Aemon Targaryen (98 A.C. Second Moon)
Rhaenys Granden.
Aemon stood at the edge of the docks, gazing out at the shimmering expanse of the sea. The horizon was painted in shades of gold and crimson as the sun began its descent, casting long shadows over the waters. As merchant ships set sail toward distant lands while fishermen hauled their catches onto the worn wooden piers, the sounds of their voices carried even here over the salty breeze. He inhaled deeply, the scent of brine and fish mixing with the crisp evening air.
With Arya cradled securely in his arms, he murmured, "Hmm, hopefully, my own ships will come to port in the future. Ships from the port of Sea Dragon Point, the northern dragon. I wonder what this future might hold, stopping the dance or, for the very least, making sure the Dragons come out of it alive." His voice was soft contemplative, as if he were sharing a secret dream with the babe.
She wasn't her, but still, the sight of her, so small, so vulnerable, stirred something deep within him. She had his sister's dark curls and the same searching, curious eyes. He wondered how Arya would have reacted to seeing him astride Balerion, to seeing him as he was now.
"How would you have begged me to take you flying?" he chuckled softly, imagining the fierce determination that would have gleamed in Arya's violet eyes as she pestered him for a ride on the great black dragon.
The babe stirred against his chest, blinking up at him with wide, glistening eyes. Then, with a small gurgle, she parted her lips and uttered a single word. "Jon."
Aemon froze. His breath hitched, and his arms tightened instinctively around the bundle in his grasp. He almost dropped her. "What?" He rasped, staring down at Arya in shock, his heart hammering wildly. 'He must have imagined it. He had been thinking of her, of Arya, as the babe reminded him of his lost sister. He was sure his mind was playing tricks on him.'
"No, I imagined it," he whispered to himself. He shook his head, swallowing hard. He was thinking of her, that was all. He had simply misheard. "She said Aemon," he reasoned, trying to convince himself.
But then, clear as day, the babe gurgled again, a joyful little sound. "Jon, brother."
Aemon felt as if the world had tilted beneath his feet. His hands trembled, and a small wave of dizziness overtook him. His breath came in shallow gasps. 'This was impossible. This was beyond reason. The babe was only not yet a year old. She could not know those words, especially not to use that name for him. And yet…' He razed inside.
"No, how?" he breathed.
And then, as if answering his unspoken fears, Arya let out another sound. Not a gurgle. Not a coo. But a word, firm and certain, "Gods."
Aemon staggered, his knees almost buckling beneath him. His mind reeled. His body shivered as if someone had doused him in ice water. It's true, he thought, utterly stunned. 'A babe cannot understand such things.'
"Arya?" he whispered, his voice breaking.
The babe whimpered in response, her tiny hands reaching up as if sensing his distress.
Tears pricked at his eyes. He held her closer, pressing a trembling kiss to her soft, dark curls. "Oh, I missed you, little sister," he choked out, his voice thick with emotion. And she understood, Arya began to cry as well.
He closed his eyes and held her tightly, their shared grief and unspoken understanding washing over them like the tide. "I know," he murmured. "I feel it, too. I missed you so much."
Soon, he started recounting all that had happened to him since he died, and he eventually came to how he died. "Nigh Kinn" Arya added. "Yes, Bran was taken over by him. Our brother died the day we thought we won. Even before, I felt something was wrong." He added.
"How did you know." He asked. "Nigh, Kinn kil m," Arya added, her words coming out in slure, and then she broke into a cry. "Damn that bastard. I hate Ramsey, Alister, and many others for all their plotting at the end, with a passion for what they have done. Yet I feel a pure hatred for that monster, which goes beyond all those." He growled.
He noticed Arya trying to say more, but it seemed she couldn't stop crying. Aemon smiled at her kindly. "I know how it feels. We can't control our emotions yet, but soon enough, you will be able to talk properly, and we can discuss some matters of what happened in the past. Just know I love you. You were truly the last left I truly cared for. Even if we had our disagreements at the end. We will make better choices this time. Let's go see mother and aunt, I suppose, for you." He said, standing up from where he had been sitting, looking in front of the sun, almost espacing behind the red keep.
At the garden entrance, he waited for his trusted sworn shield. "Ser Harrold, thank you for giving me peace and quiet," Aemon said to his sworn shield. "Not a problem, My Prince, your wish is my command. Some of the countries wished to enter. But I told them their prince wished for some time alone." Harrold replied.
"Good, thank you. Now, I wish to see my mother." Aemon replied.
Lyanna's chambers
Aemon entered his mother's chambers with a measured step, his heart pounding beneath his ribs. His mind wrestled with the implications of what had just happened, but he needed her to hear it for herself.
His mother sat by the hearth. As he walked into the room, Arya cradled in his arms. She turned to him with a gentle smile, the firelight casting warm shadows across her face. "Ah, Aemon, how was your time with Arya? Just in time to have dinner together," she asked, her voice soft and affectionate.
Aemon hesitated for the briefest of moments before responding. "Hmm, very good, Mother. I have some news. It concerns Arya."
His mother's expression shifted at once, concern flickering in her grey eyes. "Is something wrong?"
"No," Aemon said quickly, though his throat felt dry. "Yet Arya is… my Arya, Mother." His voice cracked on the words, emotion swelling within him. His mother furrowed her brow. "What?"
Aemon crossed the room in slow, deliberate steps, stopping just beside the chair where she sat. His gaze flitted from his mother to the babe in his arms, and he swallowed hard before speaking again. "She called me Jon."
His mother stiffened. "Truly?" she repeated, though her voice was barely above a whisper this time.
Aemon looked from Arya to his mother as his heart thundered in his chest. "Arya, tell Mother who she is to you." With her tuft of dark hair and curious, intelligent eyes, Arya cooed softly. "Aun, Lya," she croaked as her tiny hands reached his neck.
His mother inhaled sharply, her entire body freezing as if she had been struck. "See?" Aemon whispered hoarsely. "She is my sister, Mother." Shock and grief flickered across his mother's face. She looked down at Arya, then back at him, her lips parting as if to speak, yet no words came.
"Mother, I'm sorry," Aemon said, his voice thick. "I know you love her as your own. But she is Arya. Arya Underfoot." His throat tightened as he watched the flickering emotions war across her face.
Arya giggled suddenly, her tiny hand reaching toward his mother. "Lya, fierce!" she exclaimed.
His mother's breath hitched. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted Arya into her arms. "Arya?" she murmured, searching the babe's face. "Did my brother… did he ever speak of me?"
"Ye," Arya chirped, her tiny hands tangling in her mother's dark curls as she pressed her face against her neck in a tight embrace. 'Hmm, his uncle said nothing, only that we would speak after I took my damn vows. When did Arya and his uncle speak of his mother.' Aemon thought with a frown.
"Hmm, this changes things for us," Aemon added softly. "I know," his mother croaked as she sat down again with a heavy sigh. "Considering what you told me about her, Arya has learned some interesting things over the years."
"True enough," He added as he winked at his sister, who gave out a happy giggle and added, "Warri."
"Yes, she became quite the warrior. I remember fighting our way toward the godswood. Her being quick as a shadow, while an undead dragon chased us." Aemon added as he shook his head.
"I remember that story. Still hard to believe sometimes, most of those damn stories about the Others and White Walkers are true." His mother sighed. "Believe me, I would rather have imagined it all and been proclaimed mad," Aemon exclaimed, throwing up his arms in exaggeration. "Tru," Arya added.
"Yeah, all true," he replied with a deep sigh. "Yet this time, we know, and we will prepare the world for what is to come," Aemon proclaimed firmly.
"Why not think of happier moments? All this talk of those times. This subject is for another day, Mother. Perhaps you could tell us stories of Uncle Ned, Brandon, Benjen, and Grandfather. Arya's father never talked much about them, nor about you, for that matter. Probably, it was all too painful." He added, his tone lightening.
"Yes, I would like that. It will give me something else to think about," she replied, her face still pained but softened.
"Yea," Arya let out as she happily giggled.
After dinner had been brought in, mother began telling stories about her past.
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