78 AC
The Spring Prince
Baelon sat in the royal box, watching the knights joust. The arrogance and pride of these men were remarkable. Baelon recognized that he, too, was an arrogant warrior, but he was self-aware enough to acknowledge that he had never been in a real war or faced a life-or-death battle. In fact, for almost thirty years, the realm had known peace, with only minor skirmishes with the Dornish to disturb it. According to the old knights Baelon had spoken with, men had forgotten the horrors of bloodshed and were now itching for a fight. As his king once said, a bored mind is the devil's workshop.
This was the last day of the tourney, and Baelon was looking forward to its conclusion. The court had been in turmoil ever since Aemon whipped the Grand Maester for suggesting harm to his bastard son. The lords who followed the Seven were uncertain whether to protest Aemon's actions or support him as it was the king's will. Aemon, as usual, was the epitome of a charming, responsible prince. He influenced lords, captivated ladies, and, as the king had said ten years ago, was the innocent boy who had fallen into the wiles of northern beauty and magic. Even now, the court and lords believed whatever version of events suited their preferences. For some, Aemon was the tragic hero who lost his first true love and later rose from the ashes of debauchery and sadness, redeemed by his destined true love, Jocelyn Baratheon. For others, he was the gullible prince they needed, having been proven fallible even by a poor, uncivilized northern bastard. Whatever the version, Aemon was the hero, and the nobles loved that he was the crown prince.
Baelon was pleased that his spies had successfully spread rumors of Aemon's strong defense of his son against punishment. Even Aemon's word-for-word threat had been circulated, though Baelon believed most people thought it was only uttered under duress. The nobles could only see the charming prince, not the hidden madness ready to be unleashed in a moment of rage. Baelon had personally warned three lords who insulted the Stark girl about the consequences if his brother heard of it. Though sternly reprimanded, he doubted they truly believed such a threat could come from Aemon, who was so charismatic and friendly.
Baelon had been closely watching the Baratheons and the Stormlords. They had entered King's Landing with joy and pride but were now seething behind the scenes. They were frustrated beyond belief at Aemon's declaration in the small council and enraged by rumors that Aemon said he would fight against the king if ordered to harm Daemon. Baelon had personally diverted Aemon from overhearing anything from those lords many times, and he was glad the tourney would be over after tonight's feast. He missed spending time with his beloved Alyssa and caring for her during her pregnancy.
Over the last two weeks, Baelon often wondered why the king was indulging Aemon so much. More than anyone, the king knew how volatile Aemon was, and the carefully woven story spread by their agents was the only reason the realm didn't suspect madness in his elder brother. Even though the king had never mentioned bringing his bastard grandson south, Baelon knew the king was unhappy that such an intelligent child couldn't be nurtured for the betterment of House Targaryen and the Iron Throne. The king, above all, valued competence, and the child showed great potential. Even before all this, the king had for some reason been very interested in his first grandson. Baelon knew the king would continue to indulge Aemon until he showed any incompetence. The only explanation for the king's indulgence was that he didn't want to give voice to the rumors of madness in the crown prince, which could be used by the Faith against the Targaryens due to their hatred of incest. If such rumors arose, it would weaken the Doctrine of Exceptionalism that the king had forced out of the Faith in his younger days.
Baelon knew that even as the rider of Vhagar, had he ever dared to utter a threat against the Bronze Fury, even in jest, his punishment would have been truly painful. Baelon was the only one truly thankful that the king chose to dismiss Aemon's threat like an older dragon indulging its drakes in play-fighting. He wasn't sure whether, even with Vhagar, they could beat the Old King. He was almost certain that the king had some hidden magical tricks to disrupt rogue dragon riders that he had not yet taught him in their lessons.
Baelon snapped out of his thoughts and clapped as Prince Aemon won the final joust and crowned his wife as the Queen of Love and Beauty. Baelon was sure that if Rhaenys were present, she would have been the one crowned, for all his faults, Aemon loved fiercely. Baelon was already preparing himself to play the role of the stern uncle, ensuring that her father's spoiling would not lead to a useless, spoiled brat of an heiress.
Baelon bowed to the King, seated at the center of the Royal Box, signaling his intention to leave and accompany Aemon to their chambers. He reached Aemon just as his brother had changed from his armor into casual clothes, preparing to head to the Red Keep. The procession was getting ready so that the people could admire their beloved Crown Prince.
Aemon looked at him as Baelon approached. "Baelon, join me in the procession. Let the smallfolk see and admire their dashing princes."
"Of course, my prince," Baelon replied. "I will join you, but don't blame me later for taking away the cheers and admiration of the people as I am more handsome and dashing than you, brother. And congratulations on your well-deserved win. Jocelyn will be happy after the events of two weeks ago."
Aemon frowned and sighed tiredly. "Aye, you have the right of it. I really practiced hard last moon to make it up to her. It is not possible for me to do nothing when my Lyarra is insulted."
"You don't have to explain it to me, brother. I understand. If anyone insulted Alyssa, there would be blood."
The procession started as they mounted their horses and began waving and smiling at the crowd. Baelon rode side by side with his brother throughout the entire procession. He noticed the same admiration from the smallfolk as he had seen from the nobles. Aemon was beloved by the people of King's Landing. He had spent more gold in the two years he had returned heartbroken from the North than in the previous eight combined. The drunken fights, horse racing, bets, and even taking a four-year-old child to greet Caraxes were the stuff of legends among the smallfolk. Aemon had found an outlet for his violence on the criminals during those two years, especially anyone who hurt a woman. People still praised the kind prince who saved them. They also empathized with his loss of a young love to childbirth, as many of them had experienced the pain of losing loved ones in childbirth. Many of the smallfolk even agreed with Aemon's hatred for his child, as they valued a living, working woman more than a babe in need of care.
Finally, it was over, and they entered the Red Keep. After leaving their horses with the stable keepers, they retreated to Maegor's Holdfast to freshen up and prepare for the feast later.
Baelon stood with his brother, discussing changes in the Citadel with Lord Lannister after the feast and the first dance. Aemon had started the dance with Jocelyn as the celebration was for their child, and later others joined in. Baelon had danced with Alyssa, his mother, and his sisters. The lords were getting drunk on wine, and the sounds of chatter and laughter filled the air. Baelon and Aemon stood to the side, watching the merrymaking, when Lord Lannister joined them for the discussion.
The lords were not happy that House Targaryen had withdrawn its payment to the maesters, but they were pleased that they could now dismiss maesters and request another or send their preferred loyal family members to be trained. They stood near a pillar of the great hall while the dance continued in the middle of the hall to rousing music.
The Stormlords were near the next pillar, talking among themselves. Baelon observed them and, with his lip-reading skills, understood they were complaining but couldn't identify the topic. Baelon was sure they wouldn't be foolish enough to insult Aemon's paramour in this public setting and on such a happy occasion.
Lord Lannister left them, bowing, and Aemon cursed. "That prideful cat."
Aemon's unwelcoming face made the approaching lords turn away.
"Brother, control your annoyance. He will be your Warden of the West and a loyal subject," Baelon tried to appease.
Aemon sighed. "Aye, you have the right of it. This is a night of celebration. Let's go to the high table and invite our little sisters, Saera and Viserra, for a dance before Mother loses her temper with them. They look bored, and that is dangerous."
Baelon grinned and nodded. Both started to walk toward the high table, passing near the Stormlords. They moved along the edge of the dance floor and near the pillars to avoid disturbing the dancers.
As they walked, Baelon heard a lord saying, "I am telling you now, Lord Baratheon, you had better ensure your brother-in-law never brings the bastard to the south. He is a threat to Princess Rhaenys and your sister. This is our chance to have a Baratheon Queen—our chance to have a woman of the Stormlands ruling the entire Seven Kingdoms. The first to do so, from a native of this land and not of Valyria. But the Crown Prince insults her and the Stormlands with his strong defense of the boy. The love the prince has for his son is clear, as he himself whipped the maester who suggested punishing him."
Baelon knew that if he heard the broken speech through the noise, Aemon could hear it too. He cursed the gods—after weeks of work to keep Aemon from hearing such words, everything was now ruined at the last minute. Baelon looked at Aemon and saw darkness entering his eyes as his hand tightened on the Valyrian steel knife of the Heir, one of the only public weapons allowed in the hall before the King, other than Kingsguard's swords and his own Dark Sister. Their walking speed had slowed, and Aemon was listening carefully, trying to catch every word. Baelon looked at the lord to see who it was and to hear more.
It was Lord Connington, the second most powerful lord of the Stormlands after House Baratheon.
The dance was at its climax, and the applause was imminent. Aemon Targaryen put a hand on Baelon Targaryen's shoulder to stop him from making any noise and moved to the shadows at the edge of the walls.
The broken speech continued, "Do you actually believe a 10-year-old boy could come up with such trickery? Or are the northern lords such stupid barbarians that they couldn't think of it for years? I don't know what to believe. Lord Baratheon, surely you will be made Hand after Prince Aemon ascends. It is the least he could do after the years of insults to you and the Stormlands—"
The dance ended, and the audience applauded, making it too noisy for Baelon to hear anything.
"—the prince values his paramour's culture more. I heard it was he who suggested he should whip the maester—a crown prince following a barbarian culture that should be rooted out of the civilized world. It has been 10 years since the bastard died, and Lady Jocelyn is one of the most beautiful ladies in the realm. I wonder how much more beautiful the Stark bitch looked—"
The applause and songs stopped, and a sudden silence enveloped Baelon and Aemon. They could hear Lord Connington's speech very clearly, even louder than before as he raised his voice due to the clapping.
"—THAT THE PRINCE STILL LOVES HIS BASTARD GIRL'S MEMORY OR WHAT MAGIC THE WHORE ENSNARED THE PRINCE WITH FOR HIM TO EVEN LOVE THE BASTARD CHILD LEFT BEHIND."
Baelon closed his eyes in absolute failure for a moment, then opened them. He was Baelon Targaryen, and he would be there for his brother now.
Aemon rushed at Lord Connington, his hand on the heir's Valyrian steel dagger. A punch echoed as Aemon's fist smashed into the lord's lower back, sending him crashing into another lord, both of them falling to the ground. The other Stormlords were enraged, and many even raised their hands to attack but stopped when they saw it was the Crown Prince.
The next song started playing in the background as Aemon drew Dark Sister from Baelon's hip. Baelon had reattached the sword after the initial round of dancing. Seeing the famed sword of Visenya, which was hungry for blood, the Stormlords began protesting. Baelon could see the commotion was attracting attention when Aemon took out his Valyrian steel dagger with his left hand and clashed the blades together. The distinctive piercing sound of Valyrian steel meeting Valyrian steel echoed, and the music stopped abruptly. Before the clamor could rise, his brother roared,
"Silence!"
Aemon moved toward Lord Connington, who, seeing the prince, fell to his knees, yelling apologies. Aemon returned Dark Sister to Baelon and, holding the knife, walked in front of the kneeling lord.
"You will lose your tongue now," Aemon's cold whisper cut through the silence in the hall.
Then Lord Boremund Baratheon stepped in front of the kneeling lord, trying to placate the prince, and the Stormlords also yelled apologies. The crowd had already gathered around them when the king's order came.
"Silence! What is the meaning of this? Come stand before me and I will settle this."
The crowd retreated, and Baelon, along with Aemon and the Stormlords, walked to the center. The King was sitting in a raised throne-like chair. Aemon bowed, and Lord Connington went to his knees.
"Your Grace, Lord Connington has disobeyed my order, and he will lose his tongue now as I promised," Aemon said.
Baelon saw Lord Connington looking at Lord Boremund, pleading. He saw his half-uncle sighing and gathering his thoughts.
"Your Grace, please forgive Lord Connington on behalf of me. He was deep in his cups, and he has already apologized on his knees. Moreover, no one saw the Crown Prince nearby, and Lord Connington was loose with his wits," Lord Baratheon pleaded with a bow.
King Jaehaerys looked at the lords and his son Aemon. Even before the King replied, Baelon knew the answer.
"I am not the one to forgive. My heir, the Crown Prince, the Hand of the King, has issued an order to the realm as his right, which only I can rescind, and I have not done so. Hence, the order is binding on everyone. He has used his power to make an order and declared the punishment if it is disobeyed. He is the one now who has the responsibility to forgive or punish," the King finished sternly.
The Baratheon lord fidgeted and turned towards his brother. Baelon wondered whether Lord Baratheon will next turn to their familial relation to get forgiveness for his principal bannerman.
"Prince Aemon, please forgive my foolish bannerman. I am your brother-in-law and uncle; please do it as a favor for me," Lord Baratheon requested.
Prince Aemon looked at his uncle and replied in a cold voice, "I can't forgive Lord Connington's words. He insulted me inside my own home. I cannot forgive and forget, and it's my responsibility to carry out the threat I issued."
Lord Baratheon sighed in defeat but tried one last time and bowed to the King. "My King, we didn't know Prince Aemon was near. The prince's order was not to insult him in his presence. How could Lord Connington be liable when he didn't see or know the prince was within hearing distance? This is injustice, Your Grace. Please disallow the punishment, as the order has been followed to the letter."
Baelon sighed as he saw his uncle making another mistake. He could see that his king and brother, previously only annoyed at their relative, were now turning angry. This was the consequence of not voiding the Starks' contract and not punishing harshly for creative reading of the law. Baelon knew that his uncle was in for a humiliation and that punishment would be swift so that no other lord would attempt their own interpretation of the Law. The fact that it was even the King's own half-brother who attempted such a move had enraged the King, and Baelon knew that the King would establish the fact that no one is equal to his immediate blood, the members of House Targaryen.
"Boremund, my brother," the King started amicably, "I don't understand one thing. Why are you still defending your bannerman when he has also insulted House Baratheon? You should be grateful that my son, your brother-in-law, is ordering swift punishment."
Lord Baratheon and the entire viewing court sputtered in confusion.
"What? I don't understand, Your Grace. He was complaining about bastards and nothing else. The origin of my house's founder being a bastard is only a rumor. There was no insult aimed at me," Lord Baratheon replied, trying to remain polite.
"Ah, Brother," the King began, "it seems that your father, my stepfather, actually achieved his foolish goal to distance from the royal family. When the people of the realm were trying to be as close to Aegon the Dragon as possible, your father was ashamed of his grandfather Orys Baratheon being the bastard brother of the Conqueror and tried to destroy any mention of my great uncle as the brother of the Conqueror. Rogar, being my appointed Protector of the Realm and Hand of the King during my minority, allowed him to do so and turn it into a rumor. Even though he was ashamed of the connection between the royal family and Orys, Rogar wanted to be close to the throne, so he married my mother for a secure reign in the Stormlands. I thought that he would have at least taught his heir the truth and confirmed their origins, but it seems that my assumption was wrong. Even though his own grandson was a prideful fool who couldn't bear the supposed shame, House Targaryen has not forgotten its most loyal relative and supporter. House Targaryen has honored Orys by making him Hand of the King, Master of War, and by giving him a queen for a wife and a kingdom as dowry. We will always reward loyalty and service beyond belief."
Lord Boremund was speechless and bowed his head. "Your Grace, I apologize for my continued defense of my bannerman. It seems that he also insulted my illustrious great-grandfather."
"It is not a problem, Brother," the King replied with a smirk. "Even though you have withdrawn the last defense, I will pass judgment on the point you have raised. Let no one ever say House Targaryen has rejected someone justice. Even if the order was to never insult them in Aemon's presence, Lord Connington insulted my grandson and his mother under my roof after eating my food and drinking my wine, where we are celebrating the birth of said grandson's half-sister. More than that, he disrespected Prince Aemon by ignoring his orders. Aemon has every right to carry out the punishment. If anyone still believes that this is not justice, then I have a simple solution for your worries: you can use your right to Trial by Combat, and I am sure Dark Sister is thirsty as ever. You may continue, Crown Prince."
Baelon immediately bowed and took Dark Sister out and went to one knee and bowed by pining the tip to the floor.
"I stand ready you grace." Baelon said in respect and making sure the Lord Connington or Baratheon will not invoke Trail by Combat in fear.
"As I said your grace, I withdraw all my objections and I have no need of calling for Trail by Combat." Lord Baratheon said immediately.
"This is not fair." Lord Connington yelled suddenly. "How are we to know Prince Aemon was nearby. We are the lords of the realm and how could we control our mouth against disparaging the lesser men when it is so common and intuitive."
The King looked at the lord sharply and had a kind smile.
"If anyone feels similar to Lord Connington then I have a simple solution for your worries: you can simply refrain from mentioning my grandson and his mother, the Stark girl, in King's Landing or any place where Prince Aemon is known to be present."
Baelon swallowed a snort of laughter at the King's suggestion.
"Aemon, time is getting late and we still want to celebrate. Take the lord outside and take his tongue. There shall be no blood in my hall. My loyal lords must dance and make merry here," the king ordered.
Baelon nodded at the guards, and they took Lord Connington by the shoulders and dragged him outside. As Baelon and his brother started walking away, the king added, "Aemon, make sure he doesn't die of blood loss or drowning in blood. Now, let the music begin."
Baelon and Aemon reached the doors just as the music was about to start. Aemon clapped his hands for attention and snarled, "The next person will lose their tongue, and I will feed it to them."
Baelon was almost certain that everyone would follow the king's solution from now on.
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Winterfell
78AC
Dameon Snow
I was sitting before the heart tree in Winterfell's Godswood, contemplating the things I had just seen. It had been a month since the tourney for my half-sister was held, and rumors regarding Aemon's actions had reached Winterfell. I was astonished that my father had fought so hard to prevent my punishment and had even threatened those who insulted me. After bleeding quite a bit and expending hours of practice, I could finally see the entire event using the weirwood network. There was some blockage initially, but my persistence and additional bleeding to power the weirwood overcame whatever blood magic protection left by my Great-Great-Uncle Maegor that tried to block me from scrying the Red Keep and the events there. I wonder why I have felt no such thing while using my warged birds.
It was truly astounding what guilt could do to a man. Aemon was so enveloped in guilt for abandoning me that he would even defend me against dragons, all the while harboring enough hatred to kill me. What a bipolar behavior, and I wondered why the Old King still entertained my father. According to everything I knew from stories and what I could overhear from King's Landing itself, the king was pragmatic to the core and hard-ass enough to even disinherit Aemon and make Baelon his heir. My guess, based on gossip from both the smallfolk of King's Landing and the nobles, was that Aemon was the people's beloved prince. From what I could gather, in the two years he was essentially living among them—fighting, drinking, whoring, and killing any criminal he could get his hands on—he had charmed anyone he met and become a trusted friend among the nobles.
Both versions of my parents' affair made Aemon the perfect choice for heir. In one, he was the tragic lover, a foolish knight who fell for a seduction attempt, which made the nobles love him as someone they could manipulate, unlike King Jaehaerys. In the other version, my father knew the seduction and used it to have a child with Stark blood, ensuring he might have a puppet lord in the future after causing some accidents. I laughed hard the first time I heard the second one.
"So, is it true, my prince?" The voice of Brandon interrupted my thoughts. I groaned at hearing him call me prince again. After the lesson I learned in the swamp, being unconscious and leaving my body unprotected, I always made sure there was protection when using such abilities outside. Brandon had turned into such a fanatic that he even called me prince when we were alone.
"What have I told you, Brandon? Do not call me prince again. It is an order now. I am a bastard, and I don't want the closer scrutiny we will have here since the lease contract to find anything of importance."
Brandon tried to protest, but I raised my hand to stop him. "I am telling you now, Brandon. Stop it, or I will banish you from my presence."
Brandon looked chastised and nodded his acceptance.
I sighed tiredly, knowing that more chastisement would be needed in the future. "As for your question, yes, it is true. King Jaehaerys has declared that only the blood of the dragon will judge another of the blood, and will be even applicable to me even if I am a bastard. Aemon also made the threat and even whipped the Grand Maester for wishing to spill the blood of the dragon and trying to start a civil war."
Brandon nodded gravely. "It is the least they could do after abandoning you."
"It is of no problem, Brandon. As you know, I could achieve whatever I wished with my own work and not have it handed down to me."
"I thank the old gods that you grew up here, and even the animals are blessed now," Brandon said.
I grinned and nodded, knowing that farm animals, after careful feeding of my diluted blood, had been improving themselves. Every generation was slightly bigger, hardier to cold, and produced more than before, whether it was wool, milk, or meat when they were slaughtered. This led to a great question I had been pondering for quite some time.
What will happen to the people who consume it? Will their children be more than them? By the third generation, where will they be? Peak human level without even doing anything or a supersoldier level? I was clearly itching to find out, but the only opportunity was Cregan as of now. Even then, his mother had not improved significantly, but I was sure my little cousin Cregan would have additional benefits, as my grandfather made sure Lady Stark would survive the birthing bed by giving more than required.
It also led to a question my grandfather asked, which I hadn't considered in all my plans for the future—a very big mistake on my part.
What will be the abilities of my children?
Luckily, it is all hypothetical as of now, and my guess, which is usually correct, is that they will inherit the already modified body as a base, even though it may not be as developed as my own, and my own ability to adapt and heal will be inherited. Lucky bastards, I cursed, as they wouldn't have to suffer the pains I did to develop from a base human. I am almost sure that the learning talent itself will not be inherited, but they will be prodigies in something that will come very easily for them.
I was going to climb the tree where my own pet eagles had made their nest to check on the eaglets. This was one of my personal experiments. The breeding pair had been fed my blood from their young days and trained by me to fly faster and longer without any rest, to fight more, and to eat more. Now they had three eaglets, and all of them had survived. They were bigger than any eaglets I had seen, and they were developing faster. From their behavior, I could see that they were more intelligent too. They realized that I was their true caretaker and bonded with me immediately. The moment the warg bond happened, I also knew that this was different from all the others. All other animals were just tools in view and discarded easily. I needed special eagles to send to Essos and, for the first time, observe the players there.
I was almost in the middle of the tree when I heard yelling from behind.
"There you are, Daemon," the loud, cheerful voice of the four-year-old Cregan interrupted me from the entrance to the godswood.
I groaned as I closed my eyes. For some reason, Cregan admired me very much. I was the exotic-looking person near his age and an elder brother figure. I knew it would bite me in the ass when one night I caught him wandering and decided to tell him some fairy tales. Then I had to go and indulge him with stories almost every day. I quickly ran out of stories and had to start telling him about Harry Potter. Now, even Harry Potter was finished, I started Lord of the Rings and going very slowly so that I will not have to start another story, but he tries to get me to tell the remaining story everytime.
I knew I had to keep the eaglets from the exciting hands of my cousin and dropped myself from the tree.
My knees didn't even buckle from my landing as my body had adapted to falls from larger heights. I didn't know how Daenerys or Jon rode the dragons bareback without the fear of falling and dying. I would not get on a dragon even with a saddle when I knew I couldn't at least survive a fall. I had been diligently increasing the height from which I could jump, and even now, I was nowhere near the top of the trees in my parkour attempts. At least I could almost complete 500 meters of running before I usually slipped and fell down.
Cregan looked at me with wonder as I casually walked towards him from the jump without even stumbling.
"Daemon, you have to teach me that," Cregan said with enthusiasm as he ran towards me.
"As I have said to you, Lord Stark, Daemon is here to continue the balance of his story, but not to teach you jumping. You have to be older to learn such things," Aethan said as he entered the godswood with a grin aimed at me.
I narrowed my eyes, and he grinned harder.
Cregan pouted, hearing that he had to be older to learn such things.
"Aethan is correct, which is a wonder in itself, Cregan. So, what was the important story you couldn't wait for and wanted to disturb my training?"
Cregan pouted again, but then he grinned. "Please, Daemon, tell me what happened after the Steward-Prince tried to take the One Ring. I can't wait anymore."
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It was only later that day that my grandfather had time to meet with me. I was summoned to the Lord's Solar to report the happenings in King's Landing.
"Daemon, you are a welcome sight for my sore eyes. The amount of work you have generated for me is truly huge, my son," Grandfather said tiredly.
I grinned mischievously. "Well, at least you don't have to worry about the king's decision. I finally managed to overcome whatever block Maegor put in place and scry the meeting. It took several tries to correctly guess the day, but I succeeded."
"So, the rumors are true then. Your father did try to protect you. Interesting," Grandfather said curiously.
"No, he didn't protect me. He was trying to appease his own guilt for disregarding his beloved Lyarra's son. He is a walking, talking bag of contradictions, and I suspect he is half mad," I said derisively.
My grandfather scoffed at that. "You don't know him, Daemon. He can never be mad when he is so charming. He is still that, by all reports, even though for two years after your birth there were rumors of a drunken prince who gambled and whored like a dying man. But his rise to Master of Laws is not something done impulsively by the king. I must advise you to never disparage the royal family outside the North and give arrows to our enemies to point at you. Why should you antagonize them when the king himself has acknowledged you as his bastard grandson and atleast care for you enough to punish the people asking for grave punishment?"
I scoffed, "The Old King has no love for me and doesn't care for me. You didn't see the meeting, Grandfather. The king was only angry that someone dared to think to harm the blood of the dragon. Moreover, he was mad that they tried to use his beloved wife, who has not yet recovered from the death of Prince Gaemon. As for my father, let's agree to disagree. I don't care enough to debate about him. Anyway, at the end of the day I am unpunished and our plan worked. The King preserved his image as The Good King while our acquisition of new gift is written off as a gift to his grandson. The North will have some increased taxes for the next decade, and the king has proclaimed his blood is greater than everyone else's and that no one could judge his acknowledged blood other than the blood of the dragon."
Suddenly, I smiled mischievously and continued, "That means I am beyond your authority and you couldn't punish me at all, Grandfather."
Lord Stark snorted, "If you think you are beyond my reach, you are in for a rude awakening. We old folks always know how to make a lesson stick."
"Well, it is good that I don't have any time for mischief that would lead to punishment then. My training is more important. I have almost reached the middle of the hot lake, and I can only stay there a little time before my body starts burning and I have to swim upwards," I said.
My grandfather's face showed displeasure at my harsh training, a major argument between us. "Daemon, take it easy, please. There is no need for such torture when you could gradually increase your abilities. You have said that you will live for a long time and the Long Night is still a hundred years away."
"As I have told you, there is no torture or pain when I can control my body and make it not feel the full pain by concentrating hard. I cannot depend on the visions; they change by my interference. Septon Barth was to be Hand till his death, but he has been dismissed. Similarly, what happens if the Others attack next winter?"
"Even then, be careful, Daemon," my grandfather warned. "You have to be in full health to fight in the first place. By the way you train, even with your godly abilities, I am afraid of losing you too."
I smiled at his concern. "Do not worry, Grandfather. I will be perfectly fine, and no amount of training could harm me permanently."
And it is true too. The limitless potential is truly a cheat, and my own healing has increased by all the training it gets put under. If my own wish was to have twenty percent of Wolverine's powers, it has developed to atleast twenty-five by now, which is, tremendous growth, as Wolverine has survived even nuclear bombs in hours.
"Can I be excused, Grandfather? I have to sleep after all," I said, as tiredness enveloped me.
Grandfather dismissed me with a wave of his hand. "Daemon, how do the Others' attacks start in your vision?" he asked suddenly as I reached the door.
"Well, it starts with the wildlings coming together for protection and fleeing as they lose entire villages," I answered, turning back to look at my grandfather. I saw him grimacing at my answer, and suddenly my heart started beating rapidly.
"What is it?" I hissed as panic enveloped me as doomsday scenario of Others coming to kill everyone early flashed in my mind.
"There have been troubling reports of wildlings coming together beyond the Wall and attacking the remaining settlements in the Gift more than before. The frustrating thing is, they are not retreating; they remain hiding in the Gift and mountains. Earlier, we couldn't do anything as they were not in our control, but since the Gift is now ours, we will have to do some hunting. I am planning to send Rickon with enough men to hunt down the wildlings."
I sighed in relief. "It is just normal wildlings. Nothing to worry about, Grandfather. If it were the Others becoming more active, they wouldn't stop at the Gift; they would keep coming south to escape in fear."
Grandfather nodded in acceptance and dismissed me again.
79 AC
Lord Benjen Stark
Benjen Stark was contemplating several things while watching his grandson Daemon make a mockery of all the soldiers. Daemon's swordsmanship had increased tremendously, and his enhanced physical abilities made it a cakewalk for him.
He still couldn't believe the things his grandson had achieved thus far. Benjen had been lauded as the greatest Lord Stark for increasing food reserves, introducing new grain, boosting trade, and even building a fleet. But the truth was, everything was inspired or suggested by his grandson. Lord Stark could still hear the smallfolk whisper about blessings from the Old Gods when he was not near. And who could blame them?
Daemon's blood and ideas about cleanliness had made a difference as significant as the Wall itself for the health of folks in Winterfell and Wintertown. He still couldn't believe the improvement in even farm animals.
"Daemon is too good. I want to be like him, Grandfather," the voice of his other grandson interrupted his thoughts.
"So, you have again escaped the lesson with your uncle Bennard, Cregan. Why must you be so troublesome?" he asked tiredly.
Cregan just grinned at his grandfather and said, "As I said, I want to be like Daemon, and Uncle Bennard is such a boring man. It is very easy to escape with the help of my little friends."
Stark looked at the younger grandson curiously, as Cregan had no friends as of now. No heirs were fostered, and his friends were just Aethan and Daemon. He looked again and saw Cregan trying to be nonchalant as if he had uttered something to be kept secret.
Stark's face became stern, and he asked, "Little friends? Who are they, and why are they helping you to escape?"
Cregan pouted, knowing it would be impossible to say nothing. "It is the cats. They love me and allow me to see through their eyes. I use their senses to escape and hide."
Stark's eyes widened as no one knew Cregan had developed warging at such a young age and with such power. Daemon grew into the power by training, but Cregan could already warg multiple animals. "Why have you not informed me, your father, or even Daemon about this?" Stark asked curiously.
Cregan looked down in worry and embarrassment. "I sort of saw some meetings between you and my father talking about how magic should be a secret, and even in Daemon's story, magic is a secret. So, I didn't inform you. I am sorry, Grandfather."
Lord Stark looked at his grandson and sighed. "It seems you are also just like Daemon, exploring the unknown too early. Come on, let me tell you the basics of warging, and later Daemon can train you personally."
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It had been almost one month since Cregan's ability was discovered, and now Benjen Stark was dealing with the temper tantrums of both his grandsons. He sighed in tiredness, remembering the argument he had with Daemon, who was adamant about going with Rickon to the Wall to deal with the wildlings in the Gift. Even though Daemon's argument of being almost invincible compared to the wildlings was correct, Benjen couldn't allow a 12-year-old to go to a battlefield.
Cregan's temper tantrum was because his teachings had been stopped as he was busier now due to his heir being sent away.
"Grandfather, you should not deny me this. This is a chance for me to further train and to see where I stand regarding my abilities," Daemon said.
"Daemon, I told you already, you will not go to a battle until you are at least 16, an adult. This is not negotiable," Benjen Stark snapped.
"Grandfather, please, I feel something awful is going to happen. You must send me too, and I could scout better than any others. You know about my warging ability," Daemon said.
Benjen Stark looked at his grandson carefully and concluded that the warning was just a trick to see whether he would agree or not and nothing serious.
"Grandfather, you must continue the lessons. It is unfair that you stopped just because Father has to go and hunt some stupid wildlings," Cregan yelled.
He arrived at a solution. "Stop it. There shall be no more arguments from either of you. I have ordered what will happen, and it will happen so. In fact, Daemon, you will start teaching Cregan everything I have taught you."
"What?" Daemon yelled. "You want me to babysit?"
Cregan looked happy at the prospect of learning from Daemon but spluttered when he called him a baby.
"No. I want you to teach him the lessons I taught you in the Stark Vaults."
"Ah, I see. I will do as you say, Grandfather." Daemon nodded grudgingly knowing that no amount of tantrum will change his mind.
Benjen sighed in relief and prayed that Rickon would return soon after hunting the wildlings.
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The Gift
Months Later
The Crowkiller
It had been months since their warband was allowed south of the Wall through Nightfort by one of the brothers of the Night's Watch. It took all his control not to kill the Night's Watchman on the spot. He loved killing crows more than even fucking a woman, but orders were orders, and even he was afraid of the leader of almost 7,000 wildling warriors with spies even in the Night's Watch. He hated crows more than anyone in the world from the first crow he killed at the age of 10 when he saw the crow coming out of his mothers hut after killing her.
The leader was adamant that he must not be called King beyond the Wall, but only a normal clan leader. As far as Crowkiller was concerned, he would have followed the leader even to the Lands of Always Winter. But lately, as he rose in position, he came to know that the majority of the plans were made by a fucking crow. A betrayer of their oaths, more than that, he was an aged crow and was not named by anyone.
He knew there were more traitors in the Watch, as it was another brother who opened the gates of Nightfort, which no wildling knew about. His job was to harass and kill the kneelers and steal whatever they could throughout the Gift. The warband was very happy with the loot and women they stole. The majority of the women didn't survive their hospitality.
It was nighttime, and they rested around a fire when a brother of the Night's Watch arrived on horseback. How he knew them or why he was there was a mystery.
"Crowkiller, you have new orders from the Leader."
Crowkiller looked furious at that. "What is it?"
"Heir Stark and a force of 200 mounted soldiers have arrived at the Wall for hunting you and other free folk in the Gift. You are to join with other raiders and arrive at Queenscrown the day after tomorrow morning. The sentries will be dealt with, and you are to kill every single Stark man there, including Heir Stark."
"Well, Crowkiller has become rather old. Stark Slayer has a nice ring to it." He said while wondering when and where other raiders entered and why he doesn't see anything about them till now.
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