Ages in the year (106 A.C.) (101 A.C.)
Aemon Targaryen Stark: 9 years old (Born in 92 A.C.)
Daemon Targaryen: 21 years old (Born in 80 A.C.)
Alicent Hightower: 12 years old (Born in 89 A.C.)
Lyanna Stark Targaryen: 25 years old (Born in 76 A.C.)
Arya Targaryen: 4 years old (Born in 97 A.C.)
Rhaenyra Targaryen: 7 years old (Born in 94 A.C.)
Aemma Targaryen Aryn: 22 years old (Born in 79 A.C.)
Laena Velaryon: 9 years old (Born in 92 A.C.)
Laenor Velaryon: 7 years old (Born in 94 A.C.)
Corlys Velaryon: 40 years old (Born in 63 A.C.)
Rhaenys Targaryen Velaryon: 29 years old (Born in 74 A.C.)
Visenya Targaryen Stark: 7 years old (Born in 94 A.C.)
Rickon Stark: 7 years old (Born in 94 A.C.)
Bennard Stark: 6 moons old (Born in 100 A.C.)
Benjen Stark: 23 years old (Born in 78 A.C.)
Lysa Lock: 26 years old (Born in 75 A.C.)
Otto Hightower: 33 years old (Born in 68 A.C.)
Harrold Westerling: 33 years old (Born in 68 A.C.)
Vaegon Targaryen: 38 years old (Born in 63 A.C.)
Viserys Targaryen: 24 years old (Born in 77 A.C.)
Raym Redwyne: 59 years old (Born in 42 A.C.)
Balerion (the dragon): 225 years old (Born in 124 B.C.)
Vhagar (the dragon): 153 years old (Born in 52 B.C.)
Arya Stark (101 A.C Seventh Moon)
Harrenhal
Darkness.
That was all she saw. Endless and swallowing. Then, a light. A lone torch hissing in some forgotten hallway ahead.
"Arya." The voice slithered like wind through a crypt.
She looked down. She was older than she had been before her death. Lines on her face, a heaviness in her bones. She blinked. 'A dream,' she thought. 'This must be a dream.'
"Arya," the voice said again.
She moved forward; feet bare against cold stone. The torch flickered at the end of the hall, casting long shadows against the carved stone.
She stopped.
Before her stood a statue, her father's. Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North. She was in the crypts of Winterfell now. She knew them well.
"Guilty," hissed the voice. She turned around, heart pounding.
And there he was, not the stone imitation anymore, but the man. Her father. Whole. Flesh and blood. His grey eyes fixed upon her, cold as winter.
"Father," she breathed, stepping toward him.
He raised a hand, halting her. His voice was iron. "Daughter."
He stared at her like a judge in a hall of kings. "Justice and vengeance," he said, "are not the same thing. Though many fools dress one in the other's cloak."
He paused, studying her. "Who killed me?"
"Cersei. Joffrey," she said without hesitation.
"And so," he said, voice low, "you left your kin, the North… for justice. So, the lioness would face judgment?"
"Yes," she said.
The ground groaned beneath her. The crypt shuddered, stones whispering of old grief. Her father's expression darkened. "Lies," he stated fiercely.
Arya stiffened. "No. I went to stop her."
"Lies," he said again, harsher now. "You went for your list. To feed your thirst for revenge. Just as you did at the Twins, Walder Frey was guilty. Some of his sons were. Yet a banquet of corpses is what was left there now. Were they all guilty?"
He paused, staring at her in silence. She could not meet his eyes.
He stepped closer. Shadows danced across his face.
"You spared the women there. But the boys? Boys no older than Jon and Robb, did you know they were guilty? Or did you let them drink death with the rest?"
Arya said nothing.
"You say Cersei was guilty, which is true. You say the Freys were. And some of them, they were. And some of the soldiers, too. Some committed crimes, yet did they all want to do it? Not all who bear a name bear the crime. Did every Lannister kill me? Or Elia and her children? Did every Frey draw a blade at the Red Wedding?"
"No," Arya whispered.
Her father's voice softened, not with warmth, but with sorrow.
"You are of the North. Blood of the Wolf. You survived, and I will never fault you for that. Yet you became what we fought against. You became guilty of slaying innocents."
He stepped closer and looked at her.
"I know. Jon told me as much," she said, defeated.
"Daughter, you are strong. Sometimes, one must battle evil ruthlessly. And I know that sometimes honor isn't always an option. That was my failure. You brought justice ruthlessly to Walder Frey yet lost yourself in the quest for it. Know this: you must never become what you fought to destroy. Otherwise, what is the point in fighting against it?"
Her father stated, "I love you, Arya. You are the she-wolf. Guard the pack. Protect what remains. Let justice guide you, not wrath."
He gave her a hug, and the hug felt so real, as did all of this. She closed her eyes and let the feeling wash over her.
Then, softly, he asked, "What is it we say?"
She opened her eyes.
"The lone wolf dies," Arya said, voice hoarse, "but the pack survives."
At that, Arya gasped and almost jumped out of her bed as she woke. She looked around dazed and noticed it was early morning and that she was back in Harrenhal, the damned castle. She hated the place that still plagued her memory and the damned soldiers who had done all kinds of suffering to the prisoners there. Her own hate and her cruelty all began here, born from the hatred and brutality of her captors.
Arya sighed as she sat up in bed, blinking against the dim light that streamed through a crack in the wall. Visenya was still fast asleep beside her, cocooned in blankets. But then something felt… strange. There was a tugging at her mind, a sensation she hadn't felt since the second time she'd parted from Nymeria.
She closed her eyes, and warmth bloomed in her chest; hot, burning, and alive, something that felt close by. Her eyes flew open as realization struck.
"Could it be… Grey Ghost?" she whispered, her eyes widening. Without a second thought, she leaped from her bed and ran to her sister's side.
"Neya! Wake up, dragon!" she cried, breathless with excitement.
Visenya groaned and opened her violet eyes, squinting at Arya. "Arya… what is it?"
"Dragon! Grey Ghost!" Arya exclaimed, practically bouncing in place.
Visenya frowned, rubbing sleep from her eyes as she slowly sat up. "What do you mean?"
"I feel him," Arya said, her voice dropping to a reverent whisper. "Like Aem's feels Belly. He's close. I know it."
Visenya blinked at her, then smiled faintly. "Alright. Let's go find Aemon. He will know what to do if you really feel your dragon."
But Arya caught the wistfulness in her sister's voice, one she recognized from training sessions in the House of Black and White.
'I'm sorry, Neya. You should have a dragon, too,' she thought and reached for her sister's hand.
The girls dressed quickly and stepped into the corridor where their night guards waited, Clement Crabb and Othar Norrey.
"Morning!" the girls chirped in unison.
"You're up early," Othar remarked with a tired grin.
"We're going to see Aemon," Visenya said, holding Arya's hand.
"Come, then. Though I doubt your brother will be happy that you wake him this early in the morning," Clement said with a chuckle as he closed and locked the door behind them.
Soon, they reached Aemon's chamber. As always, Ser Harrold stood guard alongside Alden.
"Ah, Princesses. Good morning. What brings you here so early?" Harrold asked warmly.
"Dragons!" Arya cried, her voice full of childish glee.
Harrold and Alden chuckled.
"Very well, Princess," Harrold said, knocking gently. "Prince Aemon, your sisters wish to see you."
Moments later, the door creaked open to reveal Aemon, hair tousled from sleep, looking much like Visenya had minutes before.
"Arya, Neya… what are you doing here? The sun has barely risen," Aemon muttered.
"Dragon coming," Arya exclaimed happily, like a toddler would.
Aemon frowned, rubbing his face. "What do you mean, 'dragon coming'?"
Visenya chuckled. "She means she feels Grey Ghost. Like you feel Balerion."
"Truly?" Aemon studied Arya's face carefully. "Hmm. Father suspected it. Grey Ghost has become less elusive ever since your birth, little sister."
Aemon added the last part somberly. It had been something she'd noticed ever since she had been reborn. Aemon had truly loved Baelon as a father and Lyanna as a mother. Yet for Arya, that could never be. Her parents would always be Catelyn and Eddard Stark.
"So… can we go outside? I know he's close," she asked again.
Aemon sighed and nodded. "Very well. Let me change and we'll go."
He turned and disappeared into his chamber. Arya and Visenya exchanged excited looks.
"Let's go meet your dragon if you're so sure," Aemon said when he returned, now dressed, his expression half-amused, half-curious.
With the sun barely cresting the horizon they made their way toward the dragons. No matter how many times she saw them they still took Arya's breath away, just as it had the first time she laid eyes on Drogon and Rhaegal.
Balerion loomed like a living mountain, black as pitch, his vast wings folded against his sides. His eyes glowed red like smoldering coals, and even at rest, his size would equal some small keeps. Beside him, Vhagar sprawled like a beached leviathan, her scales a tarnished bronze-green streaked with blue, like hints of copper.
Viserys's Dragon, Goynogar, was smaller and leaner, with smooth brown scales and long, slender limbs, coiled like a whip ready to strike. Nearby, Meleys the Red Queen lay in elegant repose, her deep crimson scales gleaming like embers in the early light, curled beside Seasmoke, the pale silver-grey dragon with blue flecks.
Further off, the bulky Vermithor dozed beneath fallen rubble, bronze scales dulled with age but still fearsome, steam rising from his nostrils. And finally, Caraxes, the slender red Dragon of Prince Daemon, snake-like with a wolfish face, slept curled like a serpent.
Arya closed her eyes again and felt it, Grey Ghost. Her gaze was pulled toward the lake and the Isle of Faces. She knew he was near.
Visenya stared at the dragons with longing. Arya didn't blame her. She was named for the first Visenya, and the great she-dragon of that name had been riderless since Baelon's death.
Arya saw the way Aemon looked at them both, but mostly at Visenya.
"Neya," he said gently, "I don't know when, but I know you'll have a dragon someday. Maybe… if the gods will it, Vhagar. She's still mourning Father. They were together for nearly thirty years. But in time, she might accept you."
Visenya beamed and threw her arms around him, murmuring something Arya couldn't hear.
But she saw the silence settle between them like dust.
Aemon didn't say it, but Arya knew: Jaehaerys had forbidden the girls from claiming dragons. Aemma, Laena, Gael… even Visenya and Arya herself. She knew why because if they married into another house and brought a dragon with them, that power could shift. It could weaken the Targaryens.
Even the Velaryons, with their close ties to House Targaryen, had never been allowed to claim one, at least not until later. Now, Corlys Velaryon was prouder than ever, his family holding two dragons, even if one was only seven years old.
She also knew that to bond with Grey Ghost, she might have to marry into the Targaryen line. Who, she didn't know, as there wasn't anyone to marry. Perhaps no one. Perhaps never, so long as Jaehaerys lived.
Although she doubted she wanted to marry anyway. She never found someone that truly allowed her to be both a warrior and a lady. Which she was, and now she was even a princess. Gendry had made her feel free to let loose before a battle against the Night King that could have killed them all.
Yet his reaction after the battle had shown her they weren't in the same headspace at the time. Perhaps if time allowed, she could have settled and she knew Gendry would have let her continue her unladylike pursuits. She smiled faintly, thinking of her blue-eyed stag.
Arya also knew that Viserys softened his approach to dragon claiming when he reigned. Four Velaryons were allowed to claim dragons during his rule, along with his younger children and Daemon's daughters with Laena.
It would be something to think about when the time came.
Then she saw it, a gray fleck across the lake.
"I told you," she exclaimed, planting her hands on her hips and grinning at Visenya and Aemon. "He's here."
Aemon gave her a look, half-smiling, half-wary. "Very well, little sister. Do you remember the words we practiced?"
Arya nodded, her eyes fixed on the approaching dragon.
Grey Ghost was slender and larger than Syrax, but not by much. The morning sun caught his pale scales, turning them almost silver, shimmering like mist. His wings were white as snow, cutting through the air in wide, silent arcs.
'My house's colors,' she thought with a grin.
Then Balerion stirred. His wings rustled like trees in a storm. He raised his head and loosed a mighty roar to show his supremacy. To show how he was in control. The ground seemed to shiver beneath Arya's boots and probably woke everyone who was still asleep.
Grey Ghost answered, not a challenge but a softer roar. A sound of recognition. Submission.
He wheeled once, then descended slowly, cautious as he approached the lake's edge.
"Go, sister. Bond with him," Aemon said with a grin.
Arya looked at Visenya, who gave her a nod and an encouraging smile. Behind them, Harrold and the others gave her uneasy looks. But Arya didn't waver. They didn't understand what a bond like this meant. She was the blood of the Kings of Winter and now the blood of the dragon. And she would bond with Grey Ghost.
She turned and walked forward.
Grey Ghost landed at the lake's edge and began walking toward her.
"Grey Ghost, lykiri!" Arya commanded as loudly as she could with her small voice.
She saw his eyes for the first time, pearly white.
She felt it again, the bond, strong and burning.
"Dohaeras!" she challenged.
Grey Ghost hissed… and came closer.
"Grey Ghost, lykiri, sȳr!" (Calm, now!) she cried out. The dragon sniffed her hand, then pressed his snout to it.
The connection surged through her, real, true. A beginning.
Behind her, she heard Aemon and Visenya clap, followed by others.
"Kirimvose, raqiros." (Thank you, friend.) She stated softly toward the dragon.
Aemon Targaryen (101 A.C., Seventh Moon)
He sat between his sisters as the family gathered at the table to break their fast. The air was thick with tension. A quiet unease settled over them like morning mist, unspoken words clinging to each breath.
King Jaehaerys sat at the head, his expression lined with fatigue and concern. His gaze lingered sharply on Arya and Aemon, irritation flickering behind his eyes.
"So, tell me, Aemon," the old king began, his voice low but edged with authority. "You're the only one here who's lived through what Arya now has. You know why I never wanted this for your sisters. And yet you let her go to him. You let her bond with that dragon."
Aemon met his grandfather's gaze without flinching. "It wasn't something I could stop," he replied calmly. "Just as I bonded with Balerion, the bond comes to you. You don't choose it. If the connection comes, it comes. Grey Ghost would have followed Arya until she claimed him, no matter what we did."
He glanced at Arya, who was quietly spooning extra honey into her porridge.
"Balerion flew again after I was born," Aemon continued. "The same way Grey Ghost came out of hiding. Something stirred in him, something old and instinctive. He would have found Arya, eventually." Probably, it was the Stark blood that had changed the way Grey Ghost and Balerion behaved, yet Balerion was something even greater.
"Father told me more than once, Balerion used to follow me, even as a babe." He added with a sad smile.
Jaehaerys sighed and nodded. "Still, this complicates things. You know my reasons. We must consider the consequences of your sister claiming a dragon."
His mother spoke up then, her voice gentle but firm. "Good-father, my daughter is of your house and she has only claimed her birthright. I know your reasons well, yet what's done cannot be undone. Perhaps it is a blessing. Who knows what danger a dragon might pose if denied the rider they've bonded with?"
Arya looked up and smiled gratefully at his mother. As she spoke in her defense.
"Grey Ghost is happy now," Arya added in her little child's voice. "He was lonely. Not anymore. He's scared of Belly, though, so I told him Belly is safe. Belly protect Valgar."
"It's Valonqar, you welp." Daemon snarled.
"Daemon, enough! Break your fast somewhere else," Jaehaerys commanded.
The rest of the family stared at Daemon angrily as he left. "I apologize for my husband. The man was awakened a bit too early this morning," Rhae Royce noted as she gave him a smug look. 'Sorry,' Aemon mouthed.
She smiled back at him. "No need for it. Lady Rhae, my grandson, must accept things as they are." Jaehaerys noted with a grateful smile.
After the incident, Jaehaerys looked back toward Arya, rubbed his temple, and sighed again. "You all make your points. Still, she's young yet. It will be years before she comes of age, and by then, I will likely no longer be the one sitting on this throne. That is a decision that will fall to my successor." He looked meaningfully at Rhaenys and Viserys. "Perhaps by then, a match will be found that tempers all this."
At those words, Arya reached under the table and gripped Aemon's hand. He gave it a comforting squeeze and leaned in to whisper, "It'll be fine, little sister."
Soon enough, the fast continued, and it was quiet. On the morrow, the vote would be held, and tension was thick in the air. Yet he still looked at the family he had now, and he was happy.
When the meal ended, Aemon rose and made his way to Rhaenys, who was just pushing back her chair.
"Cousin, may we speak in private?" he asked quietly.
Rhaenys regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "Of course. Walk with me. We can go to my chambers."
The corridors of Harrenhal were quiet, servants flitting past like shadows. Soon, they reached her room and settled into a pair of carved oak chairs beside a tall window.
"So, Aemon," she said with a smile. "What is it you wish to speak about?"
He hesitated only a moment. "What comes after the vote. I was wondering… do you and Lord Corlys still intend to uphold the betrothal to Laena?" He hoped they did, as he wanted them to. He always enjoyed his time with Laena and seemed like a good partner to spend his life with and help prepare the realm for what was to come.
Rhaenys studied him, her eyes thoughtful. "We do," she said at last. "You are a fine match for our daughter. If I am named heir, Laena will be queen one day. I can think of no one better suited to stand beside her as King-consort. You are kind and steadfast, and you ride the Black Dread. That alone speaks volumes."
She reached for his hand.
"And if I lose the vote, you remain third in line, behind only Viserys and Daemon. You'll have Seadragon Point one day, and your blood is that of two ancient houses on both sides. More than all that, I've seen you with Laena. The way you speak to her, the way she listens to you, and you listen to her. It reminds me of Corlys and me. Or Aemma and Viserys."
Aemon flushed slightly, a smile tugging at his lips. "Thank you. I will accept whatever decision is made tomorrow. You and my brother are the best candidates we have. I love you both, and I'll serve either of your reigns with all that I have."
Rhaenys rose and pulled him into a hug. "I know you will," she said softly. "You may be the most dutiful person I know, Aemon."
The following day - The Vote
Aemon sat at the high table beside his family as dawn broke over Harrenhal. The air was heavy with anticipation. Today would decide the future of the realm.
One by one, those who wished to stake a claim to the Iron Throne were invited to step forward. The hall was packed with lords, ladies, and courtiers from across the Seven Kingdoms. All eyes were on the line of claimants standing before the dais. At the front stood his brother, Viserys, resplendent in black, red and gold. Just behind him was Rhaenys, calm and regal in her bearing.
Aemon offered them both a warm smile of support.
"Let the first to make their claim step forward," Grand Maester Runcister announced.
Viserys stepped forward, his expression poised but solemn. "I, Viserys Targaryen, firstborn son of Prince Baelon Targaryen, who was himself heir to the Iron Throne, do hereby make my claim. Let the gods and the people of Westeros decide if I am to sit on the throne."
The scribes recorded his name on the scroll of contenders. Viserys gave a respectful nod and stepped aside.
Then Rhaenys moved forward. "I am Rhaenys Targaryen, the only child of Prince Aemon Targaryen, eldest son of His Grace King Jaehaerys, and heir to the throne until his death. By my birthright, I stake my claim. Let all assembled here cast their votes according to their conscience and their wisdom."
Aemon watched her with pride. She stood proud and tall, and for a moment, he thought that if Westeros were only a little wiser, she might truly be its heir. From the seats below, Laena and Laenor applauded their mother with vigor.
Next came a man with silver-blond hair and a Valyrian look.
"I am Daegar Selaerys, trueborn son of Princess Saera Targaryen, and Triarch Baerion Selaerys." he declared. "My mother bears the blood of House Targaryen, and my father descends from the old blood of old Volantis descent of Valyria. By the strength of that blood, I make my claim."
There were murmurs among the assembled nobles. Though his name had appeared in whispers, few took the claim seriously. Still, the scribes wrote it down.
Following him were two more of Saera's sons, though both were bastards. Their claims, while voiced, were met with silence and little more.
Later still, a supposed bastard son of Maegor stepped forward, but his petition was summarily dismissed. Maegor's well-known sterility made the claim impossible.
To the outrage of some, a man claiming to be a bastard son of King Jaehaerys himself came forward. But his claim, too, was swiftly struck down by the king himself.
"Your claim insults my queen send the man away. Let him be grateful that I will let him off without future actions." Jaehaerys said coldly, rising from his seat. The man was escorted from the hall under heavy guard.
By midday, the final claims had been voiced. Only two serious contenders remained: Viserys and Rhaenys. All others were discarded or dismissed.
The lords were then given their chance to vote. One by one, they stepped forward to place their parchments into a sealed box, lords paramount and minor vassals alike, casting judgment on the future of the realm.
As the sun dipped lower toward the horizon, the hall grew tense. Aemon waited with his family in the side chamber, quiet save for the occasional murmur or creak of wood.
At last, a maester entered and bowed deeply. "Your Graces," he intoned solemnly, "the votes have been tallied."
King Jaehaerys rose. "Very well. Assemble the lords and ladies. Let the realm hear the decision."
An hour later, the great hall was once more filled to the rafters. The last golden light of day slanted through the broken ceiling of Harrenhal's great hall.
Two maesters stepped forward, carrying a sealed box.
All fell silent as the box was placed before the throne. King Jaehaerys broke the wax seal, withdrew the scroll, and stood.
"It is declared," the king said in a clear voice that echoed through the vast chamber, "by the lords paramount and vassals of the Seven Kingdoms, that Prince Viserys Targaryen shall be named Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne."
A cheer rippled through the crowd, some restrained, others jubilant.
Aemon turned toward his brother and smiled warmly. He rose to his feet and bowed his head with respect to his future king and to his future good-mother. She was disappointed yet gave him a small smile.
Let it all end differently, Aemon prayed silently as he gazed upward toward the broken ceiling of Harrenhal's great hall.
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