ARC III: THE AWAKENING OF THE DRAGONS AND THE WAR OF THE EMPIRE
Chapter 32: The Blood of the Dragon and the Red Shadow
POV: Prince Aemon Targaryen (299 AC)
A massive column of men marched back toward Winterfell, cutting through the white immensity with the steady, rhythmic thud of their boots and hooves. The campaign beyond the Wall was over.
Having partial command of the troops and the responsibility of leading real men on the battlefield was something I had never expected so soon. After the initial euphoria of the march, a freezing nervousness had lodged itself at the pit of my stomach. I spent my nights wide awake, staring at the ceiling of my tent and drowning in silent questions: What if I ruined everything? What if my decisions cost the lives of those men who trusted in my blood?
Fortunately, Robb was by my side. My cousin possessed a unique and terrifying strategic mind for someone only sixteen years old. Lady Cersei used to proudly say during the banquets at Moat Cailin that Robb's sharp mind was a legitimate heritage from her own Westerland lineage—which, knowing the cold intelligence of the old Lion of the West, actually made some sense. However, I personally considered Tywin Lannister's strategies somewhat crude and unrefined. The Casterly Rock method had always boiled down to applying overwhelming cruelty so that fear would paralyze enemies even before the first clash. That tactic works perfectly—until the day you meet someone on the battlefield who simply does not know fear and is considerably more cruel than you. Well, in the end, that was exactly what happened in King's Landing.
The battle against the rebels beyond the Wall had not been the grand, epic event I had imagined it would be. And I do not say this out of disdain for the spilled blood, but rather because I had expected a real challenge. Thinking that, however, was a tremendous folly on my part.
How could a band of desperate men, clad in worn skins and armed with pieces of bone, wooden clubs, and spearheads made of rusted iron, offer any real challenge to the Black Guard? My men marched protected by magical black steel armor and wielded weapons personally enchanted by the King. That was not even counting the countless marks of power carved directly into their skin; even without activating their magical properties, those soldiers already formed the most lethal army the world had ever seen. Activating them, well... I already knew very well what they were capable of.
I could not shake off the feeling of pride that inflated my chest with the campaign's outcome. From Robb's steady gaze in the saddle beside me, I realized he shared the same sentiment. After all, there had always been an overwhelming pressure on our shoulders since childhood.
Uncle Ned was a colossal, silent shadow to Robb. Succeeding the legendary Silent Wolf in leading the Neck was no easy task for a young man. But we were raised under the tutelage of the sharpest minds in Westeros. Robb learned to rule, to fight, and to lead by being instructed by a dual presence that blended the temperament of Dorne and the etiquette of the Seven Kingdoms: my mother, Elia Martell, and Lady Ashara Dayne—who had been Elia's maid of honor for years—alongside my own mother, Lyanna, and Lady Cersei Lannister. Both were daughters of great houses and knew every gear of political and military power. To complete it, the surviving members of the old Kingsguard were there to teach us the art of the sword, complemented by the teachings of the Silent Wolf himself.
It had been no different for me, although I technically had no land or title to legitimately inherit. However, I always felt that my mothers and the knights of the Kingsguard kept some deep secret about me, as if they knew something I could not yet comprehend.
Through my incursions into the greensight, I managed to unearth some truths of the past. I know my biological father, Rhaegar, faithfully believed in the prophecy that his son would be the Prince That Was Promised. But his plans did not make much sense; he was convinced I would be born a woman, so that I could be the Visenya to Aegon. Since I was born a man, his entire dynastic theory collapsed like a castle of sand.
Ultimately, I decided not to care about that. Arawyn always repeated that we should not listen to prophecies, for if something is destined to happen, it will happen regardless of how much we fight for or against it. Sometimes, not knowing is the best protection.
Our march toward Winterfell became slower and slower as we drew near, for many lords of the North decided to join our retinue along the way. Arawyn had summoned a Great Assembly at the castle, and absolutely all the nobles of the realm were riding there, accompanied now by the very leaders of the Free Folk who had knelt. I believe this assembly will serve to formalize the conquest, divide the lands of the Far North among the leaders of the free folk, and consecrate them as the kingdom's new sworn nobles.
When we finally crossed the gates of Winterfell, we were received with all the grandeur of the royal court. Queen Margaery was at the head of the reception, with her usual elegance. She and the others knelt respectfully before Arawyn's mount, and the traditional bread and salt was offered to the noble visitors and the new allied leaders.
Shortly after, we were led directly to the King's private solar. Inside, the atmosphere was cuttingly serious. Uncle Ned was present, as well as Queen Margaery and her grandmother, Lady Olenna Tyrell, who acted as one of the primary general advisors of the court.
Arawyn sat behind his massive oak table, removing his metal gauntlets.
"— As I predicted, everything was perfectly resolved, —" the King began, his voice deliberate and firm. "— The leaders of the Free Folk showed intelligence and decided to bend their knees before our might."
Uncle Ned took a step forward, crossing his arms over his chest.
"— And regarding those who did not accept your surrender terms, Arawyn?"
"— For those... winter has arrived, —" I answered in my cousin's stead, keeping my voice steady.
"— But there is no need to worry about that, uncle, —" Arawyn added with a mocking smile, breaking the room's tension. "— It was a very small number of rebels. There is no need to lose your precious sleep over this... sleep which I know is already quite scarce, considering the effort you have to make to satisfy your two wives every single night at Moat Cailin."
Seeing the Silent Wolf's cheeks instantly turn red from sheer embarrassment caused everyone present in the room to burst into laughter, easing the heavy atmosphere of the war council.
Lady Olenna opened her silk fan, her clever eyes gleaming as she stared at the King.
"— It seems to me that it is not only your uncle Ned who will have the chore of satisfying more than one wife under the same roof in the near future, is that not so, my King? —" the Queen of Thorns jabbed, with a corner smirk.
Arawyn laughed, leaning back in his chair with total arrogance.
"— Do not worry, Lady Olenna. Adding one more woman to my bed will never be a real problem for me. My physique was molded to endure far more than that."
Margaery approached her husband, resting her delicate hand on his shoulder with a serene smile.
"— And do not worry about that, grandmother. Having more female company in Winterfell is never a bad thing."
"— Very well, —" Arawyn took the floor again, tapping his knuckles on the table. "— Now that we are finished discussing the matters of the bed, let us prepare for the assembly ceremony. How are the preparations, Lady Olenna?"
"— As requested by you, my King, the Godswood is entirely ready for the religious ceremonies that will occur afterward, and the Great Hall has also been prepared to receive the nobility, —" the old Tyrell woman answered efficiently.
Arawyn nodded and turned his green eyes directly toward Robb and me.
"— Excellent. Now, my cousins... Aemon, you are to meet me tomorrow morning in my workspace. I have a special gift to hand to you. But before you go, do me a favor and return Dark Sister into Rhaenys's hands before she comes here herself to yank the sword away from you by force."
I let out a genuine laugh, knowing that was the absolute truth. My dear sister Rhaenys had probably never been as radiant and proud as on the day the King handed her that legendary blade. Who could have imagined that the mysterious leather bundle Arawyn brought back from the North contained precisely one of the ancestral swords of our paternal house?
As I turned to leave the solar, I heard Arawyn's voice resonate behind my back, giving instructions to Robb:
"— Robb, leave Ice here on the table. And Margaery, my queen... in which of the castle's chambers is the Red Woman staying?"
I froze for a second before crossing the door. Why on earth would the King need Robb to leave our Stark ancestral sword there? And who was this mysterious Red Woman he was talking about? Without answers and having said goodbye to Robb and Uncle Ned, I decided to go search for my sister first to return her precious Valyrian steel weapon.
The next morning, I walked with firm steps through the stone corridors to the entrance of the annex Arawyn called his "laboratory"—the mystical sanctuary where he spent nights awake testing energy matrices, refining jewels, and creating the magical mechanisms that moved the realm.
As soon as I approached the large, dark steel door, I came across the figure I imagined to be the Red Woman the King had spoken of. Her attire left no room for doubt.
She wore a long mantle of deep red fabric that seemed almost to glow in the dim light of the freezing corridor. Her hair was black as a raven's wing, framing a face of stunning and exotic beauty that exhaled the subtle scent of smoke and blood. Around her neck, a large metal collar held an immense red gem that seemed to pulse slightly, like a living heart.
She turned her face in my direction, and the impact of her deep, dark eyes almost made me take a step back. The woman stared at me with an overwhelming intensity; her eyes shone with a reverence so profound it seemed she was standing before a god incarnate, ready to fall to her knees upon the stone flags to worship me.
My sixteen-year-old mind instantly began to wander in the face of that look of adoration from such a stunning woman. However, in the next second, I realized that the way she wanted to worship me—as a sacred piece in her prophecies of fire—and the way my youthful imagination had interpreted that look were completely different things.
She let out a low, mysterious giggle, as if she were actively reading the profane thoughts crossing my mind. I could not help my cheeks instantly turning redder than the silk gown she wore.
At that moment, the heavy dark steel door of the laboratory opened with a metallic creak, and Arawyn's deep voice echoed from within:
"— Aemon, Kinvara... come in at once and stop flirting in my corridor."
We entered the spacious room filled with aromatic smoke. In the center of the laboratory, resting on a magical stone workbench, lay the immense execution sword of House Stark, Ice. Arawyn was leaning over it, tracing the Valyrian steel blade with his fingers. With a satisfied nod, he grabbed it by the hilt and tossed it carelessly into the corner of the room, as if discarding a piece of worthless kindling into the snow.
Seeing my cousin treat the sword that by right belonged to himself and his house with such reverence irritated me deeply.
You could be a bit more serious sometimes with our family relics, Arawyn, I thought, crossing my arms.
He let out a loud laugh, looking at me with amusement, as if he were truly reading every gear of my mind—which, knowing his Warg power and Supreme Greensight, was an absolute certainty.
"— Aemon, this silent woman beside you is Kinvara, the High Priestess of the Red Temple of Volantis, —" Arawyn introduced her with a careless wave of his hand.
I bowed my head in a formal greeting, but my thoughts raced. Wasn't the Red God of Essos the one actively trying to block and blur Arawyn's greensight visions of late?
As if directly answering my silent questioning, my cousin shrugged and commented with derision:
"— Yes, Aemon. It was her idiotic god trying to disrupt my mystical work. But it doesn't matter, since that entity was useless even for that. What a weak deity, wouldn't you say? It can't even contain the actions of a mere mortal in this world."
Kinvara maintained her mysterious, unshakeable smile, gently touching the red gem on her neck.
"— Well... simple mortals my Lord of Light can perfectly contain, my King, —" she answered in a soft, melodious voice.
"— Right, —" Arawyn interrupted, snapping his fingers with impatience. "— Enough dragging and theological speeches. Come here, Aemon. I promised a jealous old man at the Wall that I would give you a sword considerably better than the one he wanted to hand down to you. And do not think it is just because you have dark hair that matches the aesthetic of Dark Sister perfectly."
He gestured for me to extend my left hand. Before I could even process the movement, I felt a swift, painless, and almost invisible cut on my wrist. I did not see what he used to slice my skin, but I watched my own blood begin to flow. Instead of dripping toward the floor, the red liquid levitated in the air, grouping under Arawyn's mystical control until it formed a perfect sphere of floating blood above his hands.
"— Excellent. This was the last ingredient and the final step of the process, —" the King declared, his eyes shining with a glimmer of power.
He walked toward a workbench at the back of the room, where an extremely simple, ordinary-looking sword rested. I had not noticed its presence there when I entered, but for some mystical reason I could not explain, my eyes became completely fascinated by that blade the instant they fell upon it. There was a gravitational, invisible attraction that resonated directly with my dragon blood.
Arawyn stopped before the workbench and turned to me.
"— You can leave now, Aemon. I need to finish forging this little beauty here alone."
Even against my own physical will, I felt my body turn around and begin walking toward the exit under the subtle command of his power. Kinvara took a step forward, her hands extended toward the workbench.
"— My King... allow me to assist with the sacred fire of my Lord to temper the metal..."
"— Shut up, red woman, and stay quiet in your corner if you want to keep breathing in my castle, —" Arawyn snapped shortly and implacably, closing the steel door right behind me and leaving me alone in the cold corridor.
Five days later, the preparations were complete, and the Great Assembly finally began.
The Great Hall of Winterfell was fuller and noisier than I had ever seen in my entire life. Countless lords from all parts of the realm had answered the crown's call; from the greatest lords of the great houses to minor landed knights from distant lands, all were squeezed between the heavy wooden tables.
Even the mysterious and feared Lords of Skagos were present in the hall. The first time Arawyn had summoned them to pay homage in Winterfell, years ago, the Skagosi had ignored the call with wild disdain. Our young King's response had been immediate and implacable: he sent a select division of his Black Guard armed with enchanted gear.
According to the stories the servants whispered in the corridors—since I was still very small at the time—the number of rebel heads impaled on the beaches of Skagos was so immense that they lined almost the entire coast of the island. Since that day, the Skagosi had never failed to answer a single summons to Winterfell.
At the high end of the hall, Arawyn sat majestically on his enchanted throne of dark wood, with Queen Margaery by his side. Val, the wild princess of the Free Folk, was not seated with the royal family; she was positioned lower down, alongside the chieftains and elders of her tribes. Her placement there was not due to a cancellation of the political marriage to the King, but rather because of the simple fact that the formal ceremony and her coronation had not yet occurred on paper—an event scheduled to take place immediately after the conclusion of this assembly.
The hubbub of the lords and the clinking of ale mugs ceased instantly when the Stark King rose from his seat, his titanic presence dominating the hall.
The great assembly of the northern kingdom was about to begin.