Servant Ambrosius
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🕑 Added 2024-02-17 17:32:25 +0000 UTCWesteros, King’s Landing
The Red Keep, Barrack of the City Watch
105 AC
As with many decisions made in his life, Daemon chose to entertain Aegon, his supposed cousin, on a mere whim.
He had met the merchant and his wife in the Street of Steel while searching for a blacksmith worth commissioning the City Watch’s armor to. He had been intrigued by Aegon’s armor, pitch black with dragon scales, and a beauty of which only the blood of the dragonlord could create.
The pair certainly carried themselves as members of House Targaryen should and certainly possess the beauty of the dragonlords, unlike the many lesser Valyrians of Essos. In addition there were rumors that his aunt, Saera, had died in the birthing bed, and as such it was not difficult to believe them as truly being his cousins. Besides, Caraxes is more friendly towards them than he is to the dragon keepers.
And so Daemon had not rejected getting to know the pair, finding them to be as much of a Targaryen as he and possessing more of the blood of the dragon than his brother and his good sister.
Aegon, despite being a merchant, possesses more skill with the spear than most knights with the sword, and Daenerys is not one to let any transgressions against her or her husband pass. She can be a spiteful and cunning bitch if she wishes.
As such when Aegon had mentioned his sister and the twins Daemon had been excited at the prospect of meeting them. From Aegon’s tales he wagers that he would get along quite well with the twins, and should Aegon’s words of their skill be true then it would be worth bringing them into the fold. House Targaryen’s numbers have dwindled quickly as of late and Daemon can see the vultures circling his brother, despite Viserys himself being blind to them.
As they seat himself before him, Daemon briefly sees a reflection of himself in the twins. Warriors who live by the sword, impertinent to any who does not earn their respect, and quite assured of their own power. Already he can tell that they will get along well enough.
What shocks Daemon however is their features, dark of hair with the barest strand of silver in the case of Jaehaerys, and a seemingly more even division of black and silver in the case of Aemon. As for Rhaenys, were it not for her eyes, a bright purple only found in those of Valyrian descent, Daemon would think her of only possessing Dornish origins. Clearly his aunt did not discriminate when it came to her bedmates.
“Your brother sings mighty tales of your skills.” Daemon says as he sits back in his chair.
“No doubt he exaggerated. Aegon should have been a bard.” Rhaenys replies, causing Daenerys to laugh.
“He would make for a poor one, his singing voice is quite abysmal.” Aemon adds.
“Those swords are quite well made.” Daemon says as he looks at the handle and pommel of the twin’s swords, both obviously having been inspired by Dark Sister. “It would be a shame if you could not do them justice.” Daemon adds as he stands from his desk and leaves his solar, the scraping of the chairs on the floor his only indicator that they follow him.
It does not take them long to reach the training grounds where many of the City Watch currently train. Seeing him enter they stop and salute before forming a circle as he makes his way to the sparring ring.
Drawing Dark Sister Daemon prepares for one of the twins to enter the ring.
“Well?” he questions upon seeing them both stop outside of the sparring ring.
With a shove from his brother Jaehaerys enters the ring, drawing his own sword and shocking all present when the Valyrian Steel is revealed.
“That sword, where did you find it?” asks Daemon as he and Jaehaerys circle one another.
“I recovered it from the corpse of a dead old man.” replies Jaehaerys, and as if that answer were a signal to commence the two knights attack.
The first clash is easily heard a league away, and so is every subsequent clash. The sound half a scream and half a song, grating on the ears yet enchanting all at once that attracts the attention of many that resides within the Red Keep.
Jaehaerys and Daemon clash twice more before separating, studying one another as they circle the ring.
“You have shed blood before.” remarks Daemon.
“Aye, my brothers and I are no summer knights.” replies Jaehaerys, drawing a smirk from Daemon.
Clearly the twins do not hold much regard for royalty, or at the very least they do not find the need to scrape and simper like Viserys’ lickspittles. Had they been anyone else Daemon would have them flogged for such disrespect. Considering who their mother is, Daemon finds it fitting. Saera Targaryen had been one of The Conciliator’s many daughters and perhaps the most rebellious one.
Without delay Daemon is upon Jaehaerys once more, this time upping the ante and no longer holding back. Yet, as with the previous clash, Daemon finds that Jaehaerys is up to the challenge, dodging and parrying his onslaught of attacks as they come with ease and even retaliating at his own pace.
Once more the two valyrian steel swords clash, this time Jaehaerys’ sword hitting the base of Daemon’s, and quickly a sense of foreboding envelops Daemon. Jaehaerys twists, pulling Daemon forward and pushing Dark Sister down and before Daemon can adjust his footing accordingly, his sword rattles against the ground of the sparring circle with a clang and Jaehaerys’ sword is placed at his throat.
“Yield my prince.” says Jaehaerys, causing Daemon to raise his hands up in surrender with a smirk on his face despite having lost.
As Jaehaerys steps away, Daemon retrieves his sword from the ground and sheates it at his waist.
Before he can say anything however the sound of clapping breaks through the silence of the training grounds.
Turning towards the sound Daemon finds his niece and her friend, Laena Velaryon, standing on the balcony overlooking the training grounds while her niece’s ever loyal sworn sword, Ser Criston Cole, standing dutifully at her back.
“That was beautifully fought uncle.” complements Rhaenyra as she smiles down at them. “Why don’t you introduce me to this valiant knight?” she asks.
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Rhaenyra did not know what to expect when she followed the beautiful sound to the barracks of the Gold Cloaks. Many of her handmaids had found the sound equally grating to the ears as it was beautiful, but Rhaenyra and her friend Laena had merely found the sound to be beautiful and as such had left her other handmaids behind while she sought out the source.
When she arrived at the barracks of the Gold Cloaks she did not expect to find her dear uncle dueling a young man who also wielded a sword of valyrian steel, and it intrigued her to see that the beautiful sound came from the crashing of valyrian steel upon valyrian steel.
As she continued to observe the duel she became intrigued by the wielder himself, for she had only seen one other man keep up with her uncle. Yet unlike Ser Criston this man’s movements are beautiful and graceful like a dance, and so entranced is she by the dance that it takes her moment to realize that her uncle has lost the duel.
With a wide grin on her face Rhaenyra claps while taking a moment to better observe the knight who defeated her uncle and quickly finding him to be quite beautiful with features she has only seen on members of House Targaryen; such as lilac eyes and silver strands intermingling with his predominantly black hair.
“That was beautifully fought uncle.” Rhaenyra compliments as she smiles down at them. “Why don’t you introduce me to this valiant knight?” she asks.
With a look from her uncle, the knight bows before her as he presents himself.
“My name is Jaehaerys, princess. It is a pleasure to meet you.” he says, surprising Rhaenyra.
While she did not know what she expected his name to be, Rhaenyra certainly did not expect it to be Jaehaerys. Yet as she hears it she cannot help but think the name fitting for some reason.
Looking him over once more Rhaenyra cannot help but turn to Ser Criston and ask, “If you fought Ser Jaehaerys, which of you would win?”
Ser Criston quietly regards her for a moment before looking at Jaehaerys, seemingly thinking it over quietly.
“It would be a hard fought battle, but I would eventually emerge victorious.” Ser Criston says only for a mocking laugh to erupt from the training grounds, drawing their attention.
Looking for the source, Rhaenyra finds what she wagers to be a dornish woman regard Ser Criston with ridicule in her eyes. Standing next to her, with a mocking smirk on his lips, can only be Jaehaerys’ more beautiful twin, an impressive feat considering that Rhaenyra has not once laid eyes on a better looking man than Jaehaerys in all her five and ten years of life.
“Do you doubt my skills, my lady?” asks Ser Criston.
“I do not doubt your skills, Ser, I merely find your confidence misplaced.” the woman answers only to laugh once more as Jaehaerys’ twin whispers something in her ear.
“And you, Ser, is there something you wish to say?” asks Ser Criston as he regards the man.
“Merely that to wield a morningstar is a mark of a knight who struggles to perform with a longsword.” the man says, causing the men of the City Watch, her uncle included, to laugh.
Confused, Rhaenyra turns to Laena who giggles beside her.
“I do not understand.” she says.
“Later.” whispers Laena to her while pointing to a fuming Ser Criston.
“I would be more than willing to prove my abilities to you if you dare.” says Ser Criston.
“No need, Ser, such an embarrassing sight would not be appropriate for the princess nor the beautiful lady beside her.” rejects the man, causing the City Watch to laugh once more.
By now Ser Criston’s face has grown as red as an apple and Rhaenyra worries that he may do something rash.
“Is it any wonder you are a coward, judging by your company I wager you are a whoreson and a bastard. Twice damned by The Seven.” retorts Ser Criston, quieting the laughter of the crowd as they look between the man, her uncle, and Ser Criston.
Sensing the tense situation, Rhaenyra makes to intervene only for Laena to pull her back while shaking her head.
“Jae, get out of the ring.” commands the man as he walks into the circle.
“Aemon—” begins the dornish woman, only to stop when Aemon and Jaehaerys glare at her, Aemon’s eyes a fierce icy blue.
With a sigh she retreats.
“I challenge you Ser, a duel to first blood.” says Aemon before turning to Jaehaerys. “Sword.” he says.
“Calling for a valyrian steel sword, it seems that the one with questionable abilities is you.” mocks Ser Criston as he enters the dueling ring.
“Do not flatter yourself.” sneers Aemon as he takes the castle steel longsword Jaehaerys brings him. “Your blood is not worth staining my brother nor my sword’s blade.”
“We shall see.” says Ser Criston as he lunges towards Aemon, morningstar in hand.
Aemon does not meet Ser Criston’s charge head on as Rhaenyra expected, rather her dances around Ser Criston’s morningstar, gracefully dodging in and out of reach with his long air flying about as if to mock Ser Criston for constantly coming close to hitting him, but not being quite good enough to connect.
“Even with your morningstar you struggle to perform.” mocks Aemon with a laugh as he dodges Ser Criston’s morningstar, this time dancing around the knight himself to appear at his back and whacking him with the flat of his sword, eliciting a laugh from the City Watch.
With a snarl Ser Criston turns around, swinging his morningstar wide in the hopes of hitting Aemon yet missing once more for Aemon had long moved into a different position.
Roaring, Ser Criston renews his assault on Aemon, moving faster and with more ferocity than ever before. For a brief moment Rhaenyra worries for Aemon’s life, but the man easily deflects all of Ser Criston’s attacks while smirking at the knight.
With the tip of his sword Aemon deflects Ser Criston’s morningstar away, momentarily causing the knight to lose control of his weapon. It is a split second of a moment, one that no knight or warrior of this age could capitalize on; but for Aemon it is more than enough as he follows through on his sword’s trajectory before guiding it back to slice through the gaps of Ser Criston’s gauntlet and drawing blood.
Ser Criston, still blinded by rage, continues to attack. Yet Aemon seems to have expected this for he steps within the knight’s guard and smashes his sword’s pommel into the knight’s temple; and like a puppet with its strings cut, Ser Criston unceremoniously falls to the ground unconscious.
For a second all is silent in the training ground before a roar of a cheer explodes from the City Watch.
“He is quite good, your grace.” says Laena.
“Indeed.” replies Daemon, startling Rhaenyra, for she had not seen him ascend the stairs to stand beside her.
“Who are they, uncle?” asks Rhaenyra.
“You can meet them at another time. Come princess, I am sure your father is missing his cup bearer.” Daemon says as he leads Rhaenyra and Laena away from the training grounds.
“What of Ser Criston?” asks Rhaenyra worriedly.
“What of him?” asks Daemon with a raised eyebrow.
“Uncle!” replies Rhaenyra with a glare.
“Do not worry.” says Daemon with a laugh. “I shall have your dear knight sent to the maester.”
“Thank you.” says a relieved Rhaenyra.
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Planetos, Asshai
105 AC
Asshai, a mysterious port city in the far southeast of the known part of Essos, where the Ash river meets the Jade Sea at its eastern exit, the Saffron Straits. It is on the southernmost edge of a mountainous peninsula known as the Shadow Lands, thus the city is often called Asshai by the Shadow or Asshai-by-the-Shadow.
Asshai sprawls for leagues across both sides of the Ash, and its great walls are made out of black stone that is greasy to the touch and seems to drink the light, making the city appear to be a dark and gloomy place. These same walls allegedly could contain Volantis, Qarth, King's Landing, and Oldtown combined. The population of Asshai, however, is no more than that of a good-sized market town. By night only one building in ten shows a light.
Within one such building a beautiful woman with long hair the color of deep burnished copper, unsettling red eyes, and pale, unblemished skin resides. She is slender, graceful, and taller than most knights; with full breasts, a narrow waist, and a heart-shaped face one would be hard pressed to find a woman as beautiful as her. She wears bloodred fabric underneath a silk gown the color of bright fire, a scarlet cloak, and a red gold choker containing a ruby which fits tightly around her neck that glows with power.
Looking into the brazier before her, she whispers in the language of Asshai in a deep voice which sounds melodic.
As the final words leave her lips she gasps as a vision assaults her.
An empire with cities of gold and white, armies of elite soldiers marching, and legions of dragons and wyverns that blot out the sky.
Leading them is a dragonlord of Valyria in the most beautiful black plate armor with a red cape, riding a huge and formidable yellow dragon. Behind her are other dragonlords whose features are indistinguishable, all save for one.
The landscape changes and the sorceress finds herself facing the man whose beauty is anything but natural. He wears black dragon armor with a furred cloak, but what draws one's attention are his eyes that glow a fierce icy blue, blue of the Great Other. Yet this man does not bring the end, for in his gloved hand is a fiery sword that vanquishes all threats.
Giants fall before him, the cold ones do not fare better, and even the wielder of lightning is forced into a stalemate. And as the man faces the latest threat, he utters with his melodious voice in a language that the sorceress does not know yet somehow understands “I am an artist. My sword is my brush, the ground my canvas, and the lifeblood which flows through the veins of those who threaten me and mine the paint with which I create my art.”
Before she can witness more the sorceress is forced out of the vision, finding herself on the ground with her garments wet and her neck burned from her necklace.
“Westeros.” she whispers to herself for that is where the remnant of the dragonlords of Valyria reside. “I must go toWesteros.”
With her decision made she prepares for her journey, not knowing that she was not the only one to receive such a powerful vision.
Throughout the world countless practitioners of magic receive similar visions of world shaking events. These will be the causes that set this timeline of Westeros on a path far different than all other timelines, and the catalyst of these visions himself, Aemon, has no idea what his presence has brought, nor how much his arrival has already changed.
Author's Note: Here’s the latest chapter. Aemon and his family make a splash and they haven’t even been there for an hour. Meanwhile throughout the world practitioners of magic experience some shit and one of them sets her eyes on Aemon. As usual, what do you guys think?
