The White Dragon - the Wall Part One. (Patreon)

Viserys Targaryen, the Wall – the North.

Viserys admired the surroundings of Castle Black with a distant gaze and stern expression, unable to truly believe everything that had happened lately. Snow fell softly and the sky was completely overcast. As the Starks said, winter was coming.

The brothers of the Night's Watch watched as Aemon's soldiers began unloading everything Eddard Stark had sent for the Watch, as well as the gifts Jon himself had added.

Large sacks of grain, dried meat, and crates of radishes, cabbages, and potatoes, as well as thick wool and fur cloaks, even some swords, spears, and chainmail. Viserys was certain that these were more provisions than these poor bastards had seen in their entire lives.

One would think that, after such a generous gift, the ungrateful criminals would be thankful that someone as important as Lord Stark cared enough to send provisions to this glorified penal colony.

And as with so many things in his life, Viserys was quickly disappointed.

The young dragon, hiding his silver hair thanks to Aemon's enchantments, watched the Crows, as Tormund and Ygritte disdainfully called the Watch, glare and even look with hatred at the offerings Lord Stark had sent. The most concerning of them all was the look of Ser Allister Thorne, the man Lord Commander Mormont had assigned to oversee the delivery.

A man whose expression showed many things, but gratitude was certainly not one of them.

The difference between Aemon's soldiers and the…"warriors" of the Watch was utterly hilarious to the young hidden dragon. Simply watching Aemon's disciplined, well-armed, and well-protected soldiers, with their white armor and thick gray cloaks, walking among the frankly pathetic brothers of the Night's Watch gave the young dragon much to think about.

And the Lycants, who had sensed the Watch's hostility toward their King, had no qualms about making the Crows uncomfortable whenever they had the opportunity.

Viserys could not understand why Aemon was so interested in keeping this glorified penal colony functioning. The most logical thing, if he wanted to protect the edge of the kingdom, something Viserys genuinely approved of, was to take control of the Watch and assign his own Lycants to it.

He was certain the Lord Commander would be much better off than with these… beings.

Viserys's thoughts were interrupted when he saw a pair of Crows block Lara's path, a Lycant warrior in Aemon's service who was overseeing the delivery of the goods to the castle, undoubtedly wanting to cause trouble.

The young Targaryen was too far away to know what they had said to her, but the response was forceful and swift. Lara used the quill she held in her hand and buried it with lethal precision in the eye of the man on her right, while simultaneously throwing a punch into the other man's throat.

And without losing a single second, Lara lifted the man on the right's body and used it to strike his own companion, making a clear display of Strength and superiority.

"Any other brilliant ideas, pieces of shit?" the Lycant captain spat, spreading her arms in obvious challenge, which all the Crows evidently ignored, averting their gazes like the cowardly animals they were.

However, Viserys's good mood was interrupted by the arrival of Ser Allister Thorne, who had walked toward the young Valyrian with a frown.

Viserys simply sighed heavily and prepared himself for what would undoubtedly be a painful conversation.

Oh, how he wished he had been with Aemon and the Lord Commander instead of dealing with these types. That conversation would surely have been very interesting.

"It is not wise to bring women to the Wall. It makes our brothers nervous and puts them in danger," the old man said with a frown, crossing his arms. Undoubtedly, as in all the occasions when they had already clashed, finding the slightest thing to complain about instead of doing his fucking job.

Viserys merely rolled his eyes, the contempt in his gaze more than evident, and simply replied:

"From what I've seen, they have nothing to worry about. Your men are pathetic and weak. Even by the Watch's extremely deficient standards. Don't worry about the young Snow's soldiers, Ser. Nothing is going to happen with them, I assure you," the young Valyrian said with amusement on his face, immensely enjoying how Ser Allister's expression soured at the mere mention of Jon.

Viserys perfectly understood where the man's hatred came from. After all, Ser Allister Thorne had been a man loyal to his family, one who had been forced to take the Black after the fall of his father, King Aerys, in King's Landing. A resentment he had extrapolated not only toward the lions and stags, but also toward the wolves, considering them allies of the Baratheons.

And even more so toward Aemon, who still used the name Jon Snow, a northern bastard.

One with men under his command, wealth, and influence, one who, with good reason, looked down upon everyone around him.

Viserys imagined that, for a legitimate son like Allister, having a bastard look at him as an inferior must have been an even greater insult, the hidden prince thought with amusement.

And without any hesitation, he decided to annoy the man a little more. After all, Viserys had to find amusement wherever he could in this deplorable place.

"This place is pathetic. I cannot even imagine how sad and miserable my existence would be if I were condemned to live my entire life within these walls," Viserys said with a look of disgust as he looked around, holding back his laughter when he saw the bitter expression on Allister Thorne's face at his words.

Although he had to admit that the immensity and, frankly, overwhelming power of the Wall was quite impressive, even to him. Aemon had said the Wall was magical, but the true scale of that word had not entered the young prince's mind until he saw it in person.

Literally, Viserys had traveled all over the world with his mother. He had seen the immense walls of Lorath, the legacy of the Maze-makers. He had seen the Titan of Braavos, the Moon Temple of Qohor, and the Bridge of Dreams of Volantis, and in none of his travels had he seen anything as immense and simply titanic as the Wall of the North. It was evident that Brandon Stark had built it with something in mind, something very specific. And although Viserys was not really sure what it was, he could say with certainty that it had not been built to keep wildlings out of the North. This was something else, something much older and more dangerous.

He would have to speak with Aemon about it on the way to King's Landing.

At Viserys's words, Ser Allister frowned angrily but avoided responding. He knew he had everything to lose. Aemon, or Jon, as everyone in the Watch knew him, had arrived with supplies and messages, practically taking control of the castle with complete ease and undermining the authority of the man standing before Viserys.

Without him, or anyone else, really, being able to do anything about it.

However, before he could continue bothering the Ser, Lady Chiara made her appearance, as imposing, powerful, and terrifying as Viserys remembered her. His nephew's Kings-guard had already executed two Crows who had tried to enter her quarters; their heads now adorned the walls of Castle Black.

"Your presence is required at the top of the Wall," the blonde woman said before inclining her head in greeting and continuing toward the castle courtyard, undoubtedly to finish coordinating the Lycants.

Viserys merely sighed in relief, knowing his torment was over, before moving away and heading toward the elevator that would take him to the top of the Wall.

However, before he could leave, Ser Allister's soft voice, filled with curiosity, interrupted him:

"Why do you follow the orders of a bastard?" he asked cautiously, as if he feared the answer Viserys had.

Viserys stopped and looked at the man with one raised eyebrow, curious about what he meant. Upon noticing this, Ser Allister continued:

"I recognize your face, even with that dyed hair. I recognize the blood of the dragon. I recognize my prince in you. Why would a son of House Targaryen, the legitimate heir to the Iron Throne, follow a bastard as a subordinate?" he asked, desperation evident in his voice, as if he genuinely could not understand why Viserys followed the orders of Jon Snow, Eddard Stark's bastard.

The young prince was perplexed for an instant, incredulous that the man had recognized him, but he was not truly surprised. For several seconds, he remained silent, weighing what he would have to answer, not really sure what he could tell the man without revealing too much.

Until Viserys simply said:

"You already know the answer."

Without saying anything else, the young prince turned around and continued toward the top of the Wall, leaving Ser Allister in complete silence, lost in his thoughts.

With many conflicting feelings.

Aemon Targaryen, the top of the Wall – the North.

Aemon solemnly gazed toward the horizon, toward the wild and untamed lands beyond the Wall, those which, according to Winterfell's old nursemaid, were inhabited by wildlings, White Walkers, and all those magical creatures lost since the Age of Heroes. Aemon had thought they were merely the old woman's tales and fantasy stories, but now ignorance was no longer a shield behind which he could hide.

He wondered whether, hidden among that immense white and green expanse, there were magical beings similar to those of Midgard, hidden, waiting to be found, waiting for the return of Magic.

Aemon quickly shook his head. This was not the time to think about that. He had… more important things to think about. He would have time to send wizards and witches to investigate Vanaheim thoroughly.

But first… he had to make it safe, both for himself and for the rest of his family.

He knew perfectly well that among the immense mountains on the horizon, within that dense and probably gloomy forest, one of his greatest enemies was hidden, crawling around like a cockroach:

The Three-Eyed Raven.

That was… without taking into account the matter he had seen in Ygritte's mind, the White Walkers. But that was not something he wanted to think about at this moment.

One problem at a time, Aemon, he thought to himself with a heavy sigh.

However, that was not important at the moment. What mattered was the imminent conversation he, Maester Aemon, and his uncle Viserys were about to have.

And speaking of the maester…

"I'm here, young Snow," the old man said, escorted by his assistant, an obese young man of noble birth from the Reach, a Tarly, according to Lord Commander Mormont.

Although not a particularly graceful or… brave one.

Samwell was obese, ugly, and an obvious coward, although he possessed an extremely privileged mind, and for Aemon, he was the perfect excuse for Mormont to accept Maester Aemon's release.

He would train the obese young man as his replacement, paying the Citadel's fees in the name of the Watch.

Aemon, the young one, merely nodded and replied:

"I see, Maester. We have to wait for one more guest and then we can begin our conversation," he said before looking toward Samuel and ordering, "That will be all for now, initiate. You may leave. I will take care of the maester."

The young Aemon's voice made it clear that this was neither a request nor a suggestion, but an order.

And the obese young man, like the coward he apparently was, simply nodded quickly and proceeded to leave the maester and Aemon alone for the first time since their arrival at the Wall.

For several minutes, Aemon and Aemon looked at each other, enjoying the silence, neither of them wanting to be the first to yield.

Until Aemon, the young one, began, speaking in High Valyrian.

"Uncle," said the young Dragon, his tone soft but firm, making the old man gasp almost imperceptibly before replying.

"Nephew," the old maester replied with a smile, while raising his hands, trying to reach Aemon's face, undoubtedly to touch him.

An act Aemon allowed naturally, sighing as he felt the old man's hands move across his face, and the more they moved…

The more tears streamed from the old man's eyes.

"Your cheeks… they are like Rhaella's, your chin is your father's… although I suppose your hair and eyes are your mother's," the old man said in a broken voice.

"Aye, the hair is black and the eyes...well, everyone assume my mother is Lady Ashara" was all Aemon said, allowing the old maester to continue.

"It is… comforting. For a long time, I thought I was the last one. I wanted to cling to your father's promises, that sooner or later you would come to the Wall, but… news came of your disappearance and…" the old man could not continue, but tears streamed down his wrinkled face.

Aemon took the maester's hands and said:

"We are not the last. The Targaryens live, stronger than ever. Viserys came with me, Rhaella and Daenerys are waiting for us in Mole Town… and Ser Jaime helped Rhaenys and Princess Elia escape," he said firmly, smiling at the relief on the wrinkled face.

"Blessed be the Gods for granting me this miracle, and blessed be Ser Jaime's hands a thousand times," the old man said, at the same time as a pair of footsteps grew louder and louder.

And a moment later, Viserys made his appearance, pulling his heavy cloak tightly around his body, undoubtedly fucking freezing at this height.

"Jon, I…" his uncle said, only to stop dead when he felt the maester's hands on his face.

Aemon stifled a snort when he saw the surprise and confusion in his uncle's eyes, while the old maester ran his old hands all over Viserys's face.

"Oh yes… I can see it. Those features, extremely handsome, very much like your brother Rhaegar. You must certainly be very popular with the ladies," he said with a smile, silencing his uncle instantly and making Aemon burst into loud laughter.

Viserys immediately blushed, undoubtedly remembering those far-from-subtle encounters with the Veela in Dragon Tower, and Aemon could not help but laugh softly as he remembered the surprise he had in store for his uncle.

Being the official… Targaryen within Topaz Island, since he planned to name Viserys Prince of the island the moment it was brought to Westeros, along with Wolf's Den.

With… all the obligations that entailed, he thought with amusement, knowing perfectly well what the Veela would do to his uncle once he took governance of the island.

Alas, that could wait. Aemon had other things to worry about.

"Uncle, my father left a letter, saying that you should visit him as soon as possible. Do you know what it is about?" Aemon asked curiously.

The old maester removed his hands from Viserys's face while slowly turning toward Aemon, more out of politeness than necessity, since it was not as if he could see him.

Something Aemon planned to correct as soon as they returned to Mole Town.

"Yes… Rhaegar… used to visit me regularly, always accompanied by the faithful Arthur. During his last visit, he seemed… distracted and rather distant, nothing like the young man eager for knowledge he had been in his youth. He moved as if… an enormous weight had been placed upon his shoulders," the old dragon said, commanding both Aemon and Viserys's attention.

"He left many things in my care, things that are safe in my chambers, although the most important thing is this," he said with difficulty as he pulled an old, yellowed letter from beneath his robes.

The letter the old dragon gently handed to Aemon.

"Rhaegar mentioned that, of everything he left in my care, this was the most important. He made me swear that I would carry it with me always, that I must never part with it. It was as if…"

Aemon interrupted him.

"As if he knew that this moment… this meeting… would come," the young dragon said solemnly, gently caressing his family's seal before the curious eyes of Viserys and the maester's expectant but empty gaze.

"Will you open it, Aemon?" Viserys asked with conflicting emotions, looking toward his brother Rhaegar's letter, Aemon's father, with evident interest.

"Aye," was Aemon's solemn response, and a moment later, he broke the letter's wax seal.

"My father went to great lengths to protect this letter… I want to know why," he said with a frown as he unfolded the yellowed parchment and began to read.

To my dear and ever beloved son, Aemon:

If these words have reached you, then my dreams have come true once again, although I pray to the gods that I am wrong this time.

I have understood too late that the blood of the dragon is not limited to the blood that runs through our veins. For centuries, our house guarded knowledge that was never written for foreign eyes. Prophecies, genealogies, compromising letters, accounts of Valyria, and secrets that even our kings forgot. Everything our ancestors considered too dangerous to entrust to the world was gathered and hidden.

Do not seek those secrets in the Red Keep. The Usurper will claim its halls, its treasures, and its corridors.

On Dragonstone there is a chamber that appears on no map, built deep within the mountain and far from our ancestral fortress. There… you will find my final gift to you, my son.

I entrust this to you because you are dragon's blood and because, when I fall, someone must remember. Beware the gaze of the Crow; his reach is vast and his mercy nonexistent.

May the fire guide your steps.

Rhaegar Targaryen

Prince of Dragonstone.

The moment Aemon finished reading, silence descended upon the three Targaryens, at least until Viserys snorted and replied.

"Well, it was rather obvious that your father enjoyed the Drama quite a lot," he said with amusement, although his eyes looked rather sad.

"That seems to be the case," Aemon conceded with amusement, while the old maester gently caressed his cheek.

"Your father left some interesting words, Aemon. What do you plan to do now?" the maester asked.

And the young dragon replied without hesitation.

"Simple. I get you out of here, we reunite with my grandmother and Daenerys, and we begin sailing toward King's Landing."

Aemon had to stifle a laugh when he saw the incredulous faces of Viserys and Maester Aemon, who had to wait several seconds before they could respond.

"You make it sound so easy, Aemon," Viserys said with a heavy sigh as he massaged his face, making both Aemons laugh softly.

"I doubt the Lord Commander is going to agree to such a thing, nephew," the old dragon said softly.

Aemon inhaled deeply and replied firmly.

"That's because I'm not going to ask him, Uncle. You are leaving with us, whether the old Bear likes it or not," Aemon said firmly as he prepared to descend.

"And how are you so sure, Aemon?" the old Maester asked curiously, causing the young King to stop for a moment before looking over his shoulder toward both Targaryens and replying.

"Because I plan to take control not only of the Night's Watch, but of every single castle along the Wall," the Monarch said, only to turn around and begin his descent.

There was much to do, after all.