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Aemon Targaryen – Wolf’s Den – Cranleigh

"Yours is the bearing of a warrior, my lord," said Nerea, looking towards Aemon with more than evident pride.

"I agree with the lady, this has been our best work. Goblin steel catalyzed with dragon flames. When I told my father about the project, he was dying of envy, hahaha," said Princess Valka, watching with admiration as the black steel plates slid down the body of the young sorcerer, as if a second skin, powerful and scaly, grew on his more than attractive body. On the chainmail of scales, enchanted armor plates adorned him, black as coal, thin and slender, allowing mobility and agility with ease. His head was covered with an enchanted helmet, elegant and lethal, a masterpiece that demonstrated Valka's arcane mastery.

A blood-red cloak emerged from his shoulders, with the symbol of House Targaryen in white in the center, surrounded by the roots of Ygdrasill, the personal symbol of Aemon.

And the symbol he would use in the conquest of the Seven Kingdoms.

Although, at least for the moment, the conquest of the Iron Throne would have to wait, tonight's prey was of a different category.

"All ready, my lord. As soon as you order, we will appear in the camp," said Remus, dressed not in his classic threadbare robes, but in his new armor, heavy and armored with Stark runic magic, custom-made and enchanted. It was the standard attire that his Lycants would use in combat, openly demonstrating their loyalty to House Stark.

And next to Remus...

"All set, my alpha. The boys are anxious, they want retribution against the abomination. There will not be a single vermin left of Greyback's pack," said Chiara, dressed in armor similar to Remus's, but evidently adapted for a female body. Both had their wands ready and an almost unhealthy desire to begin the operation.

"Excellent work," said Aemon, as he focused his gaze on the other side of the room. He looked over to where the Veela warriors were, beautiful and dangerous, all dressed in Targaryen colors. Light armor that simulated feathers, while black steel plates covered important points. Crimson cloaks were born from their shoulders, and their heads were adorned with winged diadems. They all carried their wands at the ready, as well as long and dangerous spears.

"Everything is ready, Your Grace. The servants of the dragon are ready to die for you," said the commander that the council assigned, the devotion and fanaticism more than evident in her eyes.

"Let's hope that such a sacrifice is not necessary, my lady," Aemon said tactfully. He knew that the Veela were devoted to House Targaryen, but he was sometimes surprised by the level of fanaticism and loyalty they displayed.

Even his beloved Fleur, who was a powerful and talented witch, would make certain comments and insinuations that reminded Aemon that his French flower was a proud Veela.

And therefore, a faithful servant of the House of the Dragon.

"My girls marked a clearing in the forest near Greyback's camp. His pack is all gathered. Apparently, the decrease in werewolves has been noticed by the wildest clans, and they gathered for an unknown purpose," said Alexandra, dressed in her battle robe, holding a map detailing the area of the attack.

Aemon looked at it coldly. This would not be a raid. It would not be a lightning attack. It would be a real battle, and it would not end until Greyback's pack was exterminated, and he knew perfectly well that they would not fall without a fight.

So he wanted to have everything ready. He wanted to have contingencies for any eventuality.

"We all read the report about Fenrir Greyback, more beast than man, and with a thousand beasts under his command. It won't be an easy fight, but we have the element of surprise on our side," Remus said, his face full of determination, his wand wielded so tightly that Aemon thought he would break it.

This attack was personal to his former teacher. His score to settle with Greyback would end tonight.

"How are things going with the Death Eaters?" Aemon asked Amelia directly, who was looking at the reports of the previous operations with conflicted eyes.

Aemon could understand her. What they were doing was against her entire professional career, but as he had mentioned to her in the past—

Wars were not won with legislation, but with blood.

And the one who attacked first always had the upper hand. Aemon would not allow the imbeciles of the Ministry or Voldemort's lapdogs to strike the first blow at his family and his inner circle.

In addition, the promise of huge amounts of land and titles in Westeros for the noble House of Bones had been attractive enough for the "investigations" to end in shelving.

Immoral? It might be, but so were all the deaths and disappearances of Voldemort's first reign of terror. The Death Eaters were feeling the same as half-bloods and first bloods felt during the first wizarding war.

At that moment, the door of the office opened, showing Mitsuru, dressed in an elegant and feminine summer suit, high back and noble bearing. Her hand shone proudly with the ring that Jon had given her, and in her arms she carried the box with the gifts necessary for the operation.

When she arrived, his beautiful Japanese lady bowed to him, as was typical of her culture, and began to speak.

"My husband, what you requested," she said, as she handed him the box and sat down to Aemon's right.

"Thank you, Mitsuru. Are you ready to return? It will be your last year in Japan before you come back here permanently," Aemon said tactfully.

The beautiful redhead nodded elegantly and said,

"I am ready, and I am looking forward to our permanent reunion, my love. I would stay longer, but with the arrival of the new student, I must prepare everything in Iwatodai," said the beautiful woman with obvious embarrassment, as she bowed to her future husband.

Aemon only nodded calmly and caressed her face gently. Mitsuru was the most traditional of his wives. Unlike the rest, she was not bisexual, and she enjoyed long and delicate sessions of lovemaking. She was practically a princess.

His princess, Aemon thought fondly.

Mitsuru was strong and independent in business, politics, and economics, but a small fawn in sentimentality, something that was common among her people, apparently.

"What is that, my lord?" Chiara asked, looking curiously at the box that Mitsuru had brought.

Aemon looked up and opened the chest, showing a dozen rings. They were simple bands of silver with runes engraved on their surface.

"They are our insurance. They have two simple functions. They will allow you to summon your wand to your hand in case you lose it, and if they detect that any of you are seriously injured, they will bring you directly to the castle. They are not like my future wife's ring, but they will be functional," said Aemon, while making one ring levitate to each of those present, noticing Mitsuru's smug face when being referred to as his future wife.

"Everyone knows the plan. See you at the camp," Aemon said, causing everyone to nod and activate their portkeys, disappearing from the place.

Leaving Aemon alone with his future wife.

"I notice you are agitated, my love," Aemon said calmly, as he walked towards Mitsuru and caressed her face. The difference in height made the redhead raise her face to look at her man, and Aemon's burly body, dressed in his draconic armor, made her look fragile next to him.

Although that adjective would not be used to describe Mitsuru Kirijo. After all, having the mental fortitude to summon a Persona was a really rare talent.

"I don't want to leave. My time here is… simply wonderful, my love," said the Asian maiden, as she closed her eyes and leaned into Aemon's hand.

The young dragon knew what his fiancée was not saying. She feared for him. The operation was dangerous, and she feared something would go wrong.

A real possibility, however much such a notion made Aemon uncomfortable.

"And if you fail?" she asked, her face full of anguish.

"I won't," Aemon said firmly.

Mitsuru looked him in the eyes firmly, holding his gaze impressively. Few people could do that without looking away. The redhead was one of them.

"If you die, I'll go to the Ocean of Souls myself to rescue you and kill you again," threatened the redhead.

Aemon knew it was an unorthodox way to express her concern, but he did not doubt for a minute that she would be able to keep her promise.

He took his fiancée by the waist and brought her closer, giving her a sweet and slow kiss, full of a thousand and one feelings, in a bond that tightened to levels never seen before.

Emperor and empress.

And then, he felt the power of the soul rumble within him.

“I am thou, thou art I… due to the deepest connection between rulers, you have unlocked the Arcana of the Empress. Behold Freya, goddess of love and fertility.”

The voice was beautiful, feminine, and powerful, with a playful tone.

As he focused his gaze behind Mitsuru, he could see for an instant how the image of his Persona, Penthesilea, was consumed by golden flames.

Instead, a winged maiden appeared, silver-haired and with amethyst eyes that shone like two suns, dressed in the most revealing dress Aemon had ever seen. Her body was mature, with large breasts and wide hips, symbolizing successful motherhood, wearing two golden heavenly wings.

Aemon knew he was seeing the Norse Goddess of Fertility. He also noticed something really revealing.

The face was familiar to him… too much. He had seen it countless times in Lorian Stark's memoirs.

Priscilla Vallens' face…

And as quickly as it began, the phenomenon disappeared, leaving Mitsuru fatigued and Aemon with more questions than answers.

Shaking his head quickly, the young dragon said,

"I have to go, my love. We'll talk when I come back."

Mitsuru nodded and kissed her man gently, still fatigued by the feeling of overwhelming power within her.

And a second later, Aemon disappeared.

Next stop, the camp.

They had a wolf to hunt.

Eddard Stark, Heart Tree – Winterfell

"Are you sure of this, Howland?" asked Eddard, watching his old friend prepare the most disgusting concoction Eddard had ever seen.

The usefulness of dead animal parts, dried leaves, and extracts of dubious origin meant nothing to Eddard.

For Howland…

"Your vision was clear. You saw our monarch, safe and sound, didn't you? You also saw roots," said the Lord urgently.

Eddard nodded calmly.

"I did. Jon was…" however, Howland interrupted him.

"Aemon. Lady Lyanna named him Aemon," he said firmly.

Eddard rolled his eyes, but corrected his words.

"Aemon… he was sitting on a throne, surrounded by hundreds of Valyrian maidens. He looked like their leader or their king. I wouldn't know how to explain it," said Lord Stark, seeing the excited Lord Reed crush the elixir.

"I trust you, Eddard, but if what you say is true, then we have a real chance of contacting our king," said the crannogman, finishing grinding some deer's eyes in a mortar and pestle, as well as adding them to a small cauldron. A green and earthy liquid boiled suspiciously, and as soon as Howland crushed the eye—

"SHIT!" whispered Ned, seeing how a fucking cloud of green gas emerged from the cauldron, moving like snakes in front of the heart tree.

"What the hell is that, Howland?" asked Eddard, having a slight suspicion.

"You know the answer, my Lord," said his friend evasively, while he took out enough liquid to fill three glasses.

Wait… three?

"I've never been able to surprise you, Howland. Your observation skills are incredible," said a familiar voice, belonging to none other than Arthur.

Damn it.

"Surprised to see me, Eddard? Not enough, considering the visit you paid to my sister. Ashara sends her greetings, by the way," said the gentleman coldly, while looking at him from head to toe.

Eddard stared back, but didn't answer.

"Enough, both of you. It's time," said little Lord Reed, at the same time as he cut three leaves from the heart tree and threw one into each cup, causing the green liquid to begin to change colors aggressively.

Similar to a rainbow.

And then Howland took his cup and closed his eyes, an act which Arthur and Ned repeated, and then he spoke.

"Show me Aemon Targaryen!" said Lord Reed, using the Old Tongue, before drinking the whole potion in one fell swoop, drawing disgusted grimaces from Arthur and Ned, who copied Howland's gesture, took the potion, and recited the fucking words that sounded more like grunts and screams than a real language.

The moment the grotesque liquid came into contact with Eddard's body, he knew this had been a bad idea.

The leaves of the heart tree began to glow, first with an intense red, passing through blue and then green. In a short time, the leaves looked like a fucking arco iris.

And then, just when he thought he would have to throw up his dinner…

It happened.

The forest around him began to fade, thousand-year-old trees dissolving into a kind of multicolored cloud.

"What the fuck is going on?" Arthur said next to him, as terrified as Eddard was at this moment.

And in the blink of an eye, the feeling ended. Eddard looked around, finding himself in a forest with great activity around. There were soldiers in white armor, men and women, who moved with total discipline. There was no doubt that it was a military camp.

"Where the hell are we?" Arthur whispered, looking around cautiously.

Howland responded calmly.

"Our souls are hung between the branches of the great tree, an ancient ritual which allows us to see between physical barriers," said Howland, as he began to walk towards the center of the camp, followed by Ned and Arthur.

"Then we're not really here?" Arthur asked, relaxing a little.

"No. Our bodies are still lying around like sacks of potatoes in Winterfell. We have come to where our king is," said Howland, as he pointed to a huge central tent.

Two banners that put a huge smile on their faces.

On the one hand, the crimson three-headed dragon on an ashen field, proud and revered, powerful and terrifying.

And on the other, the direwolf, cold, untamed, and serene.

The two lineages of their beloved nephew.

And speaking of Aemon…

"Are the assault bludgers ready?" asked a voice that Eddard had not heard for more than two years.

"Aye, Your Grace. A hundred steel spheres enchanted to fly among the enemy troops," said a beautiful woman with platinum hair and blue eyes, wearing armor that screamed only one thing.

Allegiance to House Targaryen.

"My king," Arthur whispered, kneeling at the mere sight of his nephew, as he observed every detail of Aemon's face, which, to Eddard's sadness, had changed.

Jon's long hair, his trademark black curls, had been replaced by short, wavy ash-blonde hair, and his gray eyes, the eyes of his beloved sister, now bore an amethyst color.

They were cold, calculating, the eyes of a commander, of a ruler.

The eyes of a King.

"My Lord Stark, everything is ready. Our rune masters are in position. As soon as you activate the first pillar, they will do the same, and Greyback will be trapped," said a man dressed in steel armor and white cloth, the Stark wolf roaring proudly on his chest.

"There seems to be a clear division among our king's troops," said Howland curiously.

"Numerous, disciplined, and capable. My king already has an army of his own, wherever he may be," said the former Kingsguard, analyzing every detail of what was happening around him.

The three of them watched Aemon nod calmly.

"Perfect, Remus. Let the Lycants take their positions. Marielle, same order for the Veela. The hunting season has begun," said his nephew soberly.

They both nodded and walked in different directions, Eddard imagining that it was to prepare the attack.

Because it was evident that they were on the cusp of a battle, one of considerable size.

"Apparently, my king already has his first Kingsguard," Arthur said approvingly, seeing how a beautiful woman dressed in white armor, with a cape bearing the Targaryen symbol, followed Aemon like a shadow, her eyes watching with precision down to the smallest detail.

"A Kingsguard woman. There's always a first time for everything," Howland said curiously, though his attention quickly turned to something else.

The hand of Aemon.

"What is happening?" asked Arthur, who fell completely silent when he saw how a white flame appeared in his king's hand.

"Sorcery!" whispered the knight, seeing how the white fire gave way to a beautiful sword, made of black steel and a white guard, evidently made to measure for Aemon's hand.

And when they thought nothing could surprise them even more…

It happened.

Huge steps made the earth tremble, and from the shadows of the forest, something emerged, huge, impressive, and terrifying, with white scales and bigger than a fucking elephant.

"A dragon… Our king has a dragon!" Arthur murmured with obvious pleasure and joy in his voice.

"How long can we stay here, Howland?" asked Eddard, watching as Aemon raised his sword with a scream and buried it into the forest floor, causing a kind of magical crystal wall to begin to appear, surrounding a specific part of the forest.

Gradually, more pillars of light appeared in the vicinity. Evidently, a trap had been triggered, and the fight would begin.

"Enough to see our king command his troops," Howland said as he focused his gaze on Aemon, who was riding on the back of his dragon.

Eddard didn't know what to expect, but he was sure of one thing.

What he was about to witness would change his notion of what he called a war.

And he was not wrong.