Chapter Text
Epilogue
Aemon LXII
“For you, Your Grace,” Grand Maester Brunal said, handing him the rolled up parchment. “They say it’s urgent.”
Aemon sat up straighter as he turned the roll over and saw the Lannister seal. When he didn’t move, his son, Prince Daeron prodded, “What is it, father?”
He broke from his trance and split the seal, unfurling the parchment. The untidy penmanship showed a brief message: IT’S TIME. HURRY .
“I must leave,” Aemon said, immediately standing, his breakfast only half-finished.
“Is it—?” Dany began, but he merely nodded.
“I expect it will be a week or two. I’ll write you,” he said. “Please, continue eating without me.”
“Bye, father,” Princess Maegelle hopped up and wrapped her arms around his. She was still young enough to show outward affection. He missed those days. Though Aemma hadn’t gotten so old that she wouldn’t bestow upon him a smile, she seemed to prefer to keep a certain distance. That distance had been especially hard to bear when he passed her off into the arms of her new husband. He was at least assured that she’d be well cared for; Tydus had grown into a good man.
“Prepare two days of rations,” he ordered a servant just outside the dining room. It was a two-day journey to Casterly Rock, but he was already determined to ride straight through the night.
“Father, wait,” Daeron called out to him. He turned. “Are you going to leave me in charge of the kingdom?” he asked.
Aemon smirked, “I don’t know. Are you ready?” He turned to continue his walk back to his quarters.
“I’m older than you were when you took the throne,” Daeron replied with some level of exasperation.
“That’s true enough,” Aemon chuckled. He himself wasn’t even forty yet; it was likely to be some time before Daeron ascended the throne as king. He and Dany had already been discussing stepping down once he turned fifty so that his son would have time to rule. As was tradition, Daeron was currently Lord of Dragonstone. He was only six-and-ten and still spent much of his time in King’s Landing, occasionally heading out to roam the countryside with his cousin Eddard. Robb and Margaery had sent their eldest, Ned, south to foster in King’s Landing. Margaery insisted that the Starks keep a closer relationship to the beating heart of the capital. Aemon had long been keen that his children might know their northern cousins. While they had met on occasion—both houses having made the journey to Harrenhal—Daeron and Eddard were the only fast friends among the cousins.
Aemon reached the door to his quarters, but turned back to Daeron before going in. “Very well, I expect you to rule in my stead.”
Daeron drew himself up. “I won’t let you down, Father!”
“See me off in the courtyard and I will announce it to everyone. Make sure they’re there,” Aemon said.
“I’ll tell mother and Monford,” he said hurriedly before rushing off, Ser Olyvar Frey, the Kingsguard, was quick to follow his charge.
After being knighted, Olyvar had chosen to join the Kingsguard. This had upset the Freys given that the old patriarch was originally promised a keep for him. Stevron Frey had taken over for his now deceased lord father and Aemon found him much easier to deal with. He had the notion to give the keep to Stevron’s brother Ser Emmon Frey. This, of course, pleased Jaime since it meant his Aunt Genna’s children would have a place to inherit. Aemon could only imagine the fury this caused in the Frey family, but Aemon felt like the Freys deliberately thrived on discord.
Aemon chuckled. I was never that excitable at that age, he thought. In many ways, Daeron acted so much like a boy. Still, it pleased him that his son really hadn’t known war.
It wouldn’t last, though. The Iron Bank chafed once the Lannisport Bank got underway. There had been myriad attempts at sabotage, none of which they could prove that the Iron Bank was behind; they were careful to bury their connections. Still, the Mistress of Whisperers, Leona, David’s own protege, had managed to trace some of the activities back to a merchant in Oldtown. The crown had been working with Jaime, his son, and Lord Horas Redwyne to secure their ports against unwelcome intruders. There were some whispers that Magister Illyrio Mopatis was one of the forces behind the recent stirrings in Pentos and Braavos. Aemon had the feeling that the only reason nothing truly monumental had happened was likely due to the dragons. Along with the Iron Bank’s bristling, Dany had long expressed a desire to return to Essos to free the slaves she’d left behind.
There was also the issue with Bran. After a blessedly short winter, Bran announced he was sailing for Essos, intending to explore the magics there. A small guard of four loyal Stark men went with him. According to Robb, there had been sporadic letters, but those had petered out two years ago. If the army did indeed go to Essos, Aemon had every intention of scouring the countryside for his cousin.
The difference in egg hatchings was now moot. All three dragons were enormous. A single talon was the size of a horse. They’d become slower and indolent as they aged, but they were no less deadly. At one point, pirates had begun raiding the northeastern coast. Aemon and Dany had begun patrolling the seaboard on their mounts. Drogon had been the one who found them. Instead of simply torching the ship, he’d preferred to fly down and rip out the mast before landing on it in such ungainly fashion that it crumbled under his weight and sank to the bottom of the ocean. The men aboard were simply left to drown. That had been three years ago. Nowadays, the dragons were used almost solely for transport. It was a tame use of their strength, but crucial, especially in times such as these.
He quickly changed into his riding leathers and haphazardly stuffed a pack full of clothes. Then he took his crown off and shoved it in as well.
True to Daeron’s word, when Aemon stepped out into the courtyard, Dany, Maegelle, Daeron, Grand Maester Brunal, Lord Hand Monford Velaryon, the Lord of Laws Jason Mallister, and Mistress of Whisperers Lady Leona were awaiting him.
“Couldn’t find anyone else?” Aemon asked with some amusement. Daeron squirmed, so Aemon thought he’d best stop torturing the poor boy. “In my absence, I wish for Prince Daeron to rule in my stead. Remember, son, part of being king is listening to the people around you. Monford, Jason, Leona, Brunal, Cormoran, and your mother won’t steer you wrong.”
Daeron waved his hand impatiently. “Yes, yes, I know, Father.”
Aemon gave him a pointed look and declared, “I will be gone for two weeks. I’ll let you know if I plan to stay any longer.”
“Send the Lannisters our love,” Dany said, stepping up to embrace him and give him a kiss.
“I will. Mount up,” Aemon shouted. Despite the times of peace, Ser Preston Greenfield still insisted that he have at least two guards at all times, even though they’d only be attending to him as far as the Dragonpit.
In the intervening years since Aemon had taken King’s Landing, the smallfolk had grown used to his presence. While the crowd still parted as they rode for the Dragonpit, there was little in the way of fanfare which suited Aemon just fine. He breathed in deeply as Rhaegal rose into the cool air. It had been months since he’d last had a ride with his dragon. The Dragonpit wasn’t big enough for Rhaegal and Drogon to both live in. Instead, the dragons lived wild and only came back to the Dragonpit if they were craving a certain kind of meat. It was also the designated meeting spot with their riders. All Aemon needed to do was whistle long enough to gain Rhaegal’s attention and he’d come flying in like an enormous vulture. It wasn’t long at all before they were flying over the Blackwater’s Rush, intertwining with the Goldroad below.
He glanced south longingly, tempted to head even further south to Starfall. If Edric’s accounts were anything to go by, Arya had indeed found her happiness. They had two boys who were still pretty young. She doted on them much the same way she’d doted on Aemma and Daeron. She also seemed to have taken Aemon’s suggestion to heart of one of her sons taking up Dawn, because she trained with them every day. He wished her well in that endeavor.
His smile faltered as he thought of Honeyholt. It’d long been left abandoned. Not even the bodies had been removed. It didn’t take long for the grasslands to claim the inside and the wooden doors hung rotted off their hinges. The crown had offered gold to Lord Beesbury to rebuild at the crossroads of the Roseroad and the new Sand Road which went into Dorne. Though Lord Beesbury had bemoaned about missing the portside position of the Honeywine, he found that trade into Sand-Rose had instead picked up.
He first saw Casterly Rock silhouetted in the rosy light of dawn as it permeated the darkened western skies. He rubbed his eyes. Under normal circumstances, he would’ve stopped in at Deep Den for the night before continuing on, but he was pressed for time.
As they approached, dragon wings unfurled at the top of Casterly Rock, giving the impression of it having sprouted wings. Rhaegal roared; he received a roar in answer. Rhaellon flew out to meet them. Aemon almost expected his daughter to be astride her dragon as well, but the saddle was empty. They probably hadn’t expected him to fly through the night.
He landed Rhaegal just outside the Lion’s Mouth and staggered off of his dragon.
“Whoa, Your Grace, are you well?” one of the men asked.
“Not as young as I used to be,” Aemon answered with a chuckle.
He managed only a few steps before Rhaegal turned to immediately join his sister in the air.
He found the Lannisters lined up in the cave. Brienne had allowed her hair to grow long enough to tie back into a band. She’d long since placed a hook where her stump was and he clasped her left forearm with his.
“Ser Brienne, it’s good to see you,” Aemon replied. “My, I don’t think you’ve aged a day since the last time we met.” She still had her straw blonde hair.
“I can say the same, Your Grace,” she replied.
“No, you can’t,” Aemon said playfully. In the last two years, he’d noticed white hairs creeping into his beard and temple, much to his chagrin.
“Young Tydus, are you treating my daughter right?” Aemon said, moving to the man standing next to his mother. He similarly clasped his forearm.
“As if I couldn’t,” the young man said, looking past him out the cave to where Rhaellon flew. Though he had Brienne’s coloring, he looked an even mix between Brienne and Jaime’s faces.
“It’s not only the dragon keeping him in line, father,” Aemma said, pulling him in for a hug. She was just as dainty as her mother, but she had Arya’s fighting spirit. Though she didn’t possess the same obstinate insistence against being married. Her violet eyes sparkled.
“Galladon.” Aemon moved on to the next son who looked like Jaime’s clone with his golden lion’s mane and green eyes. “You’re set to leave for Tarth soon, right?”
“When I turn six-and-ten,” he said, puffing out his chest. Aemon noticed Tydus shuffle his feet awkwardly.
“Lady Joanna, Lady Jocasta,” Aemon said, planting kisses on the back of both of their hands. “You were both so young when I last saw you. You’re taller than me!” he scoffed. “I fear for the men who will soon be warring for your hands.”
“You should,” Lady Joanna said, cocking her head back. “Because they’ll have a war with each of us as well.”
“We’re not going to let them go easy on us,” Jocasta added, turning her body to show the sword at her waist. “It’s a rule now that anyone asking for our hand has to beat us in single combat.”
“Who made that rule? Your father or your mother?” Aemon asked in some amusement. “Speaking of your father ….”
“He’s upstairs with Cassian,” Tydus offered. The mood turned instantly somber. “He’ll never admit it, but we know he likes the music.”
“Shall I ….?”
“Go,” Brienne insisted, making a shooing motion with her left hand.
Tydus led Aemon onto the lift.
When the lift started, Aemon asked, “How is he?”
“As cracking as ever, but it’s only a matter of time,” Tydus said. The muscles in his face twitched with what Aemon assumed was grief.
“How are you holding up?”
“I never expected him to leave so soon. I don’t feel ready. Mother’s leaving with Galladon to help him prepare for his rule as lord of Tarth. Uncle Tyrion died two years ago. I … I feel alone.”
“You’re never alone, Tydus. If you need anything at all: advice, wisdom, an ear, I will answer. You and Daeron are much in the same boat.”
“Is he ruling while you’re here?” Tydus asked, a keen look in his eye.
Aemon grinned. “He is.”
“The Seven help us,” Tydus replied, but he was laughing.
“There now, I seem to recall it was you who had the marvelous idea of rolling the barrels of ale into the pond at Harrenhal.”
“It was not! They got away from me.”
“You were only asked to oversee the servants, not to move them yourself.”
“They made it down to the feast tables in quick fashion. You must admit.”
Aemon chuckled and shook his head. When they stepped off onto the floor, Aemon could already hear the dulcet tones of the cello as the music played down the hall. After about the fifth door, where the music was the loudest, Tydus knocked and opened it.
Aemon pushed in and Cassian instantly stood from his chair. “Your Grace,” he replied, holding his cello and bow loosely in his hands.
“Cassian, good to see you!” Though Galladon had come close to Jaime, none were closer than Cassian. His hair was short and golden, his eyes were green, and he had the same lean build of his father. Though Galladon carried Jaime’s carefree attitude, Cassian was far more serious and studious. He even had reading spectacles.
“Why don’t you leave us, Cassian,” Jaime said.
“Of course, Father,” he replied. Cassian patted his father’s hand lovingly and headed out the door, which closed with a snap.
Aemon felt his heart pounding as he approached. He hadn’t seen Jaime since before he’d fallen ill. He took the chair next to him and his breath caught. Jaime could only be compared favorably to a corpse. Though his body was swathed in several layers of blankets, Aemon could still see how skeletal his hands and face had become. His green eyes shined with clarity, but his skin had sunken in his skull. Still, he smirked.
“Seven bloody hells, Jaime,” Aemon said, shaking his head.
Jaime snorted. “I thought my children’s manners were poor.”
“You call that poor? Your children were stalwart examples of good hosts.”
“It seems like they only started shaping up once I began dying,” Jaime said caustically. “I told Brienne they were looking to put me into an early grave. It seems they did.” He cracked a grin at him.
“I really hope you haven’t dared say that to your children.”
“You think me so heartless?” Jaime asked, still grinning, but then coughed. The breath seemed to struggle and Aemon was concerned that his friend would expire in that moment.
Once he finally had control over his breath again, Jaime shook his head. “No, this, of course, has nothing to do with them.”
Aemon raised his eyebrows. “Oh?”
“I suppose I should thank the Seven that I haven’t lost my wits like old Lord Hoster Tully did.” Jaime’s gaze sharpened and Aemon couldn’t help but lean in. “Do you remember what the Stranger said to us?”
Aemon searched Jaime’s face for a hint. “Which part?”
“We’re on borrowed time,” Jaime said. “Think back now. How old would I be if I hadn’t been made to relive twenty years of my life?”
Aemon frowned. “Eighty?”
Jaime nodded. “Eighty-three. A long life. Still not as long as Walder Frey’s life,” he said in distaste.
“Wait … you think our lives are shortened?” Aemon asked.
“Do you look to be approaching forty? Do you feel like you’re in your thirties?”
Aemon looked at his hand as he clenched and unclenched it. I was granted the opportunity to relive about ten years of my life. That would put me closer to fifty, he mused.
Jaime nodded upon seeing the truth dawn on him. “I suppose I should be grateful that I got to see my children grow up,” he murmured, allowing his gaze to wander. “Take care of them for me, won’t you?”
“Of course,” Aemon said.
Jaime let out a long breath and slunk back into his bed. Suddenly, he cocked his head. “Do you hear that?”
“What?” Aemon asked.
“The Stranger. He’s calling me.”
“Jaime …?” Aemon began, but then he saw Jaime lift his hand, as if reaching out to someone.
His hand fell back. He let out a slow, rattling breath and his eyes fluttered shut.
“Goodbye,” Aemon whispered, reaching out his hand to Jaime’s. It was already cooling to the touch. “We’ll see each other again.”
The End