"Family means nothing if you do not put in the effort to build those bonds."
Despite having spent weeks working closely with the man, Aemon was still not used to seeing his brother smile. Personally, he blamed the quarrels of their youth- no, of their younger days. While Vaegon might have been a youth then, Aemon had not been. A shameful admission, but he was willing to be the bigger man and admit his mistake.
In the privacy of his own head.
It had been those years when his younger brother had always met him with a frown or some other frosty expression. That had been the Vaegon that Aemon had grown used to. That was the image he still had of his brother, always withdrawn, always closed off like a barred gate. But as he watched his brother overseeing the loading of ships with supplies and men with a pleased smile, Aemon realized that this perception of Vaegon had been wrong.
All along the docks of King's Landing, a motley assortment of ships had been gathered for several days already. Sleek galleys and fat-bellied cogs sat side by side with large but still bulky carracks, each a swarm of activity as crews brought aboard provisions for the next voyage.
Crews aided by red-garbed men, who eagerly shared in the burdens. At least, who participated without complaint and with commendable speed. But not without shouting. Every ship seemed to have a red-garbed man shouting directions at his fellows along with the less uniformly garbed sailors.
No, to simply call them red-garbed men was not right. These were Vaegon's men- Vaegon's soldiers, hand-picked and personally trained, equipped and paid out of his own coffers. This was the result of his brother's own efforts, and he seemed more than pleased by it, judging by his expression.
An expression he wore with what looked like the ease of long practice.
It scared Aemon, even if it should not have. Who knew what else his brother had done over the years? Who knew what plans he had set into motion? Who knew what those plans had brought him? Aemon did not even know how much coin his brother had. He had enough for a fleet and an army, that much was certain. But how much more?
He forced the air out of his chest and shut his eyes. These were unworthy thoughts.
Vaegon had not wanted power. Vaegon had rejected power when initially offered. Vaegon had opposed his ideas for the council. Vaegon had had his fleet for some time, had been gathering coin for quite some time, yet never moved against him.
His brother would not betray him.
Thus satisfied, Aemon opened his eyes once more from within the safe confines of the sturdy wooden box, further reinforced with a thin layer of iron, assembled at the docks of King's Landing. All around him, though he could not see all of them, was an appreciable portion of the knights and men-at-arms sworn to House Targaryen remaining in the city. Along with the army that Vaegon had raised.
This might have been excessive, had this been a simple embarkation, but there were more witnesses to this event than the heir to the throne and the Hand of the King. On second thought, it might have been an appropriate amount of protection even before the additions of the wife and children of the Hand.
"Relax, Aemon," his brother spoke softly, as though he could sense the distress and tension in Aemon's mind, but not identify the cause of it and promptly assumed it dealt with the impending campaign. As though he were ignorant as to the cause of the distress. "This will be done properly. No tragedy."
"Your confidence is admirable, brother," he sighed in response, trying in vain to clear away the treasonous thoughts. "Though I dare ask why you might think so."
"Purpose." His brother's voice held an edge he did not appreciate. "This is merely the step in a war, not a means to greater personal glory. We will fight pirates. Slavers. The scum of this earth. All to tighten the noose around the throat of the Martells now and to aid merchants later. A grand purpose."
"Are you feeling alright brother?" Vaegon most certainly did not look alright. There was a feverish gleam in his eyes. That unnatural gleam was made worse by a narrowing of the black of his eyes until they were orbs of almost solid violet. Doubly so by the dark bags beneath the eyes, clearly heralding a lack of sleep.
"Forgive me, I did not sleep much last night," he admitted, leaning forwards while gripping the edge on the edge of the box. Beneath him, the twins stood on the tips of their toes in an attempt to look over the edge. After a moment's wait, his brother lifted up his son and daughter to give them a proper view of the proceedings, much to their joy. "My mind is aflame with errant thoughts."
"Errant poetry, more like," Maegelle teased. She, too, had come to see her husband off, looking only marginally better rested. "But rest assured, Aemon, my husband will not engage in needless foolishness. He knows better."
"Only because you spent the night reminding me,"
"And now you know better,"
"You see, Aemon?" Vaegon asked. "Nothing to worry about beyond the usual dangers of war. Besides, I can sleep while the Cannibal flies."
As if on cue, a black mass at the edge of the harbor shifted. Past the mouth of the Blackwater Rush, that river King's Landing sat beside, the waters were too shallow, the shores too dangerous to dock. It was there, far from the combustible contents of the harbor, that his brother's mount had waited.
And clearly, it had tired of waiting.
The beast unfurled itself, the colossal dragon stretching its wings, arching its back, and straightening its legs before stretching its head high. Higher and higher the serpentine neck extended, until the massive head at the end partially eclipsed the early morning sun that was still low in the sky. That was all the warning Aemon received before a deep rumbling bellow filled the air, drowning out the ocean of shouting from the crews loading the ships. For the first time that morning, the ship crews paused their work, clearly not used to the presence of the great beast. His brother's soldiers, too, stopped their work, but for entirely separate reasons.
Or so the cheering led him to believe.
"Are you leaving already?" one of the twins asked. The girl, Aerea. Probably. "But you just came back from Dorne!"
"It should not be too long this time," his brother reassured the child. "Now, who wants to help me put on my armor?"
"Brother," Aemon cut into the excited babbling of his niece and nephew, and Vaegon turned briefly to him. "Good luck."
He gave a nod in acknowledgment and left the box.
Vaegon lifted his twins into the contraption that had carried them there with a small cabin, like an armored and covered cart, bearing his personal supplies before carrying his wife in with him. It left a twinging in Aemon's heart, it really did. Baelon had always been a good friend to him, his best friend in truth. He had relied on him, confided in him, trusted him with whatever burdened him. Should he have needed his aid, Baelon would have provided it without thought and without question.
Aemon and Vaegon did not share that same rapport.
Never was it clearer than when his brother did not look back as a small wheelhouse carried him to his dragon.
Instead, Aemon waited, surrounded by guards in a city he barely recognized. Once the matter with Dorne was resolved, and the city was safer, he would take the time to see all that had changed. Like those towers in Fleabottom.
Aemon was rather curious to know why they had sprung up so suddenly and in such number.
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