Bringing the Dawn

LXVII.

Aemon Targaryen

Kings Landing, 301 AC

It was strange.

Those words had been circling in his mind for the past day where he had been back in the very building he had been born in. Tracing his fingers along the bricks that he knew were a mixture of red and deep orange yet he could not see anymore, walls he had leaned against when he was only a child. Corridors he had ran down with his brothers and sisters.

Well, apart from Aerion.

His older brother had always been too self absorbed in his ways and what he believed. Surrounding himself with people who looked down on those they deemed below them like they were the rivers of shit that flowed through the worst parts of Flea Bottom. Remembering the times where he would beat both himself and Egg only to be pulled away by their cousin whom he later married Daenora. Before Daeron became fond of wine a little too much they would play tricks on the servants, occasionally the odd noble or two and wait for their grandfather who was King at the time to pick up after their mess. Daella and Rhae too, both his sisters were always prim and proper when they had to be but when they didn't have to be? It wasn't uncommon to chase each other through the few hidden passages they'd found.

Yet everything flipped the moment King Daeron II had died. Then his father had accidentally killed his eldest brother Baelor in a Trial by Seven. Then Aerys became King and he died not long after that, his uncle Rhaegel not being completely there which many were terrified of. Followed by a sickness which swept through Westeros which took even more family from Aemon and left his father no choice but to become King. Something that should not have happened and yet it had. At most, a fourth son could hope for his own Keep and a decent marriage.

He'd been ten when he'd been sent to the Citadel. Being so low in the line of succession it was a good move to make, especially with the uncertain times caused by Daemon Blackfyre rebelling against his half-brother. Even now, such a thing bothered him. Had they learned nothing? Nothing of their past? Of what happened when they fought within the family? Dragons were prideful and vengeful, that was common knowledge. Yet their pride had brought them too close to heel for his comfort. At least he wasn't wholly alone as a distant cousin of his was a Septa. Alarra Hightower was the youngest child of Rhaena Targaryen and Garmund Hightower. They didn't converse often with one another but when they did they enjoyed it greatly. He never got to meet her mother as she'd died around a decade beforehand yet Alarra had been the last person alive at the time to have seen a dragon with her own eyes. It was due to her there was such a detailed drawing of Morning in that book he'd given to his nephew so long before. Nearing three years before as it was closing in on the end of the year.

He shook his head to rid himself of his memories before breathing deeply. It still smelled the same. For most it would cause their noses to wrinkle but to him it was a reminder of home. Although he would say he did miss the crisp coldness that was the air at the Wall. So cold it felt like his lungs were freezing with every breath he took. The layout had not changed once and he was surprised by just how much of the Red Keep he remembered. Considering how young he had been when he left especially. His nephew setting him up in a room on the same level as his within Maegor's Holdfast and much to his annoyance, assigned Ser Brynden to him when he got back but in the meantime it was Ser Loras.

It wasn't that he disliked the Blackfish. Quite the opposite really. But Jaeron needed everyone surrounding him with the news he had been lumped with the day prior. Not only was the poor boy reeling with the news of his older siblings actually being alive, he was now reeling just as much with the capturing of Robb Stark and the death of Catelyn Stark. Both of which he'd met briefly when they had travelled to Castle Black with Jaeron not long after the truth had been revealed to him. Death didn't affect him anymore, he'd witnessed so much of it he wouldn't even blink an eye at it anymore. Not that his eyes saw anymore, they hadn't in three decades.