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Aemon Targaryen, Somewhere – Somewhen

Aemon watched silently as the three mysterious wizards used their wands to force enormous roots from the earth itself, shaping them into a massive and sturdy bridge that allowed them to cross safely toward the side where Aemon and Dumbledore stood waiting.

-What in the Seven Hells is happening?- asked the confused dragon while the three brothers finally crossed the treacherous river and prepared to continue on their path.

When suddenly…

It happened.

The colors themselves seemed to drain away from the meadow surrounding them while an unnatural cold invaded every bone within Aemon’s body.

Even the wind died completely. No birds sang. No insects moved. The entire world seemed to recoil in instinctive terror from something ancient approaching through the veil of reality itself.

-And now…it happens- whispered Dumbledore while staring ahead with sick fascination, as though he had waited his entire life for this exact moment.

Aemon frowned deeply and turned toward the old man, more than prepared to demand an explanation when the horrifying cry of a raven echoed across the frozen meadow.

The young dragon turned instantly.

A gigantic raven with frost-covered obsidian feathers had appeared before the brothers.

Then…

The immense creature spread its wings.

Revealing an extraordinarily beautiful and terrifying woman, one Aemon had never seen before and yet could only describe with a single word.

Power.

She was…

Enormous.

Nearly seven feet tall, with skin whiter than moonlight itself, entirely white eyes and a body covered in strangely familiar tattoos, long black hair cascading freely down her body.

She was completely naked.

And yet her mere existence dominated everything around her.

The air itself seemed heavier near her presence.

The grass blackened beneath her bare feet while frost silently crept across the stones surrounding the riverbank. Even the river itself slowed unnaturally, as though reality feared moving too loudly in her presence.

And Aemon did not need to be a genius to understand who she was.

-Lady Death- whispered Aemon while swallowing heavily, watching as the mysterious woman calmly approached the three brothers.

-Indeed Lord Stark! Fifty points to Slytherin!- exclaimed the senile old man beside him, much to Aemon’s disbelief.

Though Dumbledore himself seemed far too obsessed with the unfolding scene to care about Aemon’s reaction.

And then…

Aemon heard it too.

-I desire the most powerful wand in all the world!-

Lady Death merely smiled softly before snapping her fingers.

At once, a branch from a dead elder tree near the river rose gracefully into the air and transformed itself into a horrifyingly familiar wand.

Dumbledore’s wand.

The Elder Wand.

Aemon immediately turned toward the old Headmaster with narrowed eyes, noticing the old man displayed absolutely no surprise whatsoever.

Yet before Aemon could speak, the second brother stepped forward eagerly and made his request as well.

-I desire…a stone! A stone capable of summoning the dead back from beyond!- declared the man, his face overflowing with desperate obsession and impossible hope.

Death merely smiled once more.

With an elegant motion, a black stone rose slowly from the dark river itself, shaped like a diamond and painfully familiar to Aemon.

The Resurrection Stone.

The very same stone embedded within the Gaunt ring.

Everything suddenly made sense.

Aemon immediately looked toward Dumbledore and spat furiously.

-You knew, didn’t you? You knew the stone inside the Gaunt ring was the Resurrection Stone! That is why you desired it so desperately! Enough for your Occlumency to completely fail!- exclaimed the young dragon, realization burning within his eyes.

Dumbledore did not even attempt to defend himself.

He simply watched the second brother walk away while staring obsessively toward the stone resting in his hands.

Then the third brother finally spoke and judging by the distrust upon his face…

Clearly the smartest of the three.

-I do not trust you. I desire the means to escape your cold and untamable gaze- declared the third brother cautiously, earning visible annoyance and reluctant respect from the mysterious woman.

-As you wish- answered Death softly while cutting away a fragment of her own dark robe with one impossibly sharp nail before handing it toward the brother.

The man wrapped himself within the cloak and vanished completely while walking away, just as thick fog suddenly consumed the entire scene and once more left Aemon alone with Dumbledore.

-That was…educational, would you not agree my Lord?- asked the old man calmly while looking toward Aemon, who merely raised an eyebrow.

-What in the Seven Hells is happening Albus? What exactly were those things?- demanded the young wizard while observing with interest as Dumbledore released a weary sigh.

-That…that was the obsession of my entire life. One that eventually took absolutely everything from me- admitted Dumbledore with such profound regret that for one brief moment, Aemon’s fury lessened slightly.

The old man appeared genuinely devastated.

Lost within memories too painful to fully describe.

And although Aemon truly wished to know what had happened…

Some things were simply too private.

Like this, thought Aemon while the fog surrounding them slowly began shifting once more.

Aemon watched the fate of the first brother unfold before him.

The man wielded the monstrously powerful wand with arrogance and stupidity, boasting endlessly about his “invincible wand” until eventually he was murdered in his sleep and robbed because of his own idiotic decisions.

Aemon and Dumbledore observed the Elder Wand passing from hand to hand throughout the centuries.

Dark Lords.

Champions of Light.

Tyrants.

Heroes.

The wand did not discriminate.

Death was inevitable after all.

And then…

After what felt like centuries of memories, Aemon and Dumbledore found themselves standing within another meadow while beautiful silver-haired women, clearly Veela, fled desperately from a group of wizards mounted atop hippogriffs.

Leading them was a wizard carrying the Elder Wand itself.

The man was utterly despicable.

Using the wand to spread chaos and destruction without restraint.

Aemon watched helplessly as the youngest and slowest Veela were captured like animals, their humble garments torn apart while their bodies were branded like simple livestock.

The arrogant wizard laughed endlessly while using the wand to burn entire Veela caravans to ash.

Some of the wagons still contained screaming Veela trapped alive inside.

It was…

A horrifying scene.

And Aemon’s blood boiled with hatred listening to the disgusting laughter of those animals.

The smoke carried the scent of burning flesh and wet earth while terrified hippogriffs screamed overhead. Children cried somewhere within the flames and the very air itself felt poisoned by cruelty and death.

But then…

It happened.

A roar.

Powerful.

Wild.

Untamable.

One that shook the memory itself, followed immediately by a monstrous inferno that annihilated the attackers like paper, spreading terror among the wizards responsible for the massacre.

The heavens themselves seemed to split apart.

And from above descended an enormous beast covered in crimson scales, bathing the battlefield in dragonfire while its rider, who could only be Daemon Targaryen himself, manipulated the flames with his own magic, shaping and directing the inferno directly toward the enemy.

The fire raged.

The blood flowed.

And the perverse wizards burned alive without the slightest trace of mercy.

-Interesting- murmured the old man beside him while observing the unfolding events with clear fascination.

Yet Aemon’s attention remained entirely fixed upon his ancestor.

Aemon watched as Daemon descended from his dragon dressed in exquisite black armor forged from some unknown metal.

It was a masterpiece.

Designed to resemble dragon scales forged from dark steel itself.

Across his shoulders rested the elegant cloak of the third brother.

And within the center of his helmet…

Glowed the stone of the second.

Only one thing remained missing.

-The wand of the first- whispered Aemon beneath his breath, his eyes widening completely in shock at the realization.

A reaction Dumbledore himself appeared to share.

Daemon reduced every attacker to ash while staring curiously toward the infamous wand, which unlike both its owner and his mount, had somehow survived the dragonfire untouched.

The Elder Wand remained perfectly intact while the monstrous flames raged around it without causing even the slightest damage to the cursed wood.

Aemon watched as every Veela woman fell to their knees before his ancestor, utterly submissive and grateful toward their savior.

But Daemon’s attention remained fixed entirely upon the wand.

His ancestor’s face appeared…

Old.

Yet still overflowing with terrifying vitality.

And the instant his hand touched the Elder Wand—

A blinding white light exploded violently.

Aemon was thrown backward completely blinded before suddenly awakening back inside the destroyed Gaunt shack while Dumbledore still remained unconscious nearby.

The wand within his hand, until moments ago Dumbledore’s wand, now pulsed eagerly against his palm.

Hungry.

Alive.

And Aemon’s course of action became painfully obvious.

-Come here Chuck!- ordered Aemon while preparing the spell necessary to destroy the ring.

The massive colossus approached obediently and carefully placed the ring upon the floor.

At first glance it appeared so…

Harmless.

Yet there, within the center of the golden band, rested the mysterious black stone from the vision.

The Resurrection Stone.

And with that knowledge, Aemon finally understood why the curse had affected Dumbledore so effectively.

The old man had not even attempted to resist it properly.

His mind had been utterly consumed by the meaning behind the stone and the infinite temptation hidden within its power.

The temptation itself was overwhelming.

His father Rhaegar.

His mother Lyanna.

And the more Aemon thought about them…

The louder and sweeter the whispers inside his ears became.

For one terrible instant, Aemon nearly convinced himself to use it. Just once. Just long enough to hear their voices again. To ask questions. To see their faces. The temptation wrapped around his mind like warm poison.

He had to end this immediately.

Inhaling sharply, Aemon raised the wand and aimed directly toward the cursed ring.

He channeled his draconic magic through the Elder Wand and released the spell.

The wand answered the commands of its new master instantly, unleashing a monstrous and ravenous spell with surgical precision.

Black flames wrapped in crimson lightning slammed directly into the ring, instantly destroying both the curses surrounding it and the Horcrux hidden within by the idiotic Dark Lord.

A pathetic shriek echoed through the shack.

Undoubtedly belonging to the soul fragment now being purged from existence.

And once Aemon finally lowered the spell…

There it remained.

Intact.

The golden band had been completely destroyed, incapable of surviving the savage Valyrian flames.

But the stone itself remained untouched.

Perfectly intact.

Almost innocent in appearance.

And Aemon seized it immediately without hesitation.

It was small, similar to polished jet stone, yet the magical power radiating from it and the nauseating stench of death magic were unmistakable.

Aemon breathed heavily now, exhaustion and the consequences of his duel with Dumbledore finally catching up with his body.

His muscles felt unbearably heavy while fatigue threatened to drag him into unconsciousness.

The old Headmaster still remained unconscious nearby.

Though truthfully…

Aemon could not care less about the old man at this point.

He had already wasted far too much time here.

He needed to leave immediately before matters became even worse.

And unfortunately…

He also needed to take the old man with him to avoid questions.

-Chuck, pick up Dumbledore and let us leave this place- ordered Aemon while simultaneously calling for Arraxys, who had stopped battling Fawkes the instant both wizards collapsed unconscious earlier.

With titanic effort, Aemon conjured the gateway toward Wolf’s Den and crossed through it rapidly before vanishing entirely from the scene.

Just as dozens of loud cracks began echoing throughout the destroyed shack while men and women dressed in red coats appeared with wands drawn and ready.

Finding only a devastated wasteland overflowing with unstable magic.

The aftermath of Aemon and Dumbledore’s battle.

It was painfully obvious the Aurors were going to have a very long night ahead of them.

Eddard Stark, Winterfell – Vanaheim

-But I do not understand Ned! It was the greatest opportunity our daughter could ever have! Why did you reject it? A betrothal to the prince would be...-

Catelyn’s words were interrupted immediately by Eddard’s cold and firm voice.

-It would be the greatest mistake of my life. The little shit is arrogant, cruel and a fucking faggot. I will not hand the marriage of my precious daughter to such an insignificant creature- declared Ned calmly, openly amused by the expression of absolute shock spreading across his wife’s face.

-But…but…but…- stammered Catelyn helplessly, opening and closing her mouth without managing to properly express what she felt, completely overwhelmed by Eddard’s absolute position.

The past days inside Winterfell had been…

Tense.

Ever since the arrival of the royal family.

Mostly due to the stance Eddard had openly adopted toward the King and his southern companions.

Lord Stark had made it painfully clear that the Baratheons and Lannisters were not welcome within his castle, an attitude quickly adopted with fierce loyalty by the northern Lords and guards alike.

Fights between guards.

Refusal to participate in the King’s hunting trips.

And endless irritation caused by the Queen and her idiotic son.

Ned still found himself amazed by how unbelievably stupid Cersei Lannister truly was.

Fucking Robert’s squire in the very heart of the North.

Inside Winterfell itself.

A place where if a single stone moved without his permission…

Eddard Stark knew.

The stupid Lannister whore continued sneaking “discreetly” toward the abandoned tower to spread her legs for her lover and although Ned genuinely did not care who Cersei chose to fuck…

The scandal itself was useful.

Very useful.

-No, I shall not repeat myself my Lady. Sansa will not marry that little shit Joffrey. I shall find her a worthy husband eventually, do not concern yourself over it- declared Ned firmly, ending the conversation entirely.

His beautiful yet stubborn wife frowned deeply and bit her lower lip before slowly nodding.

-As you command my Lord- answered Catelyn obediently despite the obvious disagreement in her eyes.

At that precise moment, the doors of Ned’s solar opened, allowing one of his guards to enter.

-Lord Stark, Ser Jaime requests an audience. He claims the matter is important- declared the man cautiously, clearly uncomfortable regarding the presence of the young golden lion.

Ned frowned before responding calmly.

-I will finish speaking with my wife first, then send him inside Miles-

The guard nodded respectfully and quietly closed the doors once more, granting his Lord and Lady the privacy they required.

Catelyn immediately turned toward Ned with a questioning expression.

-The Kingslayer? What business could you possibly have with Tywin Lannister’s golden boy?- asked his wife suspiciously.

Eddard merely looked toward her with amusement before answering.

-All in due time dear, but this meeting is important- answered Ned calmly, though the underlying dismissal was painfully obvious.

Catelyn frowned again though slowly rose to her feet, fully prepared to obey her husband and leave as instructed.

However…

Ned suddenly seized his wife firmly by the back of her neck.

A dominant gesture.

One second later, he delivered a loud and heavy slap directly against her rear, causing the magnificent curves of his wife’s ass to tremble violently while a traitorous moan escaped Catelyn’s beautiful lips.

Eddard pressed a slow sensual kiss against his wife’s neck before whispering directly into her ear.

-Have your servants bathe and perfume you for me. Wait for me in my chambers and assign tomorrow’s duties to Varyon. You shall be indisposed once I finish with you- ordered Ned while roughly massaging one of his wife’s sensitive breasts, earning a visible shiver from the beautiful Tully woman.

And Catelyn responded exactly as he expected.

With total submission and desire.

-As you command my Lord-

Catelyn quickly recomposed herself before leaving the room, greeting Ser Jaime with a respectful nod while granting both men the privacy they required.

-Lannister- greeted Ned impassively.

-Stark- answered Jaime while carefully observing the room with calculating eyes.

Ned sat once more behind his desk and Jaime mirrored the action naturally.

For several moments…

Neither man spoke.

Until finally Jaime, with all his characteristic subtlety, asked directly.

-Where is our King Stark?- demanded the golden lion while frowning impatiently.

Ned stared toward him incredulously before sighing heavily.

-He is training alongside one of my bannermen, the Mormonts of Bear Island- answered Ned calmly, immediately causing Jaime’s frown to deepen further.

-What in the Seven Hells is my King doing in the frozen asshole of the North Stark? Does he even possess proper protection? That island is close to the fucking wildlings- snapped Jaime angrily, visibly displeased by the answer.

Ned answered without hesitation.

-He is precisely where he needs to be. Learning how to become a proper man. Maege teaches him survival, combat and how difficult life can truly become. Lessons most kings sadly lack. He is perfectly safe Ser Jaime, do not concern yourself- declared Ned calmly while lying directly to Jaime’s face without the slightest trace of shame.

And before Jaime could continue questioning him regarding Aemon, Ned smoothly changed the subject.

-Your sister is a complete idiot. Fucking her lover inside my own fortress. Either she wishes to be caught or her arrogance and stupidity are even greater than I imagined- declared Ned calmly.

Jaime frowned immediately at the insult toward Cersei though visibly grimaced at the mention of her activities.

-Cersei…always believed herself far cleverer than she truly is. In her mind, northerners are too stupid to uncover her secrets. I imagine the image you cultivated over the years only reinforced that delusion- answered Jaime honestly, earning a nod from Ned.

The golden lion sighed heavily before removing a letter from within his tunic.

It was already opened and lightly perfumed.

Written in elegant feminine handwriting immediately recognizable to Eddard Stark.

Queen Rhaella’s handwriting.

-A message from my Queen. An important one- declared Jaime seriously while handing the parchment toward Ned, who immediately began reading.

And the further he read…

The wider his eyes opened in disbelief.

-Oh- was the only thing Eddard managed to say before returning the parchment.

Queen Rhaella explained within the letter that she and her children intended to visit Winterfell discreetly, expressing her desire to properly educate Aemon regarding his Targaryen heritage while arguing that enough years had already passed with him being raised solely as a Stark.

The Queen would arrive in approximately four moons.

Long after the lions and stags departed the North.

And she fully expected to be welcomed personally by her grandson.

King Aemon Targaryen.

A dangerous silence settled across the solar after those words. Outside, Winterfell’s cold winds howled against the ancient stone walls while Ned’s thoughts raced rapidly toward one terrible realization. Westeros was becoming unstable far faster than he anticipated.

-I shall…have to make preparations. If I truly travel south toward King’s Landing, I must ensure someone trustworthy receives Her Grace properly- declared Ned carefully.

Jaime merely shrugged dismissively.

-Or you could simply summon our King and allow him to welcome his grandmother personally. Does not sound particularly difficult- answered the golden lion casually.

And therein rested the problem.

Aemon, although alive, thriving and victorious…

Was not even within Westeros anymore.

And Eddard possessed absolutely no idea how to contact him.

Arcane knowledge remained painfully limited within the North.

That was being generous.

Rhaella’s visit represented…

A disaster waiting to happen.

Ned needed to find a method to contact Aemon immediately.

Perhaps Howland Reed might possess some idea regarding what in the Seven Hells they should do.

But one thing was certain.

The political situation within Westeros would become extremely volatile very soon.

Of that…

Eddard Stark possessed absolutely no doubt.

-Send several messages. And keep your sister out of trouble if possible. The last thing I need is that stupid woman getting caught while fucking her lover and creating problems for me- declared Ned while desperately attempting to avoid speaking further about Aemon.

A maneuver Jaime noticed instantly judging by the look upon his face.

Yet the young lion simply nodded.

-Fair enough. Then I shall not waste any more of your time. We will speak further on the road south toward the capital- declared Jaime while rising from his seat and leaving the solar.

Leaving behind a deeply concerned and determined Eddard Stark.

He had to contact Aemon.

His son needed to return home.

The realm was growing dangerously tense and unstable, and only Aemon’s presence could stabilize and cement the fragile alliance forming around House Stark.

The return of his son had become the absolute priority.

He had letters to write.