Chapter 364: The Funeral

The sky was gray, damp, and cold. Rain had fallen throughout the morning, and though it ceased by the afternoon, thick clouds still blotted out the sun.

Outside Storm's End, atop the cliffs overlooking the sea, Drogon and Cleopatra shielded the mourners from the fierce winds blowing in from the Narrow Sea.

Under their leathery wings, Aemon Targaryen lay still on a pyre, clad in a new black cloak.

"He was a maester of the Citadel, sworn to wear the chain in his youth and uphold his vows throughout his life.

His name honored a gallant knight who passed too soon, and though his own years were many, his life was equally noble.

His wisdom, integrity, and compassion were unmatched.

He bore the blood of the dragon, yet his fire is now extinguished.

He was Aemon Targaryen. His watch has ended. Here it concludes."

After finishing the eulogy, Samwell gestured to Cleopatra.

The white dragon opened her great maw, unleashing a torrent of flame. The searing heat ignited the pyre, sending a line of fire streaking through the air before consuming the wooden structure.

It was the Targaryen way: their dead were burned by fire. And so Aemon Targaryen was given the same honor.

The flames rose high, enveloping the frail, withered frame of the ancient maester.

Daenerys watched with sorrow etched into her face. "I didn't expect to witness the passing of a true dragon's blood so soon after my return. I barely knew him. Sam, I heard that Maester Aemon once had a chance to ascend the Iron Throne. Is that true?"

"Yes," Samwell confirmed. "He was the third son of King Maekar I. After Maekar's death on the battlefield, the firstborn son had already died of illness, and the second had perished after drinking wildfire. Their heirs were still children at the time, so some sought to have Aemon renounce his vows as a maester and claim the throne.

But he refused. For Aemon, honor and duty were more important than the crown. He allowed his younger brother Aegon to take the throne—your great-grandfather."

Daenerys stood in silence for a long time. Finally, she said, "What a remarkable man. I wish I could've heard him tell his stories."

"Maester Aemon left messages for you and others," Margaery interjected as she approached Daenerys, naturally taking her arm. She began recounting Aemon's final words.

Daenerys was initially startled by Margaery's warmth but soon relaxed, finding comfort in her ease and graciousness. Still, her eyes wandered to Margaery's swollen belly, and she couldn't help but touch her own flat stomach. A pang of jealousy stirred within her.

She now understood that the visions she had seen in Meereen—seemingly fulfilling Mirri Maz Duur's prophecy—had all been illusions. This realization left her doubting whether she had truly regained the ability to bear children.

---

"So the wildlings are attacking the Wall?" Samwell asked after hearing Margaery's recounting.

"Yes," she confirmed. "They say they're fleeing the White Walkers."

"White Walkers are real?" Daenerys asked, her tone tinged with disbelief. She had always considered them to be the stuff of legend.

Most people in Westeros regarded White Walkers as fictional monsters. After all, they hadn't been seen for thousands of years, and no credible records existed—only fragmented, contradictory myths.

"They are real," Samwell said with absolute certainty. "And they're coming."

"What should we do?" Daenerys asked. "If they're as terrifying as the stories say, shouldn't we stop fighting each other and unite against this threat?"

"Even if we wanted to stop the civil war, others might not agree," Samwell replied grimly.

His enmity with the Lannisters ran too deep for reconciliation. Even if Tywin Lannister proposed peace, Samwell doubted he could trust the man's word.

The war had to continue—but it needed to end quickly.

"We could write to the lords of Westeros," Daenerys suggested, "warn them about the White Walkers, and gauge their reactions."

"That's a good idea," Samwell agreed.

He didn't expect the lords to believe him without seeing the White Walkers themselves. But he had another motive for sending the letters: to announce that Daenerys Targaryen had returned to Westeros and was now his wife.

As a legitimate Targaryen princess and rightful heir to the throne, Daenerys' presence would strengthen his claim. If he could take King's Landing and eliminate House Lannister, the remaining regions might submit without further bloodshed.

Samwell had gone to great lengths to bring Daenerys back from Slaver's Bay for this very reason.

The faster he could unify Westeros, the sooner he could focus on the greater threat looming in the North.

After all, winter is coming, and he really doesn't have that much time to slowly fight a war of conquest.

Although such unification will have many hidden dangers, we can only wait until the White Walkers are eliminated and then go back to sort out internal problems.

---

By now, the pyre had burned down, leaving little more than smoldering embers. The ancient maester, who had witnessed a century of Westerosi history, was now ash.

The mourners began to return to the castle.

"What about the Night's Watch brother who brought Maester Aemon here?" Samwell asked.

"That would be me, Your Grace," Dareon stepped forward, bowing.

"Is Lord Commander Jeor Mormont still leading the Night's Watch?" Samwell inquired.

"Unfortunately, no," Dareon said sorrowfully. "Lord Mormont was killed. He led a ranging party beyond the Wall to investigate, but they were ambushed by White Walkers and wights at the Fist of the First Men. The survivors retreated to Craster's Keep, but… traitors within the Watch killed him."

"Jeor Mormont…" Daenerys murmured, recognizing the name. "He was Ser Jorah's…"

"Father," Samwell confirmed, inwardly lamenting that Jeor Mormont's fate mirrored the original timeline. "Has the Night's Watch elected a new Lord Commander?"

"When I left, they hadn't yet," Dareon explained. "The wildlings' attack had thrown everything into disarray."

Samwell fell silent.

He recalled the original timeline, where his manipulation had helped Jon Snow secure the Lord Commander position. But with "Killer Sam" absent from Castle Black, could Jon still rise to the role?

"Your Grace," Dareon continued hesitantly, "the Night's Watch is in desperate need of men, food, and supplies. Winter is coming, the wildlings are attacking, and the White Walkers are drawing closer. We urgently need help."

"I'll arrange for Stormlands lords to send prisoners from their dungeons to the Wall," Samwell said. "And I'll send a shipment of grain."

"The Night's Watch will never forget your generosity!" Dareon exclaimed, visibly relieved.

For him, the influx of prisoners wasn't a humiliation—it was a lifeline. The Night's Watch had long been reduced to a ragtag band of criminals, bastards, and exiled nobles.

Even a modest offering of grain and laborers was more than most lords bothered to provide.

"But I do have one request," Samwell added.

"Anything, Your Grace."

"Don't worry, it's more of a suggestion," Samwell said with a smile. "You need to elect a new Lord Commander as soon as possible."

"Of course," Dareon agreed readily.

Pausing, Dareon hesitated before asking cautiously: "Your Grace, do you have anyone in mind for the role?"

"I trust the Night's Watch to choose wisely," Samwell replied. "But I do think the next Lord Commander should have Stark blood."

"Stark blood…" Dareon's mind raced. The only candidate with Stark lineage he could think of was Jon Snow, Eddard Stark's illegitimate son.

Was Caesar subtly endorsing Jon Snow for Lord Commander?

Why? Could it be because of his connection to Lord Stark?

"Yes, Your Grace," Dareon said, bowing deeply. "I'll carry your suggestion back to Castle Black."

(End of Chapter)