Chapter 22: Revelations
"Those who are abandoned by God eventually seek out the Devil." - Princess Helena Targaryen
111 AC
Third-person point of view
Outside of time and space sit two beings of incomprehensible power: a man in his early twenties with silver hair and blue eyes and a tall woman with silky black hair straddling him as her soft hands held onto his hard-muscled shoulders as she leaned down, her hair falling onto his bare chest as she stared, her thistle-coloured eyes looking deeply into his crystal-coloured ones.
"My love, why do you still meddle with mortals so much? It isn't nice to pull the legs off an insect, you know," she said in a soft voice as she leaned in closer, her hot breath tickling the ear of her husband.
"Now I wish to know who's accusing me of being nice, my love," the man replied as he shifted her onto his lap, grasping her side as she leaned her head onto his shoulder.
"Let me have my fun. One can only do the same thing so many times before growing bored," he whispered into her ear, nibbling on it a little, drawing a short gasp from her.
"So I bore you, do I, you brutish man?" She retorted, smacking his chest gently as she leaned in closer.
"Well, I never said that, but a man must have hobbies," he said as he chuckled, staring at a hole that suddenly appeared in the dimension in front of them. The spiralling circle glowed as it showed a distant reality.
"I may wish to barge into this hobby of yours. Think of it as us watching a show together like mortals. Interesting, no?" The woman responded, adjusting herself to be more comfortable on the man's lap.
"I won't be getting a choice in this, will I?" the man joked as he placed his hand on her exposed, toned thigh.
"Now, give me some background: why choose this mortal of all people, and why help him claim that chaotic beast when he should have died? He's much more different than the ones I'd pick," the woman asked curiously as she looked through the portal at a sleeping boy as if dissecting him. Her index finger twirled her silky locks.
"Well, he'd cause the most chaos. I don't want a curb stomp, nor do I want a peaceful resolution, so I picked this exact mortal since his personality is exactly the one that I wanted for my entertainment," the man said, letting out a hearty chuckle as he stroked his partner's silky hair.
"I see were you also the reason he so easily fell for that Lannister girl? I know you played your tricks to make sure that unruly beast bonded with him with your little parlour trick," the woman said as she gazed into the man's eyes, fixing some out-of-place hairs.
"I'd hardly call it a parlour trick; it was a complex blood magic ritual to bind the dragon using a sacrifice as a conduit," the man replied lazily as he continued to pay attention to the portal.
"Call it what you will; it was you meddling, and you didn't answer my question: why is the boy so obsessed with the Lannister girl, and why does he take that woman he's older than as his mother?" she said as she pushed herself off him to look him in his eyes.
"Well, that's because he's an orphan," the man responded as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"No, being an orphan doesn't mean that well-adjusted orphans exist," she spoke in an annoyed tone.
"Indeed they do; he's just not one of them," Daikon said with a low chuckle.
"He's like Batman; he never grew up. His lack of parents, money, and love evolved into him having a gaping pit that constantly needs love and attention, like a black hole that's never full. That woman, Adella, could have been anyone as long as he was certain she had no choice but to be tied to him and make him her number one priority. He'd have fallen for any girl. That need for validation won't ever go away. He wants that love like a drug addict; he can't kick it. It's ingrained in him. As for the part of him treating a woman half his age as a mother, well, that's his Oedipus complex kicking in; you should have seen his search history. Boy really wanted a mommy. Ha! He's living in his blissful paradise right now, living a dream," the man responded calmly, paying no mind to what he said, reciting the information as if reading off the days and dates.
"I see, so that's what it is. He's a lunatic you've sent to live in his dreamland. Interesting, though I don't want you meddling any longer. No more helping him; if he's going to die to the dragon, let him. It takes the fun out of it," she ordered as she stared at the portal.
"Fine, no more meddling. I just thought claiming the cannibal would be funny," he said, lifting his hands in mock surrender.
"Well, you made more drama, so I'll allow some meddling just this once," the woman said, compromising as she let out a dry chuckle.
"Just this once, huh?" the man responded playfully.
Aemon Pov
I woke up on a hard surface, well, harder than usual. God, I miss 21st-century beds, plumbing and globalised trade. What I wouldn't give to have some coffee right now!
I suffer, and you know why I suffer. It's because of the Dornish. That's right; I'm blaming the minority, like every great leader before me. I will make Westeros great again, build a wall, and make Dorne pay for it. Hell, I'll make them pay for the wall in the north as well, because they are eating the dogs, and they are eating the cats and rats. This message was endorsed by Queen Visenya Targaryen.
Groaning, I force my eyes open and force myself out of bed. Thanks to the King of Combat perk, my body didn't hurt from the insane stress I was putting it through in training; otherwise, I doubt I'd even be able to get up from the bed. I'm almost the same age as Dolton Greyjoy was when he started to sail, so was he just a beast, or am I just slacking?
I moved towards the door and beckoned a few servants into the room and ordered them to run a bath for me and to get my breakfast ready: chicken and bread. I think I'm in the mood for it, not like I could order waffles and pancakes. Man, I miss my creature comforts.
I've been at the Hightower a few months, and Rheanyra's gotten married to Ser Cuckhold, and I'm happy the sooner she has bastards, the sooner I get to put certain plans into action, though the lack of correspondence from my mother about her gaining Criston as an ally is startling. Why wouldn't she tell me about that unless I've somehow changed that part of history?
I hate being away from court. Fucking Viserys sent me and Grandfather away to Oldtown. I'll kill him with my own hands once I get the chance. How dare he dismiss me like some common servant? I don't even have Adella with me. What are letters compared to her sweet voice, the melody of her laugh? How I miss it! I think I may be losing my mind with loneliness. I used to have Robar and Adella and Egg. All I have here is my Uncle Gwayne, and he's six years older than me and would rather hang out with his friends, teenagers, right?
So that left me doing pretty much the same thing I did in King's Landing: training, riding Apophis, and shadowing Otto and Ormund as they did their work. None of Ormund's children were born yet, so that's boring. Dearon, you lucky cunt, you had it so much easier.
Well, that's neither here nor there. I finally got permission to go to the citadel from my grandfather, so I can dedicate some time to getting something useful out of this damed city.
I walked out of the Hightower, nodding at servants and guards as I walked to the stables to find a horse. I don't have a horse of my own, and why would I need one? I have a dragon. Sadly, I can't fly that to the citadel; ridiculous rules about causing unnecessary damage to the city and causing fear to the public. How I want to burn this city to the ground!
Shit, they're It is again that impulse in the back of my mind to start killing for no reason, that bloodlust. I know it's not my own; it's Apophis, a tingle in the back of my mind whispering sweet war crimes to commit. I suppose dragons influence riders' personalities as much as riders influence dragons. It's startlingly obvious once you look at it. Aemond used to be shy and quiet, but Vhagar turned him into the most dangerous man in Westeros, a ruthless, hardened warrior, just like Visenya, and just like Baelon Sunfyre turned from a party dragon into a beast when Aegon made his own character development.
So it seemed Apophis's bloodlust was influencing me. I wonder how a bond with me is affecting him, granted I didn't know his personality before; no one did, so I will likely never know how I changed him.
After my bath and my breakfast, I walked down to the Hightower stables. I couldn't ride Apophis to the citadel, not where it's located, so I had to ride a horse instead. I don't have my own horse, and why would I have a dragon?
I was flanked by six Hightower guards, heavily armoured. I needed guards if I was to go out to the citadel. I paid them no mind—just nameless meat shields; that's all they would ever amount to.
Oldtown was pristine, much cleaner and well-built compared to King's Landing. It looked like someone actually had a brain when designing the city; the sewage system seemed to work well because the city didn't stink to high heaven. That was something I dreaded about going back to King's Landing: I'd have to deal with the smell again. Maybe I can just burn down Flea Bottom and decrease the surplus population.
The crowd seemed to flock to me but were kept at bay by the guards and pointy sticks. They created a good barrier between me and the mongrels, considerably less smelly mongrels than I was used to, but mongrels nonetheless.
I arrived at the citadel; it was a massive monument of stone laid upon honeywine, surrounded by stone bridges with two large statues of sphinxes, one male and one female, guarding the left and right sides of the entrance.
Sphinx thinking of magical creatures and the citadel I can't help but chuckle at the idiotic theory that used to be prevalent in the fandom that the maesters killed the dragons.
They didn't. These idiots can't agree with each other on the simplest of things, each maester more pompous than the last, and some want to believe that they had conspiracies spanning centuries to poison dragons passing from one maester to the next without it ever leaking out. Also, how would they even do it? Dragon keepers are in charge of the dragon care, not maesters, and dragons are kept under tight watch. There is no practical way anyone could have pulled it off; a centuries-long plan doesn't work and certainly won't remain in the shadows. This was just the fandom being manic because George didn't release winds, fucking lazy bastard.
I motion for one of the citadel guards to step forward; he rushes over, almost stumbling over himself as he does so. I told him to get me whoever was in charge and could satiate my curiosities about this conclave of virgins and misogynists.
Some may call me a hypocrite for calling others misogynists whilst trying to take the throne from the female heir and to them, I say, Damn right! Now go make me another sandwich, woman.
Finally, one of the famed grey rats showed its face, walking at a snail's pace, his chains clanging and clinking as he walked. He was fat and had a grey beard and a balding head. He gave a respectful bow towards me as he should. "Your grace, we at the citadel are humbled to make your acquaintance. How may we serve you?" he said, his voice mouse-like and lacking any genuine emotion.
"I wish to delve into the studies of certain subjects the grand maester has nought left to teach me, so I wish to satiate my thirst here, maybe form a few links of my own," I said as I hopped off my stallion and walked past the maester into their hallowed halls.
"Yes... of course your grace is welcome, as is anyone who seeks knowledge—that was the principle that founded the citadel by Lord Hightower so many years ago, the fool said as he tried to catch up to my pace, his old bones surely creaking with each step he took. I slowed down a bit to allow him to lead me.
"Your grace, if I could ask for what subject you wish to learn from, I could find the appropriate archmaester to help you in your studies," he said as he tried to catch his breath, keeping pace with me.
"Warcraft, trading, poison and medicines, geography, and the law" I cited off the subjects that I wanted to be adept in at the very least before I left this city; the maester seemed to gain a spark of amusement in his eyes as he changed directions, leading me past the area where scribes were hired by the illiterate.
"I know just the archmaester. The man is the most learnt mind in three of those fields; he would make a fine teacher for you, your grace," the maester said, his face adorned with a catlike smile as he moved through the halls of the only learning institution in Westeros.
We came upon some stairs, and that seemed to frighten the old man, and he should be scared. I had half a mind to push him down them by "accident." Of course.
"Your grace, the archmaester's chamber is the only chamber on the level at the top of the stairs. If I may be excused, you see, my old bones don't allow me to climb this many stairs any longer," the man started to plead. The look of utter horror at the thought of climbing the stairs on his face was amusing but losing its draw rapidly.
"Yes, scurry off," I waved him off as I started my truck up those stairs, the guards flanking me as I climbed the spiralling stairs to the top floor. I came upon a lone chamber with a large wooden door.
-The End -
another chapter should be up right after this one . Yes I'm doing two chapters in one day the sky is falling . i have exams so have been busy and likely will be through December and January so I gave two large chapters as an apology for the late upload as well as to show I'm gonna try and write in the time.
how did you like seeing Grain again .
Aemons first free inner monologue that's not him stressing 24/7 how was it
also this chapter also took time since I had to rewrite the whole of volume 2 second part as I had an ear full from a friend about it making as much sense as those fics where Aemond and Aegon compete for Rheanyra daughter who has both of them wrapped around her finger and otto does nothing.
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