The Birth of Dragons

Prince Aemon Targaryen

Anger continues to course through him, whenever he thinks of what happened. His brother might have been mad, and he might have been unstable, but he was Aemon's brother, a member of the Blood of the Dragon, and no one, not even some fucking savage, touched the Blood of the Dragon. Aemon seethed whenever he thought about it, and yet, Dany did nothing, she seemed to be ignoring him and that made it all the more aggravating. Ser Jorah had of course sworn fealty to him as his King, but that was not enough, he wanted revenge, he wanted blood.

Aemon looks at Ser Jorah, as they sit in the shade. "Khal Drogo must suffer for what he did, the question is how. The man is protected day and night, and my sister is always with him." That is a constant issue.

Ser Jorah is silent for some time, then responds. "You must seek a way to challenge him, Your Grace. Not directly, but through someone else. Someone who might be a more willing conspirator to see him dead."

Aemon looks around the camp, seeing the men and women of the savages running around, doing their thing, and he sighs. "Who might be the one who could be stupid enough to go after the Khal of Khals?" anger grows within him. "Most of these fuckers see him as a God. And who wants to hurt a God?"

Ser Jorah snorts. "You have one man who is more than willing to do the deed, who has in fact offered to do the deed." The man nods towards Rakharo, the beast who had sworn himself to Aemon after a little bit of persuasion.

Aemon runs a hand through his hair, considering this. "Rakharo is still one of the man's blood riders, he will not cross that line, unless I am the one who steps over it. And I do not mean to be the one to instigate openly."

"Because of your sister, Your Grace?" the knight asks.

Aemon barely nods, instead he grunts his acknowledgement. "I do not want her to get too much trouble, not now she is so along. But Drogo must go before the babe is born."

Ser Jorah looks at him inquisitively. "Do you think the babe will be a boy?"

Aemon shrugs, trying to act as if he does not care, when in actual fact the thought has kept him up at night. "I do not know, nor do I much care. The babe, whatever sex it is, will be a savage, and will seal my sister's fate."

"So what do you wish to do?" Ser Jorah whispers.

Aemon takes a cup of wine, hands one to Ser Jorah, takes a deep swig, and then says. "I do not much know. The babe is no threat, but my sister must not be harmed whatever happens. These savages will try something; of that I have no doubt."

Ser Jorah nods. "I know someone who can handle this issue, with mostly clear results, Your Grace. None will ever know it was you who ordered it."

"Where will you meet this man? Where is he from? When will you get his service?" Aemon enquires.

Ser Jorah smiles an enigmatic smile. "There is no man who knows poison half so well as a Dornish woman. We shall be meeting them very soon Your Grace, of that I can tell you for a certainty."

Aemon takes another sip of wine, and leans back. "The Dornish are getting involved now? Now that my brother is dead? How convenient."

Ser Jorah looks slightly uncomfortable at this. "Sometimes people choose to make choices that do not make sense to those more in tune to the higher powers."

"So essentially, there is one person coming, not the Dornish." Aemon points out.

Ser Jorah sighs. "Just one person Your Grace, you are right. But one person is better than none. Your brother, forgive me Your Grace, was not the sanest of men, no one would fight for a man who thinks far too much like the mad King."

Aemon feels anger grow inside him again, anger at the fact that someone would so easily dismiss his brother, the rightful King, just as he is angry with Viserys for being so ridiculous and insane. That word, that word is something that makes him even more angry. "And what makes me different?" Aemon whispers, barely able to control his anger this time.

Ser Jorah looks somewhat uncertain as to how to respond, which makes Aemon feel as if the next words out of his mouth will be the truth. "You are not your brother, Your Grace. You are not your father, either." The man responds simply.

That does not quite answer his question, but he decides to accept it. He takes another deep swig of wine, and then asks the man. "Tell me Ser Jorah, what will it take to win the Seven Kingdoms?"

The old knight seems to be considering how to respond to the question posed, eventually he takes a sip of wine as well, then responds. "You must win people over to your cause, Sire. Conquest is all well and good, but the people, they are the ones you need."

"The nobles? Or the common people?" Aemon asks, curiosity getting the better of him, even as he feels the wine sink in within him.

"The common people will do as they have always done Sire." Ser Jorah replies. "Give them a chance to follow you and they will. It is the nobles you need Sire. The ones who sit in their castles, and fight the wars. Make them see you as the Dragon, and the war will be over, before it has begun."

Aemon looks at the man, then at the cup of wine in his hand, he stares into the distance, at the banner flapping in the wind, he takes a deep sip of wine. "A dragon." He smiles. "Now isn't that a thought." Somewhere in the distance, he hears a roar, the roar of history.