"I know that step." Aemon said in his craggy voice as the pair entered his solar. "That's the step of a Targaryen no longer hiding his blood."
The elderly Maester's eyes stared blindly at the wall as his apprentice Samwell showed them in before scurrying away to fetch Aemon's dinner.
"But who comes with him, I wonder?" The scholar mused. "Who's boots sound unlike any other I've heard before, and walks with a stride closer to that of a cat than a man? A stranger, I think." Aemon observed. "Though not The Stranger just yet, I hope."
"I've been called many things, Maester Aemon." Harry noted with good-humor. "But never Death himself."
"And you, young Jon?" Aemon probed. "Are you still denying your blood? Our blood?"
"No, Nuncle Aemon." Jon gave a bow, knowing the eldest living Targaryen would sense it even if he couldn't see it. "The Usurper is dead; the kingdoms are fracturing as we speak. If ever there was a time to claim my blood it is now – or never."
"A usurper is dead, my Black Dread." Aemon warned. "It seems to be a title growing in popularity according to the ravens at least."
Aemon felt along the table before him and passed over several sheets of parchment.
"Renly Baratheon has made claim to the throne, while Stannis Baratheon flounders in his thoughts and desires – save to have a bastard born of adulterous incest heaved from the Iron Throne." Jon summed up as he read. "The Stormlands have split – as you said they would – and the Tyrells have declared for Renly with him taking the girl Margery as his bride and would-be Queen." The Targaryen Heir shook his head in disgust at the blatant grasping for the crown. Of them all, Renly had one of the weakest claims to the throne, second only to the Lannister bastards. "Cersei has been displaced as Hand in favor of her brother Tyrion." Jon mused. "Now that is actually a matter for concern. I liked the dwarf well enough when I met him and found him rather cunning and intelligent."
"The most dangerous of the Lions, is Tyrion Lannister." Aemon observed. "Though the least respected among them, he's that much deadlier for being underestimated."
"Hmm." Jon hummed under his breath, eyes casting over the letters. "Lady Stark is holding Winterfell secure and Robb is making his way to the Twins with the Northern army to lift the siege at Riverrun where Jaime Lannister somehow captured Robb's uncle Edmure."
"Keeping Hoster Tully trapped instead his fortress and unable to strike back at the Lions." Aemon said. "A good strategy of Tywin's of that there is no doubt. Now that Joffery has declared your cousin Robb a traitor and demanded his head, Tywin comes North to try and collect it."
"Well," Harry spoke at least, watching the two Targaryens plot. "It seems your cousin might be in need of some reinforcements then. Have you decided to try for the throne?"
"A good question, stranger." Aemon huffed a laugh. "With Viserys killed by Daenerys's husband and the Khaleesi widowed, there is only one other besides our young Jon here who might have claim to the throne."
"Who?" Jon all-but-demanded of his great-great-great-uncle. He, like his father before him, trusted Aemon's council above all others. If Aemon said there was another besides they two and Daenerys who had claim to the throne, Jon believed him.
"A son of a disgraced line, my Black Dread." Aemon disclosed, referencing Jon's second Naming for the legendary dragon. "In the East a son of the Blackfyres who wedded with a descendent of Aerion Brightflame has been raised in secret by Jon Connington at the behest of Illyrio Mopatis. He is claimed to be the son of Rhaegar and Jon's elder half-brother Aegon." Here Aemon shook his head. "Which is the truth is hard to determine. Is he the son of Rhaegar or the son of the Blackfyres? Jon Connington claims one to me while the Spider claims the other. Regardless his claim is suspect while that of our Black Dread and the Stormborn are both unquestionable."
"By the gods." Jon traded a look with Harry. "What should be done about this 'Aegon Targaryen'?"
"Nothing." Aemon said at once. "At least – not yet. He is still half the world away and has only the support of an exiled Lord and a cheesemonger besides that of the Golden Company. You, my Dragon, are the true-born son of Rhaegar Targaryen and his second-spouse Benjen Stark. You will have the support of the North and Lords from all over Westeros while young Aegon will have to scrap and scrape for the mildest of welcome here." Aemon shook his head. "Worry about the Lions at your neck, young Dragon, before the shadows on the other side of the sea. I will do what I can to find the truth of the matter – and news of your aunt. You do what you can to secure your claim and see our blood back on the throne where it belongs."
"Yes, Nuncle Aemon." Jon bowed his head.
Harry took his chance to speak up.
"That's how you view the game afoot?" Harry asked the old Maester. "A Targaryen on the Iron Throne as the only acceptable outcome?"
"Yes." Aemon said. "All members of the Watch are tested at least once. I have been tested more than that – but none were so grievous as that of knowing my great nephew was betrayed by the Kingsguard – mad or not – and my beloved great-great-nephew, Jon's own father who'd seen him but once, was dead at the hands of that bastard Baratheon, Elia a Princess of Dorne raped and stabbed in her bed with her sweet children murdered. No." Aemon shook his head. "A Westeros under Lannister or Baratheon rule is not a place where anything resembling justice or honor will reign. I believe my Black Dread with his Targaryen fire and Stark honor will be the King Westeros needs, if not the one it deserves as well."
"Thank you for your council, Maester Aemon." Harry said, rolling that around in his mind. He needed to speak with some others, having already gotten Jeor Mormont's and Jon's views on the subject. Until he saw all sides he couldn't make a firm decision about what was to be done. Or who to support.
"You are welcome, Warrior." Aemon gave a crooked smile, showing his knowledge of what his young princeling had done. "And, my young Dragon?"
"Yes, Nuncle?"
"Come closer," Aemon said. "Let me see you one last time, in case the Stranger comes for me in truth before we meet again."
With that, Jon leaned over, placing Aemon's fragile but steady hands one his smooth face, having taken the time to rid himself of his beard from the ranging upon reaching his guest quarters along with having a bath – a luxury Harry also indulged in.
"Allow me to give my nephew one last piece of counsel", the old man said in a bare whisper, "the same council that I once gave my brother when we parted for the last time. He was three-and-thirty when the Great Council chose him to mount the Iron Throne. A man grown with sons of his own, yet in some ways still a boy. Egg had an innocence to him, a sweetness we all loved. Kill the boy within you, I told him the day I took the ship for the Wall. It takes a man to rule. An Aegon, not an Egg. Kill the boy and let the man be born."
The old man felt Jon's face, committing it to his memory.
"You are half the age that Egg was, and your own burden is a crueler one, I fear. You may have little joy of your rule, but I think you have the strength in you to do the things that must be done. Kill the boy, my young Dragon. Winter is almost upon us. Kill the boy and let the man be born."
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