110 AC
Winterfell
Aemon usually enjoyed wedding Feasts. Especially northern wedding Feasts. Unlike the pageantry in the South, northern Feasts were simple.
They had good food and drink in plenty, and were accompanied by lively song and dance.
Instead of being an opportunity to flaunt one's wealth and power, they were true celebrations, exhibiting joy.
Aemon felt no such joy, from this Feast.
The newly named Lord of Sea Dragon's Claw. Bennard Whitestark was marrying Lady Margaret Karstark, the eldest daughter of the Lord of Karhold, Lord Torrhen Karstark.
This Feast was being held in their honour.
While settling the Gift Rickon had raised a dozen new Lords, some of them prominent Wildling Chiefs, who had led their clansmen Beyond the Wall to settle on the northern lands.
Bennard on account of being a trueborn Stark, had been awarded the largest lands, among all these new Lords.
Along with his Keep, the 'Sea Dragon's Claw' he had recieved lordship over Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore.
Rickon had also decided to reform the old Stark fleet. And so, he had ordered the Manderlys to increase the strength of their fleet to a hundred ships, from their current fifty.
They were to defend the North's eastern shore o the Narrow Sea.
Similarly, he had allowed Bennard to form another fleet of a hundred ships. This would protect the North's western shore on the Sunset Sea.
And with his command over this Fleet and his control over the rich lands of Sea Dragon Point and the Stony Shore. Bennard was sure to become one of the most powerful northern Lords, in the near future.
Rickon believed this would strengthen House Stark, but Aemon knew better.
Bennard was a greedy and corrupt man, and from his 'Book' Aemon knew, that he would one day stand against his own nephew Cregan, for the right to rule the North.
But Aemon knew that he couldn't convince his uncle, otherwise.
Rickon loved his brother too dearly. And this love made him blind to his many faults.
Aemon had found Bennard to be a constant pain in the arse, since the day he arrived at Winterfell.
Being an entitled little lordling used to getting his way, he'd picked on Aemon quite a lot in those early days. And the only reason he hadn't gone too far was because, he feared Aemon's Dragon's wrath far more.
That all changed last year when he, a twelve year old repeatedly defeated Bennard a full grown man on the yard.
Since then, Bennard tried to avoid him in the yard.
But in spite of losing to him in physical contests, Bennard's words remained as sharp as ever.
Daemon had crowned himself as the King of the Stepstones, and with Aemon being his only son, some had started calling him Prince.
Bennard and his lackeys however, had taken to derisively calling him 'Prince Snow' instead.
The Feast seemed to be winding down now, after nearly four hours had passed.
Aemon had started drinking when the first course had been served, and he hadn't stopped since then.
And in spite of the light summerwine he'd been drinking, after so many drinks Aemon felt quite drunk.
Aemon felt something brush up against his leg and as he looked down, he saw a pair of bright green eyes staring up at him, from underneath the table.
"Hungry again?" He asked, rubbing the she-wolf's glossy black fur.
There was still half a honeyed chicken in the centre of the table. Aemon reached out to tear off a leg, then had a better idea. He knifed the bird whole and let the carcass slide to the floor between his legs.
Shadow ripped into it in savage silence.
It had been two years since he'd bonded with her, and now it felt as if she was an extension of his self. He'd given the other direwolf - the male, with the grey fur and yellow eyes - to his little cousin, Cregan.
Aemon didn't know whether Cregan was a warg or not. He'd had no way of knowing, the boy was only two.
But it seemed the Starks had a way with direwolves. The wolf had taken to the boy, following him around everywhere like his guardian.
Cregan had named his direwolf, 'Tempest'.
Honestly, it had been his father Rickon who came up with the name.
Regardless, Tempest had become Cregan's best friend, of sorts. And boy and wolf, seemed nigh inseparable.
Both Direwolves had grown quite a bit, since the Three-Eyed Crow passed them into his care.
Where once they had been little pups, now they stood larger than the largest hounds in Winterfell's kennels.
But with what Leaf had told him about Direwolves growing to rival warhorses in size, they had a ways to go still.
Aemon's time Beyond the Wall had been extremely fruitful.
He had spent close to a year there. Travelling to the many scattered Wildling settlements, seeking out wargs who would agree to work for him.
And other than Iris and Sylas, from the nearly two dozen wargs he'd talked to, only eight had choosen to come work for him.
But it was still a win, having ten experienced wargs working for him.
Other than Sylas who's job was to report directly to Aemon, he'd sent out the others to the various corners of the Realm. Fom King's Landing to Oldtown, and from Gulltown to far off Dorne, Aemon had appointed them his Reeves.
Through them he could recieve information from the far off corners of the Realm, very quickly. Not to say, they had a fearsome expertise in finding out things that they weren't meant to know.
And with them at the helm, Aemon's intelligence network was finally up and running.
But it wasn't only wargs that Aemon had brought back from Beyond the Wall, he'd also brought back some giants.
Aemon had met a family of giants by the Milkwater, and if it weren't for Vermithor's presence they'd have had bloodshed that day.
But with Vermithor being a calming presence, Aemon had dissuaded the giants from violence.
Instead he had invited them to cross the Wall with him, provided they bent the knee and served Lord Rickon Stark of Winterfell loyally.
After a lot of bickering among themselves four of them had chosen to follow him.
They'd eventually crossed over at Eastwatch, after they swore to follow the laws of the land.
With this House Stark had six giants they could call upon, since two of them had chosen to follow Aemon instead.
The two of them were brother, twins in fact. And standing sixteen feet tall, they both towered over the other giants.
They were both young, as far as giants go, their shaggy black fur being an indication of their youth.
Aemon had named them 'Left' and 'Right', and they were to be his bodyguards.
Giants possessed prodigious strength naturally, and wielding tree trunks as clubs they were fearsome.
But Aemon intended to make them stronger. So Aemon had armored both 'Left' and 'Right' in steel full plate armor with horned helms. Both painted black, to resemble the rest of Aemon's personal guard. With it they were to wear long white cloaks crafted to their size, with black dragons emblazoned on them.
As for their weapons, he had a massive greatsword made from castle-forged steel, made for Left. And for Right he had a wicked double bladed-axe forged, scaled up to the giant's size.
In their armour the brothers looked like two fearsome steel clad behemoths, towering over Aemon's fifty man personal guard.
A loud cheer caught Aemon's attention, as he saw Bennard walk towards him with a goblet of wine in his hand.
"My Prince Snow", he called, "What are you doing so far from the festivities Your Grace?" The fool crowed.
"We were all just making a toast, to your newborn cousin's health. Why don't you join us?" Bennard said.
Aemon had no problem with that. Unlike Bennard's silly belief that he resented his cousins since they pushed him down the line of succesion. In truth, Aemon couldn't care less.
"It would be my pleasure, Uncle." Aemon replied.
That didn't please Bennard who wore a scowl on his face, as the men made a toast to the young Prince Aemond's health.
But contrary to him, Aemon knew his father was quite pissed. Daemon viewed the throne to be rightfully his, and took every new child that Alicent bore, as a personal insult.
This had become quite apparent, from the letters that his father sent him. A few lines asking about his well-being, with the rest being a long, tedious rant on how Viserys had betrayed him.
These days, Aemon just burned the letters after reading the first few lines.
Unlike Daemon, Aemon was under no delusions. He would never sit the throne, then so be it.
He didn't need to sit on the Iron Throne, to rule.
Aemon would rather, rule from the shadows.
------------------
"You know why I've called you here?" Rickon asked him.
"By the Old Gods and the New, please lower your voice cousin. This headache's killing me." Aemon winced.
"You shouldn't have drunk so much" Rickon sighed, "I get that it was a wedding Feast. But still you should have drunk in moderation."
Aemon was in no mood for sage advice. His head felt like it was going to split in half. And it was all he could do, to rest his face on the cool mahogany wood of the table.
As he lay there trying to soothe the pain, Rickon had their breakfast brought up from the kitchens.
"Nephew, get up you need to eat." He said.
"Don't want to. Just leave me alone. If I try to eat anything now, it'll just come back up." Aemon muttered.
"Here, have this Nettle tea. The Maester says, it's good for hangovers." Rickon said, offering Aemon a cup filled with a murky green liquid.
"That doesn't look very appetizing to me." Aemon muttered under his breath, as he took a sip of the medicinal tea.
The tea seemed to do its work, however. And after about an hour, Aemon could actually eat some of the food.
Although the food had gone cold, Aemon still shoved down the greasy bacon and the runny eggs down his gullet.
Now that the headache wasn't trying to kill him anymore, he found that he had become quite ravenous.
"So, what did you want to talk about?" He asked, between bites.
"Well, it can wait till you're done." Rickon said, sounding a little peeved, at his savage style of eating.
Once Aemon had finished a hearty meal of bread, bacon, eggs and cheese. He washed it all down with a goblet of iced goat's milk, sweetened with honey.
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"Now that you've finished gorging yourself, we can finally discuss a matter of great import." Rickon said.
"As you know since I took over as Lord, I have made some unprecedented changes. And although, I did them all for the benefit of the North, some of my bannermen aren't happy with them."
"Northerners are traditional, and northern Lords more than any other do not like changes. I let Wildlings cross the Wall, commissioned the building of a northern fleet, setup mines in the northern mountains and ordered the construction of several new roads. None of these actions sit well with them, they're dissatisfied. Of course none of them will say so, outright. But I hear the murmurs, and I know." Rickon said.
"So what do you mean, uncle? Do you fear a rebellion?" Aemon asked.
"Ha!" He laughed, "No, nothing so dramatic. The northerners have followed the Starks for nearly eight thousand years. No, what I fear is worse, than a mere rebellion. I fear that the northern Houses will lose their trust in House Stark."
"Which are these Houses? Bolton? Karstark? Umber? Or is it the Manderlys?" Aemon demanded.
"Neither and all." Rickon replied.
"What does that mean?" He asked.
"It means that they've all shown their doubts, but none of them have been vocal about it."
"Especially the Manderlys, they don't like you. They say the way you use dragonflames to burn through the countryside is an affront to the Old Gods." Rickon said.
"What do those southerners no of the Old Gods. They read their prayers in a Sept. Truth is, they don't like a bastard outsider holding control over the gates to the North." Aemon said, rolling his eyes.
"Regardless, I think I have found the perfect opportunity to redeem House Stark's lost pride.
And who knows, if you perform well enough at it, you may even become a hero to the northern smallfolk."
"What is it?" Aemon asked, with hunger in his eyes.
"Your father's war in the Stepstones has affected shipping and trade throughout Westeros. The pirates that he displaced from those islands are preying on Westerosi ships. Some are even bold enough to attack and raid, small fishing villages along the shores. There are even rumors, that the Triarchy is intentionally aiding these pirates to wreak havoc along our shores."
Aemon already knew of this. His spies had informed him of the raids and incursions that the pirates had been making in the Vale and the Riverlands.
"What does this have to do with us? As far as I know, they haven't made raids along the northern coastline." Aemon answered.
"That was true once. But since two weeks ago, pirates have started causing trouble in the North. First there was an attack on Lord Manderly's ships, a few miles off the coast of White Harbor.
About a week later a few villages around Widow's Watch were pillaged and then set to the torch. Within days of that incident, there were raids around the Three Sisters. I have already setup patrols and watchtowers along the Narrow Sea to check this threat. But that won't be enough, the raids will continue. What few ships we have, are too thinly spread out to deal a decisive blow to these pirates."
"Give me the order uncle, and I'll burn these pirates till they're ash and bone." Aemon said.
"Very well, take your dragon and go clean this mess." Rickon replied.
"Where would you have me begin?" He asked.
"From what reports I've recieved the pirate attacks are concentrated around Widow's Watch. As for where you'll begin, and how you'll deal with this threat, that is all upto you. You're the one in command. But remember nephew, a lot is riding on this. Ridding the North of these pirates, will prove your mettle to the northern Lords. And as they say, 'The North Remembers'. All these northern Lords will remember, and they'll remain grateful to you, for your service to the North."
As Aemon was about to leave, Lord Rickon Stark bade him to stop, "This kingdom bleeds while our King indulges himself, with tourneys and celebrations. Aemon Snow bastard though you maybe, you carry the blood of the Dragonlords of Valyria and the Kings of Winter. It is your responsibility to defend these lands. And so I, your uncle, Lord Rickon Stark, Warden of the North, command you to drive these pirates from our lands."
"As you command, My Lord." Aemon said, bowing.
"Now go. And don't disappoint me, nephew."
-------------------
Aemon flew astride Vermithor, over the Bite.
It had been around a fortnight since he'd began patrolling this region. In that time he'd burned sixteen enemy corsairs.
Scores of screaming men he'd set aflame, while weeding out this pirate infestation in the North.
Due to his success, things had quited down in the North. And even those corsairs that escaped him somehow, had found it wiser to leave the northern waters for elsewhere.
Since he'd met him Sylas had been training him in warging, and as a result Aemon's bond with both Vermithor and Shadow had become stronger.
He could now feel their emotions and surface thoughts, while they could follow any instructions that he gave. And as a result the degree of control he had on his dragon was unparalleled.
After a while he decided to turn back, he hadn't spotted any enemy corsairs on his patrolling route.
It had been over three years since construction began on his seat, Fort Cailin. Since then, the project had processed along beautifully. The main Keep itself had been nearly finished, although the surrounding ringwalls and towers were yet to be built. Even the canal had been nearly two-thirds of the way, dug.
These few weeks dealing with the pirates, Aemon had taken his own Keep as his base. He ate, rested and strategised here, before flying out to deal with the enemy ships. And with the northern Lords sending him regular reports and his own intelligence network working day and night, he was able to remain informed of all enemy movements.
Aemon carefully landed on the cleared ground before the castle.
And as he got down from his mount, Rowan and Sylas slowly approached him.
"What do you have for me, Rowan?" He asked.
"First, there's been no more sighting of pirate vessels, Lord Manderly sends. It seems that you've succeeded My Lord. The North is free from these pirates." Rowan replied.
Aemon nodded saying, "Anything else, Rowan?"
"Yes in fact. We've recieved news from King's Landing."
"Yes tell me, what Jahanara has to say." Aemon said, walking towards the Keep.
"Lady Jahanara says that all our businesses have seen remarkable growth in the last few months and that are revenues will far exceed last year's. Although, she does say we need to increase the speed of mining in the northern mountains. Financing the construction of both your Fleet and castle, are draining her resources."
"I understand" Aemon nodded, "Tell her that I'll talk to the clan Chiefs about that." He answered.
"She also writes, that since Lord Otto left the capital in disgrace, the Strongs seem to have taken over. Lord Lyonel is Hand, his son and Heir Harwin, is the Commander of the City Watch and his other son Larys is the newly appointed Master of Whispers. This Larys Strong is cracking down on our 'little birds'. This hasn't proved fruitful for him yet, but sooner or later he'll learn something."
Aemon gritted his teeth, "So, what am I to do. Kill him?"
"No My Lord, Jahanara realizes that will draw unwanted attention to us. So instead, she asks us to send her a warg. With a warg's asssistance, our intelligence network in the Capital will work flawlessly, and she can even keep tabs on Larys Strong's movements." Rowan answered.
"So what say you, Sylas. Can you spare one of your wargs?" He asked.
"I'll see what I can do." Sylas answered."And speaking of wargs, I have some troubling news from Dorne. Jarl has sent a message. It seems the Dornish are plotting something."
"The Dornish are always plotting." Rowan scoffed.
"Yes, but this seems serious. From what he writes, the Dornish and the Triarchy are drawing up an alliance. They intend to intervene in the Stepstones."
Aemon frowned, he'd always known the Dornish would make a play for the Stepstones, but he hadn't expect them to ally with the Triarchy.
"And does Jarl say, why they're so interested in intervening in the Stepstones War?" Aemon asked.
"They do not like, your canal. They think if you were to succeed they'd lose valuable trade. As ships sailing along the eastern coast of Westeros, wouldn't want to go all around Dorne to trade with the western coast, if they had such a convenient alternative as your canal." Sylas said.
"They're right to believe that. And also, a Targaryen Prince holding the Stepstones, will cause them no small amount of nervousness, I assume." Rowan interjected.
"Yes that too. And Jarl also writes, that there's rumors of the Dornish Prince being in negotiations with the Triarchy's Magisters." Sylas finished.
"Very well. Send a letter to Daemon, informing of this budding alliance. He'll need to be prepared to face it." Aemon said.
By then they'd reached the castle's Great Hall.
Aemon's bodyguards Left and Right stood guard outside the Hall, like two huge steel behemoths.
As he approached, they proceded to open the massive iron and bronze double doors, leading into the Great Hall. What otherwise took over a dozen men pushing in tandem to open, the two of them did effortlessly.
They entered and seated themselves at the high table.
In truth it was a high table in name only. It had no embellishments or artwork, it was just an ordinary plank of ironwood.
This was temporary of course, once the castle had been finished, Aemon intended to commission expensive furnitures to fill it up.
"We also recieved a raven from the Eyrie." Rowan said.
"The Eyrie?" He asked.
"Yes here, take it", Rowan said, passing a scroll of parchment to him.
As Aemon broke the seal and opened the parchment, he saw that it was a letter from the Warden of the East, Lady Jeyne of the Eyrie. She wrote:
To the Heir to Bloodstone,
I have heard what you've done in the North. While the Iron Throne remained inert to all our requests you cleaned your father's mess. That tells me what kind of man you are. The Septons say that bastards are born of sin, but from your actions I can only see virtue shine through.
But the North isn't the only land ravaged by these raiders and pirates. While the King indulges in his tourneys and celebrations, my lands burn. These raiders have put dozens of villages to the torch. They've raped and pillaged through the Vale, killing hundreds. They have even set their eyes on Gulltown. And although the Arryn Fleet holds them at bay for now, we dare not strike back with such few ships under our command. For if we were to lose, thousands more would die.
Today I write to you, asking for a favour.You have no reason to help me, you don't know me. Except for the blood you bear, the blood of the dragon -The blood of heroes, and conquerors, and Kings. These are not just my subjects, they are yours too. And right now, they're dying. Save them.
Lady Jeyne Arryn,
Lady of the Eyrie, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East.
Aemon read the letter aloud so that Sylas and Rowan could listen.
"So what will you do?" Sylas asked.
"What's else can I do? The lady wants my help, and she was also quite nice about it too. Tomorrow at daybreak, I'll leave for the Vale."
-------------------
The Vale
The Vale was a beautiful land, with its brilliant blue skies, verdant green fields and snowcapped mountain peaks.
It had countless rivers and lakes that shone like mirrors in the Sun, ensconced within the jagged peaks of the valley.
The Giant's Lance, a jagged spire towered over the valley, it's head lost in the icy mists three and a half miles above the valley floor. Over its western shoulder flowed the shining silver waterfall known as Alyssa's Tears.
It was a mesmerizing sight. Or it used to be. Now that same land was scarred and torn, plumes of smoke rose from its edges, as numerous villages and settlements burned. Each a testament, to the many lives lost from the senseless brutality of these raiders.
Aemon had arrived at the Vale around a week ago. Since then he'd fought a few skirmishes against these raiders. But unlike in the North, the pirates here were united under a single Tyroshi pirate lord, Areo Adarys.
These pirates were cunning, whenever they spotted him on the horizon, they abandoned some ships to slow him down, while they holed up in the deep caves and sheltered coves on Sweetsister, where they'd established a foothold.
Aemon couldn't attack them here as the rock formations here created narrow enclosed spaces, where maneuvering Vermithor's immense form was extremely diffucult.
And even if he somehow managed to attack them, these pirates simply retreated into their deep underground caves, and wait him out.
And then whenever he withdrew, they struck again. He'd caught them by surprise a few times by only appearing to withdraw, and then attacking them when they emerged from their caves. But they'd wisened up to it fast.
Now their scouts kept careful watch, so that none of his surprise attacks were of much use anymore.
Day by day, this was turning out to be one tedious siege. And the frequent storms and overcast skies only made the matter worse.
Aemon had been recalled to the Eyrie, by Lady Jeyne. So he'd come, abandoning his siege on Sweetsister.
He'd flown over the Bloody Gate where a hundred armies had once been shattered. And over the Gates of the Moon, the summer seat of the Falcon Kings of old.
And the Eyrie itself, a magnificent monument of pale white stone, sitting on the shoulder of the great peak known as the Giant's Lance. Its seven towers rising like white daggers, thrust into the belly of the sky.
He'd landed Vermithor in the castle's courtyard, just like Visenya once had.
The Eyrie's steward then proceded to lead him to The High Hall - an austere Hall of blue-veined white marble, where Lady Jeyne held her court.
The Hall decked in the crescent moon banners of House Arryn, held some of the most powerful Lords in the Vale.
He could see Lord Lucas Corbray, a dour middle-aged man wearing his famed ancestral sword Lady Forlorn at his hip.
There was also the Lord of Ironoaks Lord Wallace Waynwood, the ruler of Gulltown Lord Gerold Grafton and the young knights, Ser Adrian Redfort and Ser Symond Templeton.
And of course, there was also his stepmother the Lady of Runestone, Lady Rhea Royce.
Aemon had met the woman only a handful times in his life, and although none of those meetings were pleasant, that was mostly Daemon's fault.
The woman herself seemed to be quite indifferent of him. And of the rare few words they'd exchanged, none had been hurtful.
"You dragons are quite the rude lot. I invite you to my home, and instead of using the front door like a proper gentleman. You proceed to land your bronze beast in my courtyard." A young high-pitched voice, rang out through the Hall.
It was a young girl with long, flowing black hair and bright blue eyes. And although, her frame was a slight one, and altogether she couldn't have been older than sixteen, the fact that she was seated atop the weirwood throne, indicated her identity.
"Lady Jeyne, I apologise", Aemon said, with a bow, "But I would rather be impolite, than have a broken neck, just because I happened to stumble."
"If only your sword was as sharp as your wit." She replied, in that same emotionless tone.
"My sword is sharp enough. It's just that, these foes do not wish to taste its bite."
"Very well let us retire to my solar, then. We've much to discuss, and you must be famished.
The steward will serve us our lunch there." She said, standing up and striding down the Hall.
Aemon followed her down a maze of white marble corridors and stairways, as they ascended the Moon Tower. Here below the Lord's chambers, the solar was located.
As they seated themselves in the high-backed oak and leather chairs around the central trestle table, their food was brought in.
The first course was a thick beef and barley stew. Aemon proceded to dip the warm oatbread in this soupy broth.
This was followed by mutton chops sauced in honey and cloves, and capon stuffed with mushrooms, onions, and goat's cheese.
For the final course there was spiced honey biscuits, lemon cakes shaped like roses, blackberry tarts and apple crisps, and wheels of buttery cheese. Aemon only sampled some of the tarts and a few of the honey biscuits, leaving the rest untouched.
As for Lady Jeyne, she didn't seem to have much of a sweetwooth. She only nibbled on one of the lemon cakes, before setting it aside.
Once they'd been sated, and the servants had cleared out the plates, Lady Jeyne broached the subject.
"So why haven't you rid the Vale of these scum, yet?" She asked him, bluntly.
As he sipped on a fine Arbor Gold vintage, Aemon replied.
"As I said, they are too cunning. They hide in their caves whenever I bring my dragon to attack them."
"What solution do you have, then?" She asked.
Aemon hesitated, "Are you sure you want to talk about this, in front of her?" He asked.
As they were finishing their meal, a buxom red haired girl had joined them. She was Jeyne's childhood companion, Jessamyn Redfort.
"Jessamyn is my friend, my companion and confidante. Anything you tell me, you can tell her as well." Jeyne replied.
"Very well then, what I intend to do, is set a trap for them." Aemon said.
"What, like luring them out by pretending to withdraw, and then attacking when they come out of their caves ?" Jeyne, asked.
"No, I've already tried that. And even though it worked well at first, now they've become too wary to fall for such a trick." He answered.
"Then what do you propose?" She asked, as Jessamyn refilled her cup with Arbor Gold.
"We need a bait, that's too tempting for them to ignore." He said.
"And what 'bait' do you have in mind?" She inquired.
"Me, of course." Aemon answered, "What better bait is there, than the man who's been hunting them for weeks."
"And won't they think, it's a trap?" She questioned.
"Not if they believe me to be completely in their power." Aemon replied.
"And why will they believe that?" Jeyne asked, interested.
"I intend to walk up to their doorstep, to negotiate under a flag of truce." He said.
"No! You can't do that!" Lady Jessamyn cried out.
And as Aemon turned to regard her, she sputtered.
"I mean, those men are honourless. They will surely kill you." Jessamyn said, nervously.
"They'll try of course, My Lady. But they won't succeed. Either way, being the vermin that they are, they'll break truce. And then I'll have them, right where I want them."
"Sounds interesting, tell me more." Lady Jeyne said.
"Well you see, there's this one unique ability I have, which will help us in our plan. But for this to work, I'll require your assistance, Lady Jeyne." Aemon said.
"Go on, I'm all ears." Lady Jeyne answered.
------------------
"Take me to your leader!" Aemon demanded, as soon as they made landfall, "I wish to parley."
They had washed ashore on the pirate's doorstep on Sweetsister, aboard an ordinary rowboat. And accompanying him, were Rowan and Ser Adrian.
As soon as they had landed on the beach, they'd been surrounded by the pirates - a ragged, unsavory bunch of cutthroats and criminals.
A dozen of these men rushed to them, leading them to the mouth of one larger caves.
There sitting atop a crude seat of chiseled stone, was the man he'd been hunting for weeks.
Areo Adarys was a lithe and muscular man, with long curly hair and a pointed beard, both painted a deep purple.
His face could have been considered a handsome one, if not for the fact that the left side of his face, was a burned mess of scar tissue.
At his waist in an elaborate black and gold sheath, he wore his Valyrian Steel sword 'Nightfall'.
That sword was probably the only thing, that the butcher truly cared about. Claimed from a slain pirate chief in the Basilisk Isles, it was his treasure.
"So bastard Valyrian, you've come to us. Why, I wonder?" The man said, as he ripped into a haunch of meat, grease dripping down his pointed beard.
"I've come to talk, Areo." Aemon replied, unsheathing and laying Darktide in the sand, before him.
"What's there to talk? You and your dragon have long hunted my men. Scores of them you've burned. Ours is a blood feud, and only blood will sate it." He answered, slowly stroking the ruined half of his face.
"It is you, who started this feud. You've invaded Westerosi land. Raping, pillaging and slaying countless subjects of the Crown. Yet, we are a magnanimous people. And so I've come to offer you terms." Aemon said.
"And what terns are these?" The pirate lord spat.
"Leave Westerosi shores within three days, and we'll pursue you no more. Stay any longer than that, and your heads will decorate the Walls of Gulltown." Aemon said.
The pirate lord let out a full-bellied laugh, and soon the other pirates joined him in his mirth. Their cacophony drowning out even the constant sound of the ocean waves.
"Little mouse, you've mistaken something. You don't bargain with the lion, in his own den." He said, his disfigured face contorted in the rictus of a smile.
"So what, are you going to break the rules of parley?" Aemon asked, defiantly.
"I am Areo Adarys, the Burned Lord, once I ruled over Torture's Deep. The petty laws of smaller men, do not bind me. Valagg gut them, and then string up their corpses along the beach, where all can see. Let the world know, that not even a dragon can withstand the might of the great Areo Adarys." He roared.
As the pirates joined each other in an echoing chant, Aemon gave Rowan a slight nod.
Immediately, Rowan lunged at the man holding him, stabbing him clean through the neck with the dagger he'd been hiding in his sleeve.
Adrian had also unsheathed his blade, and even Aemon had recovered Darktide. They stood shoulder to shoulder, ready to face their foes.
But now that the pirates had recovered from the initial chaos caused by their unexpected attack, they were more pissed than ever.
Anytime now, they would be overwhelmed, there were only three of them, while the pirates numbered over three hundred.
But just as they were about to erupt into violence, a thunderous roar sounded, and a massive shadow blanketed the sky. Vermithor was here.
Aemon had known that the pirates would break parley, and try to kill him. And so he'd prepared a little surprise for them.
As far as the world knew, the Targaryens had to be riding their dragons, to command them. They couldn't command them at a distance.
And so, the pirates had thought themselves safe with Aemon in their clutches.
But what they didn't know, was that Aemon wasn't just any Targaryen. He had the Blood of the First Men as well. And it was this blood that gave him his warging ability.
With Sylas' regular training, Aemon had improved. And now, he didn't need to be riding his dragon to be able to command it. He could send simple instructions to it, even at a distance.
And so, when they pirates believed themselves safe and stood exposed and unaware, he'd brought down Vermithor on them.
Vermithor couldn't land in such a cramped space, but he didn't need to. The dragon sprayed gouts of bronze and gold flames, from its perch in the sky.
It was too late for the pirates, they had no time to hide in their caves, as fiery death blazed all around them. So they broke and ran, hoping to reach the other end of the island, away from this fiery hell.
But Aemon didn't intend for them to escape.
As they ran, a host of a hundred Sistermen fell on them.
They'd been hiding in the rock outcrops on the other side of the cliffs.
These men had long wanted to be rid of these pirates. But the pirates outnumbered them, and had hidden in the deep narrow caves, where attacking them would result in disastrous casualties.
So they'd tolerated their presence on their land, all while, biding their time.
Aemon had provided them with a solution. He'd brought to Lord Borell a letter signed by Lady Jeyne, demanding his support in routing the pirates.
And so they'd followed his plan, stealthily taking their positions on the cliff's rockface.
Now they attacked the retreating pirates.
The archers firing down from their high perch on the cliff as the infantrymen engaged them. All while, Vermithor regularly breathed down flames at them.
Aemon had stepped in the fray of the battle, with Rowan and Adrian by his side.
And as he got lost in the battle frenzy, he relished the feel of his sword biting clean through the flesh of his enemies.
In the end, it turned out to be a short and bloody skirmish, that was over within the hour.
The pirates caught between Vermithor and the ambush by the Sistermen fell apart at the seams. Over half their number was dead, and they rest had chosen to surrender.
As Aemon sat wiping the crimson gore of his blade, Rowan and Adrian dragged a prisoner before him.
It was none other than the chained Tyroshi pirate Lord Areo Adarys.
Rowan flung him at his feet.
"How the mighty have fallen." Aemon smirked, "Fate is such a fickle mistress. Not even an hour ago, you had me at your mercy. Now it seems, the tables have turned."
"You tricked us." The pirate roared.
"So I did. What will do about it?" He taunted.
"I demand justice. I demand a trial by combat. Face me if you dare, false princeling." He said, nearly foaming at the mouth.
"Justice?" Aemon mused, "Did you give justice to those you raped and murdered? What justice was there for those you sold into slavery, I wonder?"
"I'll bet my sword as well, it is true Valyrian Steel." He said, nervously.
"As you said, a mouse has no right to bargain with a lion. And I am a dragon. I will take the sword from your corpse." Aemon replied.
"The only justice you'll find is at the sharp edge of my sword. Rowan fetch me a block." He commanded.
The man who passes the sentence, should swing the sword.
Rowan handed 'Nightfall' to Aemon.
'Nightfall' was a magnificent sword. The blade made of black, smoky rippled steel, characteristic of true Valyrian Steel. And the hilt made of dragonbone, with a moonstone pommel.
A single swing was all it took, as the Valyrian Steel sword cut through bone and muscle, cleanly severing the former pirate lord's head.
As Aemon wiped off his new blade meticulously, Rowan asked him,
"What do we do with the rest of the prisoners?"
"Give them justice." Aemon said, "Hang them all."
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