." Daemon winked.

"But stop skirting the subject, tell me what you wouldike to do now?" Prince Daemon asked.

"I know, you usually say no because of the danger involved. But can we please go flying on Caraxes?" Aemon pleaded.

"You know how dangerous it can be. I'll take you flying when you are a bit older." Daemon said sternly.

"Please father! It was you who said, that Grandmother took you and uncle Viserys flying when you were only babes." He cried.

Daemon looked at Aemon sternly for a bit, but eventually decided to concede to his son's whims.

"Very well." He sighed.

"I will take you flying on Caraxes but you have to follow my instructions carefully. You cannot make a mistake. Mistakes mean death for dragon riders." Daemon said gravely.

Aemon nodded vigorously to show him that he understood.

And so they rode down the Street of Sisters towards the Dragonpit, where Caraxes made his lair.

--------------------

The Dragonpit was the true symbol of House Targaryen's power.

A titanic castle of black stone.

It was home to the Dragons, that gave House Targaryen the right to rule.

It was also probably what killed the Dragons. 

Still, it looked mighty impressive up close Aemon thought, as he and Daemon were led to Caraxes' lair by one of the Dragonkeepers.

The Dragonkeepers were an Order created specially, to care for the Targaryen Dragons.

They were all attired in suits of gleaming black armor and wore helms crested with dragon scales and apparently, were also a quiet lot, as he hadn't heard the man leading them speak a single word, during the long walk to the Red Dragon's lair.

As for Caraxes, he was majestic. Aemon had seen his father's dragon before but still the experience never seemed to grow old.

The Blood Wyrm was huge and covered in blood red scales, he had a more serpentine appearance than most other Targaryen Dragons.

He was also fierce, and immediately tried to snap at the hapless Dragonkeeper leading us. 

And, it was only because of the massive chains that bound the Dragon, that the man didn't die.

Daemon immediately walked up to Caraxes to soothe him, and it was then that Aemon realized just how ridiculous it was, when a gigantic Dragon tried to nuzzle against a tiny human.

After sometime, when Caraxes had finally calmed Daemon asked me.

"So, Aemon are you ready for this?"

I pushed back my fear to the corners of my mind and nodded my head vigorously.

Daemon only laughed, as he said to the Dragonkeeper, "Very well, then strap him up."

Aemon spent the next thirty minutes being strapped to the back of a Dragon.

He was tied securely to a saddle proportioned to Caraxes' titanic proportions by leather harnesses and iron chains and was then instructed on safety protocols by the Dragonkeeper, all while Daemon watched him with an amused smirk.

Finally, when it was all done and Daemon had also strapped in himself.

Caraxes was carefully unchained from his bindings as the iron gates situated towards the back of his lair were opened.

Daemon then expertly led the dragon through the gates onto the grassy knoll of the hillside outside.

Aemon waited with bated breath as Caraxes then spread his wings and leaped off the hill, soaring into the air.

Aemon could see the top of the Dragon Gate and over King's Landing's tall walls as Caraxes took to the air.

It was his first flight and it was magnificent.

They flew a lap around the City, passing over the Red Keep and Flea Bottom and the Street of Steel as they emerged onto the Blackwater Rush.

From this high in the air the people were dots to his eyes, and even the houses and great buildings seemed like toys. 

He felt the gusts of wind push back his hair as the Dragon flapped its giant wings, cutting through the air.

But then Caraxes suddenly let out a roar and dived down.

Aemon had to hold on for dear life, as the Dragon skimmed the surface of the Blackwater catching a large fish in its claws before soaring up again.

Once, his nerves had calmed and Caraxes had stabilized in the air Aemon let out a whoop in joy.

That had been a thrilling few moments he thought, as Caraxes glided along the Blackwater gently, whilst chomping on its catch.

They flew a few more laps around the City over the next hour or so, and by then Aemon had grown more comfortable on dragon back and was able to enjoy the ride more freely.

They were flying over the Blackwater Bay when the Sun started to set. 

The view, that Aemon experienced that day was one he would cherish forever.

He saw the rays of the setting Sun fall on Caraxes's blood red scales. It's scales seemed to shimmer, glowing with a vibrant inner flame.

Red and gold, shone the Dragon in the light of the setting Sun. 

The same rose gold light of twilight colored the azure waves of the Blackwater with a golden hue.

Even King's Landing seemed to glow with motes of light, as with the setting of the Sun people started to light candles in their homes.

It was a mesmerizing sight.

After they had returned to the Dragonpit and left Caraxes in the care of the Dragonkeepers, they were walking back to their horses - which were stabled outside the Dragonpit - in companionable silence, when Daemon asked him to stop for a moment.

"I am sorry." His father said.

Aemon was stumped, "What for?" He asked.

"It was I who pleaded you for the Dragon ride and I frankly enjoyed it a lot. You've got nothing to apologize for, Father." Aemon said.

"It's not that", Daemon said his voice thick with emotion, 

"I'm sorry that I can't give you a Dragon Egg. I saw how you were enjoying yourself today on dragon back. And frankly, you would be a great dragon rider. But I can't I'm sorry." He said.

Aemon nodded in acceptance. 

"I understand, Uncle must have forbidden you from giving a bastard a Dragon." Aemon said, bitterly.

Daemon flinched, but didn't try to deny it.

"It's not my brother's fault. He's not like that. It's that Hand of his Otto Hightower, always busy poisoning his mind against us." Daemon spat.

"Doesn't matter anyways, I don't want a Dragon Egg." Aemon sighed.

Daemon looked at him with surprise, "You don't want a Dragon?" He asked incredulously. 

Aemon smiled, "I never said, I don't want a Dragon. I said I don't want an Egg."

As the truth of my words dawned on him, Daemon started laughing loudly.

--------------------

Aemon was admiring his new sword.

It had taken Master Lysander a week to finish the blade, but it was beautiful. 

Its blade was slender and double-edged, and made of gleaming black castle-forged steel.

It had a black leather grip and its pommel was a gold dragon's head with two sparkling rubies for eyes.

The scabbard also was elegantly crafted, made of ebony wood and black leather it was decorated with rows of silver dragon heads with chips of garnets for eyes.

Moreover, as Aemon practiced mock slashes and parries with the blade, he discovered that its balance and grip were perfectly suited for him.

"Did you think of a name for it?" Rhaenyra asked, "All great swords must have names." She said. 

Aemon had already picked a name for his sword.

"Nightbringer." He named it.

Aemon and Rhaenyra were traveling to Maidenpool with the King's Retinue for the upcoming Tourney to be held in King Viserys' honor. 

The King was travelling with a large party. With the exception Lord Lyman Beesbury - who had been left at King's Landing to maintain order in the capital - the entire Small Council was accompanying the King. As was Queen Aemma and many Lords of the Realm, alongside the Kingsguard and five hundred Targaryen household guards.

Rhaenyra had refused to travel in the royal wheelhouse with her mother, and was instead riding alongside Aemon on horseback.

They were accompanied by the Velaryon children Laena and Laenor, with Ser Harrold riding alongside them as Rhaenyra's escort.

"That's a silly name for a sword" Laena interjected, "It should be something like Lightbringer or Darkfyre."

"No thank you", Aemon said, "I'll name my sword as I please, and I like Nightbringer."

Laena huffed in annoyance, as Laenor asked me.

"What is the matter between Lady Alicent and Prince Daemon anyways? They are together an awful lot these days."

He was not wrong, Aemon had noticed Lady Alicent hanging around his father, quiet a lot in these past few months.

Even now he could see them riding alongside each other at the front of the line.

But he only said, " It is true that Prince Daemon is my father, but his affairs are none of my business."

"I heard that you have been betrothed to the Sealord's son Laena." Rhaenyra said, changing the subject.

"Father arranged the match. He said that it would benefit our House to have a powerful ally in the Free Cities. I do not know much about him, I'm afraid." Laena said gloomily.

"I heard he's quite handsome." Laenor smirked. 

"The Nestoris are a wealthy and powerful family in Braavos. I even heard that some of them are keyholders." Rhaenyra added.

"What are keyholders?" Laenor asked inquisitively.

"I think they are like Braavos' small council." Rhaenyra said.

"No, I heard from father that they run the Iron Bank." Laenor argued.

From Laena's sullen silence, Aemon gathered that she might uncomfortable with the topic of this conversation.

So he decided to help her out, by changing the subject.

"Lady Laena, I heard that you have recently claimed Vhagar as your mount." Aemon interjected.

Laena's face immediately lit up at the mention of her dragon and she started to talk excitedly.

Whatever else you may say about Valyrians, they sure were passionate about their dragons.

Rhaenyra who herself was waiting for a dragon to claim and Laenor who had a young dragon named Seasmoke, all immediately joined the conversation.

And so, we spent the rest of the evening talking about Dragons and telling tales we had heard of Old Valyria from our parents.

At sundown, the Royal Party stopped and massive Tents were erected for the comfort of the King and his accompanying Lords.

Aemon would be sharing a tent with his father.

But before he could head in to freshen up and shed his sweaty riding leathers, Prince Daemon stopped him.

"Freshen up quickly and come to the King's Pavillion the King is hosting his Council and you will join me there." Daemon said.

"I don't think I would be welcome at the high table during a Feast." Aemon answered.

"This is not a Feast. The King just wishes to break bread with his Councillors." Daemon smiled.

"And even if it were, you could sit wherever you wanted. You are my son and Heir."

Aemon sighed, the Rogue Prince truly was a good father. 

And since he hated his wife, he didn't care how many bastards he inflicted upon her.

So, Aemon had a servant bring in a pitcher of water, which he then used to freshen up.

He then, dressed himself in a silk doublet dyed crimson and trimmed in ermine fur.

He also wore black satin breeches and laced up leather boots.

And, a Valyrian Steel necklace studded with amethysts completed the ensemble.

This necklace was probably the most expensive thing he owned.

It had been a gift from his father to his mother, the Lady Lyarra Stark who had passed during childbirth.

And after her death it had come into his possession.

--------------------

The King was fond of good food and good wine.

And the Feasts he threw were ample proof of this fact.

Even though, this wasn't a true Feast. 

Supper, still was an elaborate affair.

He was seated at the high table, between Lady Laena Velaryon and the Hand's son Gwayne Hightower.

Gwayne was nothing like his father Otto Hightower.

Where Otto was shrewd, he was vain and where his sire was cunning, he was boastful.

Aemon had a servant pour him a flagon of iced summer wine, as he chatted with the Lady Laena.

"I heard that Lord Tymond has set up a betting pool on who will win in the lists." Laena said to him.

But before he could answer, Gwayne rudely interrupted.

"If my Lady is wondering on who will win in the lists, you need wonder no more. It's I Ser Gwayne Hightower, the Knight of the Tower, who will be winning."

"Is that so Ser Gwayne?" Aemon asked.

"And pray tell, what brilliant plan you have concocted to defeat my father, Prince Daemon. For the Sun will die out in the sky before he loses to you in a fair fight."

Gwayne could only sputter drunkenly at his words, as everyone around them burst into laughter.

Soon, as the entreé was being served - a thick soup of beef and barley alongside a salad of rosemary and spinach and chives, sprinkled with crushed nuts - the bards and singers strummed their instruments filling the King's Pavillion with music.

There was a juggler tossing burning clubs in the air.

And the King's Fool, the dwarf Mushroom, all in motley, deftly made japes and mockeries on the Lords in attendance.

Being a kid and a bastard on top of that, Aemon was quite limited on both funds and intelligence.

He had long known that this was a fatal flaw.

But with his royal purse being only two thousand gold dragons a year, there was little he could do for now.

So a few years ago, he had found an ingenious solution.

He had bribed the Fool, Mushroom. 

The Lords of the Realm considered the dwarf a lackwit, and hence spoke freely in front of him.

This was in Aemon's advantage. And since then, Mushroom had proven to be a treasure trove of information, supplying Aemon with all the secrets and juicy gossip at court.

All for the affordable price of fifty gold dragons, a year.

If there was any downside to this arrangement, it was that Mushroom had the bad habit of embellishing facts. 

This could turn out to be a problem later.

But for now, it would have to do.

And so the feasting continued, among songs and merriment and drunken japes as the evening wound down. 

Soon, the servants served the main course.

There were snails cooked in butter and honey and fish sauce.

This was followed by mutton chops and sausages fried in grease till they were golden brown.

And when the servants brought out a roasted boar cooked with mushrooms and Dragon peppers, Aemon cut out a portion for Lady Laena.

She was a very adventurous girl and had inherited her father's explorer's spirit.

Laena wanted to travel to the far corners of the world.

From the Dornish sands, to the jade palaces of Qarth, from the Free Cities to the distant lands of Yi Ti and Asshai, she wanted to see them all.

Later the desserts were served.

There were sweetbreads and pigeon pie and delicate pastries baked by the King's personal chef.

Aemon had eaten his fill and was wondering whether he would be able to eat another one of those pastries, when suddenly, a haunting melancholic song filled the night air.

It's sorrowful melody drowned out the sounds of the feast. Ringing over the drunken japes and the general clamor of the meal, the ghostly song somehow silenced even the bards' myriad songs.

The Feast was thrown in disarray with every Lord trying to shout over one another but none managing to.

The song was not natural I realised. It must hold some sort of magic.

Just as the Lords were starting to panic and even the Kingsguard fearing danger, had formed a protective circle around the King, the haunting song suddenly stopped.

As soon as the song stopped, all the Lords started shouting and talking loudly.

All Aemon could hear amidst the cacophony were shouts of "Sorcery" and "Dark Magic" being uttered over and over again.

"Everybody quiet down!" The King bellowed at the top of his voice, silencing the crowd.

"Daemon, go see what that was all about. Take Ser Harrold with you and also take twenty men." Viserys commanded.

"Yes brother." Daemon said gravely, as he walked out of the tent with Ser Harrold.

After they left, the restless nobles broke up into groups discussing the strange occurrence in hushed tones.

Aemon noticed that Laena who was pale, so he tried to reassure her.

"Don't worry Prince Daemon will find whoever did this." He said.

"Do you think it was some sort of sorcery?" She asked in a tremulous voice.

"Seeing how it affected everyone, it must have been magic of some kind." Aemon replied.

Laena only nodded choosing to wait in silence for Daemon's return.

This suited him fine, as he was very curious about this strange occurrence. 

Aemon had always known Westeros to have magic, so unlike these nobles he wasn't overly surprised.

The only thing that concerned him was, that in spite of this being such a significant event, nothing about it had been mentioned in his Book.

Sometime later, Daemon returned with a woman in tow.

She looked like a witch from children's bedtimes stories.

She had eyes like pale milkglass and hair as white as fresh fallen snow, and so long that it almost touches the ground.

Her skin was beyond pale, it had a chalk white hue. 

And her alabaster skin was covered in countless scars, faded with age.

But most notable of all, she was incredibly tall, looming over everyone around her she must have stood nearly eight foot tall. 

And she was thin, in fact she was so haggard, that her bones stood out starkly from her flesh.

The guards dragged her in and had her kneel before the King.

"Some of the men found her singing on the outskirts of our camp. We think the commotion earlier was her doing." Daemon said.

The woman remained silent as Viserys asked.

"What is your name woman? Were you responsible for that song earlier?"

The woman lifted her head and fixed the King with her ghostly white eyes. 

"King of Dragons." She said. "I used to dream of you once. The Laughing Dragon, you were in my dreams. Bringing joy to the world, instead of fire and blood. But when your laughter ran out the Land cried tears of blood. Not anymore though. That dream is lost like all the others." She sighed.

"How dare you address our King like that! You will speak to him with respect." Ser Gwayne roared.

Viserys chose to ignore his outburst, instead questioning the woman.

"What do you mean, woman? Speak plainly, who are you?"

"Who am I, he asks." The woman chuckled mirthlessly. "King, I have roamed these lands before you were born and I will be here long after you are dead. As for who I am, I am known by many names but for you the White Witch shall suffice."

"Witch, do you have a deathwish. That is my brother, the King you are speaking to." Daemon growled drawing Dark Sister.

"Calm down Daemon. Let her speak." Viserys said.

"Husband you seriously don't intend to entertain this doomsaying charlatan." Aemma queried.

"Quiet! All of you. Witch, what were you saying earlier?"

The witch had a far away look in her eyes as she replied.

"For uncountable years, I have had dreams. The seasons changed. The Lords, the Kings, even Houses rose and fell. That thing alone remained constant. My dreams. Dreams of an ancient Song. The Song of Ice and Fire and The Promised Prince who sang it. I saw an army of frozen ice melt in the tune of that Song. Gone. All of it gone. For the last few years for the first time in my life I have had no dreams. Until today. Today, after many years I dreamt once again."

"Brother, this farce has gone on long enough. She's a liar and a fraud. We should have her whipped for this, not entertain her lies." Daemon said.

And from the hushed conversations of the nobles I heard, they all seemed to agree.

Viserys paid them no mind. He, like Aemon was focused on the Witch's words.

"What did you dream?" Viserys asked.

The witch gave him a smile.

"Not so fast King. My dreams do not come cheap." She said.

"And now she wants coins. She's no seer, she's clearly a con-artist of some sort." Daemon declared.

"What is your price, woman? Gold?" Viserys asked.

"Your shiny metals are worthless to me." The witch laughed."Just a haunch of meat to sate my hunger and a pitcher of wine to slake my thirst, will do."

"Very well, you will have it. But first, the Dream." Viserys demanded.

The witch had a grave look, as she sighed. "Very well then, my Dream."

"I dreamt of a man who didn't belong. An outsider, he armored himself in dragon's flesh. A mummer's dragon. Wherever he went, death followed in his wake. I saw a burning Tower, and a flaming stag. I saw a mountain of gold crumble in the wind and I saw the seas boiling with blood. I saw as he ravaged three nubile young girls. And, I saw him speak words that could travel the world. And last I saw, a sky filled with dead dragons and a world of ash and snow."

After the witch had told us her dream the King had the servants serve her some leftover food and wine.

The Lords and Ladies had started dispersing by then, all of them busy discussing the strange occurrences of the night.They would all forget it in a week, writing it off as part of the King's strange fascination with prophecy. 

Eventually, Laena also got up to leave. She gave him a shaky smile, as she bade him goodbye.

She must have been rattled by the events of the night. Sometimes, Aemon forgot that she was only a kid not even twelve namedays old.

Rhaenyra had already left. As had Queen Aemma.

In fact, other than him the only ones remaining were the King, his Kingsguard, Prince Daemon and the Hand, all of whom were deep in conversation. 

And of course, the Witch remained, Aemon thought, when he suddenly felt a gaze land upon him.

And as he turned to look, he found the Witch's unnerving, pale milky eyes staring into his own.

Those eyes held a manic light in them as she stared at him, and even though they were separated by nearly fifty yards, he could hear her as clearly as if she was sitting beside him.

"You smell, wrong." The Witch said.

Aemon made an excuse to his father and hurried out of the King's Pavillion as soon as he could.

And once he had reached his own tent and calmed down sufficiently, he freshened up and went to bed.

But no matter what he tried, sleep seemed to elude him.

Somehow, he could not forget those milky eyes. 

And the fact that none of it was mentioned in his Book, greatly unnerved him.

Aemon hoped that all of this was a farce, and everything was fine.

But he knew too much, to truly believe that.

Something had changed.

And Aemon felt, it was he who had changed it.