Aemon
The Great War
Dear Maester Aemon Targaryen,
Is the Wall as beautiful as I have dreamt it to be?
I write to you in hopes you have the answers to my troubles. I have dreams, like many of your ancestors did, of the future. I need to know more, some don’t believe me but I know what I see.
Any help will be greatly appreciated.
Yours truly,
Helen Baratheon, Princess of the Seven Kingdoms.
____
It is early in the morning, too early for Ser Barristan’s tastes, when Helen wakes and dressed for the day. Instead of going for breakfast, she stands outside in the courtyard, in front of the gate, insisting that a guest would soon arrive.
He tries to tell her that guests for the wedding wouldn’t start arriving until tomorrow, but she is persistent, so he stays as well.
It’s so early that the townspeople have not even woken for the day, the courtyard was silent, quite peaceful actually. When Helen shivers slightly at a breeze, Ser Barristan takes pity and removes his white cloak, wrapping it around her shoulders. His white cloak, perhaps his most prized material possession, a symbol of his purity and pride and bravery, wrapped tightly around the only Royal he ever felt pride in defending.
The first few risers awake, they greet the princess cheerfully, perhaps a bit surprised to see her up so early. Ser Barristan can’t help but smile as one older looking woman offers her some freshly baked bread and warmed milk. Of course, the Northeners loved her already. Gratefully, Helen places a golden dragon into the palm of the woman in thanks, not taking no for an answer.
The sun was just barely rising above the horizon when the gate opens. Helen rises from her seat as it does, standing on her tippy toes to get a glimpse of who comes.
It is Benjen Stark, returning for his nephews wedding, but he does not come alone. He brings along a carriage, surely with someone inside. See Barristan stands as well, his hand hovering over the pommel of his sword.
But before she can say anything, the carriage door opens and an old, frail man, steps out.
“Maester Aemon, Princess,” Benjen Stark introduces as he helps the old man out.
“Maester Aemon, I am honoured to make your aquaintance. I am Princess Helen Baratheon, daughter of King Robert Baratheon,” Helen bows politely, for Maester Aemon was once a Targaryen Prince. One of the last, save for 2 children across the narrow sea.
“Come my dear, take me to your Godswood, we have much to discuss,” the old man says as he starts hobbling off in the direction of the Godswood.
“Do you believe Lord Stark would mind terribly if we sat in there for a moment, my Lord?” Helen, ever so courteous, asks Benjen before following. Benjen Stark offers her a quick nod and Helen is quick to follow, leaving 1 curious Stark in her wake.
It takes a while, but once at the Godswood, Maester Aemon takes a seat by the Weirwood tree, and Helen sits before him. Ser Barristan remains a respectful distance away, as Helen asked, but he keeps his eyes trained on her. To Ser Barristan, it is like seeing a ghost. He had known the old maester in passing as a boy, it was Aemon’s own brother who knighted him!
“I apologize, Maester, I had not meant to trouble you so much to bring you to Winterfell. I would have gone to the Wall myself if you wished to meet,” Helen frowns as she leans forward.
“Nonsense my dear, I wanted to come set eyes on the face that launched a thousand ships myself. The Wall is no place for a Princess like yourself,” the old man shakes his head, seeing much more kinder than he was when they first met.
“Hmm, I must say I was surprised to receive your letter, Princess. It is true, many among my line have been dreamers, but they were rare, the reasons why are unknown even to us,” Aemon tells her.
“My brother was a dreamer…he got lost in them during the day, and eventually he became lost to us. You must not let your dreams overpower your present, you have too gentle of a heart to be lost so soon.
My beloved elder sister, Rhaella, dreamt too. She was a good woman, poised to be Queen one day until she was taken from us…she might have been lost too save for her husband. He kept her grounded. I have never seen a couple as in love as them, they had the makings to be the greatest King and Queen Westeros had ever seen.
Daenys the dreamer saved our family from the Doom of Valyria. Some say even Aegon the Conqueror was a dreamer himself. Queen Helaena dreamt, she too was lost amongst them. They say the first Baratheon was a bastard brother of Aegon the conqueror, they fought together to unite the Kingdoms. My brothers daughter married your great grandfather, the same blood that runs through my veins, runs through yours,” Aemon tells Helen, who listens carefully.
“Are your dreams pleasant, child?” Aemon asks as his near blindness leads him to stare off into nothing.
“They are, Maester, I have good dreams. Sometimes I don’t know what they mean, but they all come to pass,” you tell him.
“I was hoping you’d be able to explain what they meant, nobody knows anything about it,” you explain.
“Alas, that knowledge is lost, even to me. But I am glad, glad to know your dreams bring you peace. Perhaps you might even grow into them, I know my brother and my sisters got stronger as they got older, but I’m afraid I don’t know much else,” Maester Aemon tells you, much to your disappoint though you do well to hide it. He holds an embroidered napkin in his hand, it is wearied with age but you can see an outline of a castle in the middle with indiscernible symbols on each corner.
“It has been many years since I have thought of my elder sister…I did not think I had tears left for her,” Aemon chuckles as he lifts his napkin to wipe the tears. He struggled to say her name, it hurt too much to.
“She must have been a wonderful woman,” you sympathize.
“Aye…I had three sisters, when I pass I hope to hear them singing again. My sister…Rhaella…she was married to Prince Valarr, my cousin and heir to his father, it was an arranged marriage but they found love. She credited Valarr for her sanity. What a woman she was! My youngest sister was named after her, as was the last Targaryen Queen. She made this cloth for me, when I was only a boy myself. I have long lost my sight, but I can still feel the rivets of her work, it pleases me to have something she had cared enough to make me. Oh…my Rhaella, what tragedy befell her and her family,” he laments sadly as he exhales a few ragged breaths. You nod sympathetically, you had heard of her once while in conversation with Ser Barristan. But alas he did not actually know her, anything he said of her was merely hear say.
“I must return to the Wall, it is best perhaps that I am gone before your father learns of my presence,” the old man chuckles as he slowly stands up.
“My father will be kind, if I ask him to,” you tell him as you stand as well.
“No need, princess, I have said all that I needed to say and there is work to be done at the Wall…there always is and always will be,” the Maester shakes his head as he hobbled back out to the courtyard. You are silent as you follow, you felt as though you left so much unsaid but you can’t come up with the words.
You frown as stands before the carriage once more.
“May I still write to you, Maester, if it is alright with you?” Helen asks.
“Of course, child, letters from you would do much to warm my room at the Wall,” the old man smiles, as well as he can.
Maester Aemon steps forward to takes Helen’s hand in his own, bowing as well as he can before gently reaching up to take her face in his hands.
“The trip down to Winterfell was well worth the travel, Helen Baratheon. However short, I wanted to set eyes on you while I still could. My mother and sister had eyes like you. I haven’t seen a pair like them in…it has been far too long,” the old Maester says fondly, almost sadly, as he holds Helen’s face. Ser Barristan almost tells him to take his hands off her royal Highness, but she didn’t seem to mind.
“My mother was taken from us long before I was old enough to have memories of her, but she was said to have purple eyes and dark Dornish hair. My Rhaella had purple eyes too, though her hair was silver like our father. I see her in the snow sometimes, I can pretend I am a boy and she is watching me while I sleep. She had little heirs with her Valarr, he was my favourite cousin. The children used to call my uncle maester,” Maester Aemon hums, dreaming of his childhood, back to when he was once a boy.
“You must miss them greatly,” Helen frowns as she takes in the face before her. This was a man that had lived many lives, his wrinkles showed his age, and she wondered how well he could truly see through the cloudy haze in his eyes.
A Baratheon and a Targaryen, what a sight to see.
The last time a Baratheon and Targaryen met, was on the battlefield field when Rhaegar Targaryen was killed by Robert Baratheon.
There was so much left unsaid, the weight of their familial history weighing heavy on both their shoulders, but both seemed content.
“You are a good Princess, Helen Baratheon, the realm is lucky to you. After all the horrid wars…what a beacon of hope you are, a light against all the dark that came before you. I wish you luck in your marriage to the Stark boy. I pray he may be for you, what Valarr was for Rhaella,” Maester Aemon says his farewells as he takes your hand in his, giving it a kiss and tight squeeze.
“Safe travels, Maester Aemon. Thank you for coming all this way to see me,” you tell him gratefully as he steps into his carriage.
“No, thank you, Princess, because of you… I have seen my family again,” Maester Aemon smiles, as does Helen, albeit sadly. She waves goodbye as his carriage leaves, returning him back to the Wall which he pledged his many oaths.
As he disappears from sight, Helen’s eyes go white. She has visions of dragons, great dragons and small dragons, and of a girl with white hair. She dreams of a boy with dark brown hair, a single silver streak running through it, and a woman with long silver locks, pretty purple stars adorning her hair. They are dancing, happily by the looks of it.
Magic returns to the Seven Kingdoms.
Helen is not frightened, despite the fact this was the first time it had ever happened. Her dreams always occurred while she slept, never while awake. But she did not feel fear, in fact she felt more melancholy than anything.
“I feel quite sorry for him,” you tell Ser Barristan who comes to stand beside you.
“He has lost his entire family in the span of his life. He grew up amongst brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, nephews and nieces, and now they are all gone. How devastating, I don’t think I would survive such loss,” you frown, a hand raising to rest over your chest as you bite back tears.
“No loss shall come to you, Princess, not while I live and breathe,” Ser Barristan promises you. With a shaky sigh, you lean into him a bit.
“He misses his mother,” you frown, lip quivering.
“It is a condition of growing up, we all miss the family we grew up with. It is up to us to find another, or some other happiness, as we get older. Maester Aemon is a brother of the Nightswatch, he is surrounded by brothers. I find my happiness in serving my duty as I have sworn to. You shall find yours as well, I pray it be with your intended,” Ser Barristan tells you.
“Do you miss your mother, Ser Barristan?” You ask him quietly.
“Yes, it is only natural I think. But you remind me of her sometimes, when I see you stitching or reading,” he tells you, and in a rare moment when he forgets his duty, he squeezes your shoulder in a fatherly way.
“Come, princess, it is still early. You still have much to do for your wedding still,” Ser Barristan tells you as he gently guides you toward the castle.
“I think I’ll find it with Robb…happiness, I mean. I’ve dreamt it, I am not afraid,” you tell him. Ser Barristan sighs a silent breath of relief.
“Good, my little Princess, I am glad of it.”
