One month later.
The North, The Wall.
The cold wind howled here, and the snow on the ground was half a foot thick. The biting cold was comparable to the peak of winter.
"Prince, this is Castle Black."
Davos Seaworth, wrapped in a thick coat and rubbing his hands, led the way for the Prince.
After a bumpy journey, they finally reached The Wall.
Daeron Targaryen exhaled, his breath turning into a cold mist that obscured the view before him.
Beneath the towering Wall, the Night's Watch's Castle Black was right before their eyes.
"Screech—!"
Caraxes circled in the sky, its snake-like body twisting constantly, shaking snow off its red scales.
Upon reaching The Wall, it had become restless and uneasy.
It was like a fish thrown onto the shore.
Tessarion and Toothless were in even worse condition, their tempers growing increasingly violent. They spent most of the day curled up together, only calming slightly when the Dragon Guards fed them sheep.
"We cannot stay long."
Daeron realized the dangers of fighting on away ground.
The gates of Castle Black slowly opened.
The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch strode out and greeted them, "Welcome, Prince Daeron of the House Targaryen."
A squad of Night's Watchmen followed, offering hot soup and thick clothing.
Daeron was treated with hospitality.
After entering Castle Black, the Lord Commander expressed his gratitude.
"Thanks to the more than eight hundred criminals you sent to The Wall, the Night's Watch has replenished its ranks, giving us more strength to withstand the cold winter."
After the pleasantries...
Daeron was led to an attic and told that the person he was looking for was inside.
...—
Creak!
Pushing open the old wooden door draped with animal skins, the latch scraped with a piercing sound.
Daeron closed the door behind him, blocking out the cold wind.
Looking inside, the attic was filled with bookshelves and collections of books. A faint flame flickered from a wall lamp in the corner, the scent of burning oil mixing with the aroma of books, providing a unique experience.
"Who is it?"
From deep within the rows of bookshelves came an old man's gentle inquiry, sounding like he was asking if you had eaten your fill.
Daeron's Adam's apple bobbed; he couldn't help but feel a trace of nervousness.
He was finally going to meet the oldest living Targaryen, his great-grandfather's third brother, a family elder who had watched over The Wall for decades as if it were a single day.
He moved forward slowly.
A silver-haired old man in black robes, holding an oil lamp, stood up. His wrinkled hands fumbled across the table as he straightened his somewhat hunched back.
Daeron stopped not far away, quietly watching the old man.
The man had a head full of silver hair and a thin frame. The Night's Watch robes were very large on him, yet they provided good warmth against the cold, ensuring he did not suffer from it.
The old man had his back to him and suddenly froze.
Daeron's expression shifted, and he moved forward to check.
"Child, is it you?"
Maester Aemon spoke, his gentle voice becoming urgent, like seeing a light in the darkness.
Daeron was about to answer.
"I know, it must be you."
Maester Aemon did not turn around; he had already felt the connection of blood and fire, and his tone became excited.
The two had exchanged letters beforehand, informing him that Daeron would come to The Wall to visit.
Daeron stepped forward slowly and said in a youthful voice, "Great-granduncle, I've come to see you."
"It really is you, child!"
Maester Aemon leaned on his cane and hurriedly turned around, his wrinkled face already streaming with tears of joy.
Before Daeron could reach him...
Maester Aemon set aside his oil lamp and cane—those two old companions he relied on for survival—and opened his arms, tightly hugging his blood relative.
Daeron returned the hug, sharing the warmth of a Targaryen, and whispered, "Don't be excited, Great-granduncle. I've come to see you."
Maester Aemon was so choked with emotion he couldn't speak; he nodded vigorously while patting his junior's sturdy back.
From this young and vigorous body, he felt a scorching heat—the boiling dragon blood belonging to a Targaryen.
In the dead of night...
Daeron and Maester Aemon sat opposite each other, discussing the future of the family.
Maester Aemon's eyes were cloudy. With the help of the oil lamp's light, he fumbled through a stack of letters and smiled. "Look, before you, your brother often wrote to me."
That smile was innocent, as if speaking of a rare warmth in the cold wind.
Daeron asked curiously, "What did Rhaegar say to you?"
"We talked about everything. Sometimes the situation in the Seven Kingdoms, sometimes your father's madness."
Maester Aemon seemed both happy and sad, which turned into a sigh. "He always asked for my advice, and I tried my best to give sound solutions. I don't know how he's faring with them."
"Do you two still correspond now?"
Daeron asked.
Maester Aemon shook his head. "No. About half a year ago, news from him stopped."
Half a year ago—that was when the Tourney at Harrenhal was being prepared.
Daeron understood and set the old man's mind at ease. "Rhaegar is doing well. He has always done quite well and is widely favored by the lords of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Hehe, don't lie to this old bag of bones."
Maester Aemon smiled and said with regret, "If Rhaegar were well, why would you come to this frozen place to see me?"
Daeron was speechless, realizing the old man understood everything.
"Don't hide it from me. I want to hear the truth of the situation."
Maester Aemon took his hand and emphasized, "While I still have a breath left."
Facing the worried old man, Daeron mentioned his competition with Rhaegar and disclosed that Rhaegar was playing with fire and courting disaster.
Finally, he proposed that Aemon leave the Night's Watch and return to King's Landing to serve as Grand Maester.
"Sigh, I knew from his letters that the boy had an obsession, but I didn't expect him to have gone astray."
Maester Aemon sighed deeply, rejecting Rhaegar's approach. "Prophecies are merely tools to warn those who come after; how can they be treated as divine oracles to be stubbornly pursued?"
If prophecies were useful, why wouldn't every noble family in the Seven Kingdoms keep wizards and sorcerers?
If one could avoid disaster through prophecy, then his uncle Baelor 'Breakspear' would not have died, and his father Maekar I would not have lived with regret for the rest of his life.
And why would he have bothered to hide at The Wall, enduring the ravages of winter?
Daeron asked, "Are you willing to go back with me?"
"Of course."
Maester Aemon was more proactive than expected. He immediately rose from the bedside and began rummaging through his things.
"Wait for me to pack my bags, and we shall depart immediately."
The family was in a time of crisis.
He was more than happy that his junior could count on an old fellow like him.
Daeron held his hand and brought up another matter: "Great-granduncle, do you have any trace of Brynden 'Bloodraven'?"
Meanwhile, a tremor shook the Seven Kingdoms.
Crown Prince Rhaegar had abducted Lyanna Stark, who was already betrothed.
But those in the know were aware that the two had eloped by design.
The The Eyrie.
Robert, who had been kept in the dark for a long time, learned of his fiancée's betrayal. Anger filled his heart as he sought out his good brother Eddard for a confrontation.
"Look at this, Eddard! Your dear sister has abandoned the Lord of Baratheon and eloped with the handsome and charming Crown Prince Rhaegar!"
He was overcome with grief and indignation, filled with cynicism.
Robert's eyes were bloodshot as he stared at his brother, desperate for an explanation.
"Calm down, Robert."
Eddard was overwhelmed with trouble, making excuses for his sister: "Things might not be as you think. Lyanna is of noble character. I would stake my head that she would never flee without reason."
"It wasn't fleeing, it was eloping with someone!"
Robert emphasized the words. Before he could voice his threats, his eyes suddenly reddened.
Seven hells!
God knows how much expectation he had placed on this marriage.
She was his brother's sister, beautiful and bold, riding a horse faster and more steadily than he did.
But the woman of his dreams had eloped with Rhaegar.
Eddard was completely stunned. "Robert, don't be like this, I beg you."
He would rather Robert raise those iron fists and smash his head than have him weep before him.
"I will kill Rhaegar!"
Robert was blinded by rage, his expression turning resolute. "I, Robert Baratheon, swear that I will kill Rhaegar and take back my woman."
Even if he lost everything, even if his head rolled.
King's Landing.
Outside the Dragon Gate, a troop of cavalry galloped, kicking up dust along the way.
"Hyah! Hyah!"
Brandon 'The Wild Wolf' whipped his horse hard, intent on reaching King's Landing a step faster.
Behind him, several Northern followers and Albert were all fully armed.
Half a month ago, Rhaegar and Lyanna had eloped.
Lord Arryn was the first to receive the news and sent his heir Albert to Riverrun to inform Brandon, who was finalizing his wedding date with Lord Hoster's eldest daughter.
When Brandon heard the news, he was instantly consumed by fury.
On one hand, he couldn't believe his sister Lyanna would commit such a scandalous act.
On the other hand, he hated Rhaegar and wished to tear him into a thousand pieces.
Albert, panting for breath, tried to dissuade him. "Brandon, calm down. Even if we rush to the Red Keep, we won't get any answers."
"I don't care. I'm going to find Rhaegar, or else I'll make the Mad King give me an explanation."
Brandon was beyond all reason.
Before they set out, Lord Rickard had written to dissuade him, warning that he must not go to King's Landing.
Brandon clearly hadn't listened.
Suddenly, a squad of soldiers appeared ahead, blocking their path.
"Whoa!"
Brandon hastily pulled back the reins and lashed out with his whip. "Who are you to dare block my way!?"
The equipment of this squad was varied, with half-plate armor of the Gold Cloaks and armor of Lannister soldiers.
A young figure in silver armor and a white cloak stepped out, pointing a sword at the arrogant Brandon.
"You fool of the North, who do you think you're shouting at?"
Brandon took a look and said in surprise, "Jaime Lannister, why are you wearing Kingsguard armor?"
At the front of the soldiers, Jaime wore a white cloak, his expression defiant. "I can't be bothered to tell you; you're not worthy to hear it."
With a wave of his hand, he ordered everyone to be disarmed and taken.
"Lannister, you wouldn't dare!"
Brandon was furious and drew his sword to resist.
But he was no match for Jaime. He was knocked to the ground in two or three moves and brought into King's Landing tied up securely.
Jaime said contemptuously, "Northern barbarians, thinking they can go charging around under the rule of the Iron Throne."
In a Seven Kingdoms full of bad news, he had good news of his own.
He had been promoted to the Kingsguard by the King!
Not only was he wearing the white cloak, but he could also learn Life Frequency.
..
Red Keep.
Compared to Jaime's Kingsguard status brought about by his 'extraordinary wisdom,' Tywin nearly resigned from his position as Hand of the King.
His only excellent heir had been chosen for the Kingsguard by the Mad King, voluntarily giving up his inheritance rights to Casterly Rock.
He was simply an idiot!
Tywin's face was as dark as water. If hatred could kill a person, Aerys would have died a thousand times over.
The door was pushed open.
Jaime walked in and said triumphantly, "Father, I have captured Brandon Stark and Albert Arryn and secretly imprisoned them in the Red Keep dungeons."
Bang!
A wine goblet was thrown over, hitting him square in the forehead and leaving him bleeding.
Tywin's expression grew even worse as he gritted his teeth. "Idiot, do not call me father."
"If it weren't for the fact that the great matters are not yet accomplished, I would have already abandoned you and returned to Casterly Rock."
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