Brighter Flames (ASOIAF/AU)
- Thread starter Mazrick
- Start date
Count Sinner
Fate in Your Favor
- Location
- Placentia ca
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
CedeTheBees
Probably high right now
- Location
- Somewhere
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
Corvus Black
The Inestimable
- Location
- England
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
blackshadow111
Happy Helpful Grenade
- Location
- India
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
williams1996
Alba gu bràth
- Location
- Scotland
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
- Location
- Centro Italia
[X] Plan: The Higher Mysteries and ALL the drama
The Rock (6-10)
Rolls have been had. Discuss in spoilers until the update, as usual.
Riggnarock rolled 1d100+20 Healthy Midnight?: (29)+20 = 49
Mazrick: Just takes a bit of extra effort to raise, which might not be the worst thing
mrsean22 rolled 1d100 Choices: (29) = 29
mrsean22 rolled 1d100 Choices: (44) = 44
mrsean22 rolled 1d100 Choices: (57) = 57
Mazrick: Okay, so these are applied to the familial options you did not choose
Enjou rolled 1d100+65 The Rock's Library: (7)+65 = 72
I use my reroll.
Enjou rolled 1d100+65 The Rock's Library: (18)+65 = 83
Mazrick: Cersei is a bit quicksilver and grandiose in her interests and demands. Doesn't exactly hinder building up a bigger collection, but doesn't help all that much either
Fib (aka Aabcehmu) rolled 1d100+17 Insight?: (48)+17 = 65
Mazrick: Aemon still has much affection for Cersei despite her understandable shortcomings
less rolled 1d100+65 SettingSail: (96)+65 = 161
Mazrick: Tywin has a ship built especially for Visenya
Brainbow rolled 1d100 Just How Strong the Bond?: (31) = 31
Mazrick: that's still good
Mazrick: aside from a nat 1, there was no bad roll there. only good
Azethoth rolled 1d100+75 born to sail: (89)+75 = 164
Mazrick: ...
Mazrick: So
Mazrick: That's a really good roll, very good roll that can open up something rather extraordinary
Riggnarock rolled 1d100+75 Beloved Of The Sea?: (45)+75 = 120 <== We keep this one
Riggnarock rolled 1d100+75 Beloved Of The Sea?: (16)+75 = 91
Mazrick: More than picking up the ways of sailing as if born to them, the sea seems to calm when he's onboard. The winds grow favorable.
mrsean22 rolled 1d100+65 TyrionAffinity?: (62)+65 = 127
Enjou rolled 1d100+50 Witness?: (37)+50 = 87
Mazrick rolled 1d100+65 On the low?: (74)+65 = 139
Mazrick: Joanna passed away after giving birth to a misshapen child
Fib (aka Aabcehmu) rolled 1d100+60 Grief Turns To Action?: (95)+60 = 155
Mazrick: In the wake of Joanna's death, to distract himself from his loss, Tywin turns to founding the Sunset Bank
Brainbow rolled 1d100+75 Protege?: (89)+75 = 164
Mazrick: Tywin marks Aemon's brilliance and decides to cultivate him as his protege. The Lord of Casterly Rock still spends much time with his heir, but Jaime is eaten up by the allure of knighthood, not taken to books or numbers. He takes Aemon as his cupbearer.
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 focuses: (44)+50 = 94
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 Focuses: (40)+50 = 90
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 Focuses: (44)+50 = 94 <== Tourney
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 Focuses: (40)+50 = 90 <== Secret
less rolled 1d100+60 MoreFocused?: (71)+60 = 131 <== Mystery
less rolled 1d100+60 MoreFocused?: (1)+60 = 61 <== Fosterling
Mazrick: Drop the doubles, and slot those in
Mazrick: Between sailing and attending to Tywin, Aemon just doesn't have much time to socialize with the fosterlings
mrsean22 rolled 1d100+55 Chance?: (57)+55 = 112
Mazrick: Aemon makes little headway at finding any sort of secret passages until his companion Midnight chances upon a small opening...
Riggnarock rolled 1d100+10 Network?: (45)+10 = 55
Mazrick: That's percentage of secret passage Aemon discovers lol
Fib (aka Aabcehmu) rolled 1d100+45 LannisterLoot?: (89)+45 = 134
Brainbow rolled 1d100+75 MartialTalent?: (43)+75 = 118 <== We keep this one
Brainbow rolled 1d100+75 MartialTalent?: (14)+75 = 89
Mazrick: Okay, Aemon's got talent on par with his physical gifts
Mazrick: Jaime's more talented
Mazrick: but, Aemon keeps up with grit and determination
Enjou rolled 1d100-25 Not indulging?: (40)-25 = 15
Mazrick rolled 1d100+50 Gambling?: (61)+50 = 111
Mazrick: Aemon picks up a gambling habit. Think the stories of Michael Jordan
Mazrick: The dice most often roll in his favor. he picked it up from sailors, and is usually betting on spars
Azethoth rolled 1d100+75 What Mysteries May Come?: (95)+75 = 170 <== We keep this one
Azethoth rolled 1d100+75 What Mysteries may come?: (14)+75 = 89
Mazrick: ...how old was Cersei when she visited Maggy?
Mazrick: Just takes a bit of extra effort to raise, which might not be the worst thing
mrsean22 rolled 1d100 Choices: (29) = 29
mrsean22 rolled 1d100 Choices: (44) = 44
mrsean22 rolled 1d100 Choices: (57) = 57
Mazrick: Okay, so these are applied to the familial options you did not choose
Enjou rolled 1d100+65 The Rock's Library: (7)+65 = 72
I use my reroll.
Enjou rolled 1d100+65 The Rock's Library: (18)+65 = 83
Mazrick: Cersei is a bit quicksilver and grandiose in her interests and demands. Doesn't exactly hinder building up a bigger collection, but doesn't help all that much either
Fib (aka Aabcehmu) rolled 1d100+17 Insight?: (48)+17 = 65
Mazrick: Aemon still has much affection for Cersei despite her understandable shortcomings
less rolled 1d100+65 SettingSail: (96)+65 = 161
Mazrick: Tywin has a ship built especially for Visenya
Brainbow rolled 1d100 Just How Strong the Bond?: (31) = 31
Mazrick: that's still good
Mazrick: aside from a nat 1, there was no bad roll there. only good
Azethoth rolled 1d100+75 born to sail: (89)+75 = 164
Mazrick: ...
Mazrick: So
Mazrick: That's a really good roll, very good roll that can open up something rather extraordinary
Riggnarock rolled 1d100+75 Beloved Of The Sea?: (45)+75 = 120 <== We keep this one
Riggnarock rolled 1d100+75 Beloved Of The Sea?: (16)+75 = 91
Mazrick: More than picking up the ways of sailing as if born to them, the sea seems to calm when he's onboard. The winds grow favorable.
mrsean22 rolled 1d100+65 TyrionAffinity?: (62)+65 = 127
Enjou rolled 1d100+50 Witness?: (37)+50 = 87
Mazrick rolled 1d100+65 On the low?: (74)+65 = 139
Mazrick: Joanna passed away after giving birth to a misshapen child
Fib (aka Aabcehmu) rolled 1d100+60 Grief Turns To Action?: (95)+60 = 155
Mazrick: In the wake of Joanna's death, to distract himself from his loss, Tywin turns to founding the Sunset Bank
Brainbow rolled 1d100+75 Protege?: (89)+75 = 164
Mazrick: Tywin marks Aemon's brilliance and decides to cultivate him as his protege. The Lord of Casterly Rock still spends much time with his heir, but Jaime is eaten up by the allure of knighthood, not taken to books or numbers. He takes Aemon as his cupbearer.
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 focuses: (44)+50 = 94
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 Focuses: (40)+50 = 90
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 Focuses: (44)+50 = 94 <== Tourney
Azethoth rolled 1d100+50 Focuses: (40)+50 = 90 <== Secret
less rolled 1d100+60 MoreFocused?: (71)+60 = 131 <== Mystery
less rolled 1d100+60 MoreFocused?: (1)+60 = 61 <== Fosterling
Mazrick: Drop the doubles, and slot those in
Mazrick: Between sailing and attending to Tywin, Aemon just doesn't have much time to socialize with the fosterlings
mrsean22 rolled 1d100+55 Chance?: (57)+55 = 112
Mazrick: Aemon makes little headway at finding any sort of secret passages until his companion Midnight chances upon a small opening...
Riggnarock rolled 1d100+10 Network?: (45)+10 = 55
Mazrick: That's percentage of secret passage Aemon discovers lol
Fib (aka Aabcehmu) rolled 1d100+45 LannisterLoot?: (89)+45 = 134
Brainbow rolled 1d100+75 MartialTalent?: (43)+75 = 118 <== We keep this one
Brainbow rolled 1d100+75 MartialTalent?: (14)+75 = 89
Mazrick: Okay, Aemon's got talent on par with his physical gifts
Mazrick: Jaime's more talented
Mazrick: but, Aemon keeps up with grit and determination
Enjou rolled 1d100-25 Not indulging?: (40)-25 = 15
Mazrick rolled 1d100+50 Gambling?: (61)+50 = 111
Mazrick: Aemon picks up a gambling habit. Think the stories of Michael Jordan
Mazrick: The dice most often roll in his favor. he picked it up from sailors, and is usually betting on spars
Azethoth rolled 1d100+75 What Mysteries May Come?: (95)+75 = 170 <== We keep this one
Azethoth rolled 1d100+75 What Mysteries may come?: (14)+75 = 89
Mazrick: ...how old was Cersei when she visited Maggy?
Brainbow
Jamais vu
The Lannister Household seems largely canonical, barring Cersei stuck in the Rock without a marriage. Tyrion is as he was in canon; Joanna is dead. Key difference is that Tywin seems wanting to channel his grief into making a bank that Aemon is now part of. Unsure if he'll be seen as the second son Tywin wishes he had; gambling addict seems like small potatoes in comparison.
Beyond the above, Aemon is a pirate/merchant prince in the making. And this is before the surprises in store next update.
Beyond the above, Aemon is a pirate/merchant prince in the making. And this is before the surprises in store next update.
Childhood at the Rock
Mazrick
Shai'tan
- Location
- The Pit of Doom
Mornings are never silent in Casterly Rock. A small army of servants see to the upkeep of the massive fortress day and night. A small team of trusted and carefully selected miners work in shifts to unearth the seemingly inexhaustible mines. Waves crashing against the cliffs, seagulls crying in the misty morning air, and the clinking of armor as sentries made their rounds all formed a comfortable symphony Aemon had long grown accustomed to. Beside him, Midnight stirred, the black tomcat stretched lazily before curling back into a ball.
Prayers at dawn were the first order of the day, as always. Aemon took great comfort in the rites. His father was there every morning, so it was a treasured opportunity to spend time with his father. The boy dressed quickly with help of servants in Lannister livery, pulling on the fine but simple garments his mother, Lady Genna, had laid out for him. His steps were soft as he made his way to the Sept, where the sound of murmured prayers echoed against the high walls. He knelt beside Jaime, his milk-brother and the one closest to him in age. Cersei, the third of their little trio, was already there, her blonde hair gleaming in the candlelight. She looked up and gave Aemon one of her cheshire grins.
His elder siblings, Visenya and Daeron, were already deep in prayer alongside their mother.
Aemon joined the whispered prayers, though his mind wandered as it often did. He thought of the day ahead—another day of arms training under his Uncle Tygett, lessons with Maester Lyman, and, if he was lucky, a chance to explore more of the secret passages of Casterly Rock. Since returning from King's Landing, he and Midnight discovered many already, but he knew there were more to discover. The tomcat had an uncanny knack for finding hidden things, and Aemon had learned to trust Midnight's instincts as much as his own.
After prayers, breakfast was served in the grand dining hall. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air as Aemon took his place beside his siblings and cousins. Lord Tywin sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold and severe as ever, though there was a flicker of interest when his gaze fell on Aemon. He returned to conversation with the very much pregnant Lady Joanna.
"Eat, Aemon," Genna urged, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "You'll need your strength for the day ahead. Alsbett made your favorite this morning!"
Aemon nodded enthusiastically. Soon he had a plate full of ham and eggs with biscuits and blackberry jam. The six year old ate quickly, his mind already drifting to the courtyard where he and Jaime would soon be sparring under the watchful eye of Ser Tygett. Of all his family, Tygett was the greatest warrior, one of the greatest knights in the realm, but he was also a strict taskmaster with a volatile temperament. Sometimes he would have a roguish smile, and then something innocuous would trigger one of his black moods. Only Aemon's parents and Lord Tywin himself walked easily around him when Tygett was angered.
Arms training had become one of Aemon's favorite parts of the day. To be truly respected in this world, a man must be able to display martial might. Contrary to much of the teachings of the Faith, the strong were revered while the weak were as sheep before wolves. Also, the boy pictured himself riding in the lists against the White Bull or unhorsing the Prince of Dragonstone. It would take a very great knight to accomplish such feats. Luckily, he took to his martial training nearly as well as he did to the books in Maester Lyman's chambers, though he lacked Jaime's single-minded fanaticism for training. His skill with a blade was already notable for his age, and Ser Tygett often remarked on his progress with quiet pride.
Once breakfast was done, Aemon made his way to the training yard alongside Jaime with Daeron leading the way. Outside the Rock, the sun must have climbed higher in the sky, but in the Rock only the light of candles, torches, and braziers lit their mountain home. They donned which padding and drew their heavy wooden swords and took their stances. Aemon's muscles were still sore from the previous day's training, but he ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on the feel of the hilt in his hand, the weight of the blade, the balance of it. Jaime was quick and agile, but Aemon had the advantage of reach. Aemon was quite tall for his age, being even taller than his elder brother. They clashed with the sound of wood striking wood, the thuds echoing in the yard as Ser Tygett watched, occasionally stepping in to correct a stance or offer advice.
"Stop your yawning and fight!" Tygett was fond of saying, if he found his charges too laggardly. "Your enemies won't care if it's the Hour of the Wolf when killing starts. Never hesitate, never give them an inch!"
It was only after the training session ended that Aemon had the chance to slip away, Midnight padding along at his heels. There was always a moment between training and lunch when the Rock grew exceptionally busy, the bustle of the day providing enough distraction for him to disappear without drawing too much attention. Poor Ser Ilyn had been relieved of duties as Aemon minder. He followed Midnight down the winding corridors, past the bustling kitchens and through the narrow servants' passages that crisscrossed beneath the main halls. He had explored many of these secret ways already, but today Midnight led him somewhere new.
The tomcat darted ahead, his sleek black form vanishing into the shadows. Now several months old, Aemon hurried after him, his heart pounding with excitement as they passed through a hidden door he hadn't noticed before. It was a small, unassuming vent, half-covered by old tapestries. Aemon squeezed through the narrow opening and found himself in a forgotten corridor, the air stale and thick with dust.
Midnight led the way, his eyes gleaming in the dim light as they wound their way through the hidden passages. Aemon could feel the Rock's ancient stone walls pressing in around him, the weight of millennia bearing down as they delved deeper into the fortress. Casterly Rock had been continuously inhabited since the Age of Heroes. Such a long period of time, so many of his ancestors making improvements to this mighty castle was hard to fathom. What were they like? What did they do? So many questions.
After what felt like an eternity, the pair reached a small, secluded chamber covered in a thick layer of dust. They must be deep in the Rock indeed. Lifting his lantern, Aemon looked at the far end of the chamber. Collapsed. Immediately looking around, he noted the ceiling looked quite secure. The light from his lantern caught sight of something. There, near the center of the floor, lay a small, smooth marble—darker than Midnight. Aemon picked it up. Cold to the touch. The boy frowned as he turned it over in his hand. It felt heavier than it should, and when it slipped out of his hand, there was no sound when it hit the floor. Not even the faintest clink of stone against stone. Aemon's heart raced with curiosity.
He tested it several more times. Bouncing the stone off floor and walls with increasing gusto. He let out a delighted laugh. The marble, or the Silent stone as he would come to call it, was a mystery, one he couldn't wait to unravel.
"Boy," he addressed his feline friend as the cat sniffed at the collapsed way ahead, "tonight you're eating tuna!"
"Mreow!" Midnight rubbed against Aemon's leg happily.
But lunch called, and soon enough, Aemon had to return to the great hall. He slipped the silent stone into his pocket, a secret treasure known only to him and Midnight. As he made his way back through the hidden passages, he couldn't help but smile. The Rock was full of secrets, and Aemon intended to find them all.
The routine of life in Casterly Rock continued, but the world around Aemon began to change. It was during this year that tragedy struck. Lady Joanna Lannister, mother to Jaime and Cersei, and almost a second mother to Aemon, died giving birth to a malformed son, a dwarf who was named Tyrion. The babe was small, weak, and strange-looking, but Aemon loved him without reservation. Lady Joanna would have wanted it that way.
The Rock mourned, Aemon's mother wore black for an entire month, and none more so than Tywin Lannister. The loss of his wife changed him in ways that even Aemon, young as he was, could see. His uncle's grief was not loud or obvious, but it was present in the stony silence that hung over the family for weeks after Joanna's death. Tywin locked himself away for a time, and when he emerged, he threw himself into his work with a ferocity that left no room for mourning. Aemon watched from a distance, unsure of how to help, or if he even could. After Lady Joanna died, Aemon did not see his taciturn uncle smile.
His own routine carried on, though with a new weight. He found solace in his training, throwing himself into the sword drills and sparring sessions with Jaime, Daeron, and the other fosterlings from the Westerlands. He was determined to grow stronger, faster, and smarter, as if by bettering himself, he could help stave off the pain that had settled over his family.
But it wasn't all sorrow. Life continued in its own way. Jaime was betrothed to Malora Hightower, and Cersei to Mace Tyrell. The twins threw such childish fits when they received the news that they had to be confined to separate rooms for a fortnight until they cooled their heels. Even the news of other betrothals for political reasons, such as Robert Baratheon being matched with sickly Elia Martell or Lyanna Stark promised to the older Elbert Arryn, did little to ease their anger.
On the other hand, Daeron, always the more reserved and dutiful, grew close to Jeyne Farman, a maiden from Fair Isle. The match seemed a good one, and the children got along well. Jeyne made the ever-dour Daeron laugh and smile.
Aemon, meanwhile, remained unbetrothed, something his father, Maegor, insisted upon. Maegor wanted his youngest son to marry for love, as he had, and Aemon was glad of it. Being tied down and bound to one person for life? It worked well enough for others, but it just seemed absurd. He was too young to be thinking of marriage anyway; there was still so much of the world to explore, so many mysteries to uncover.
At eight, Aemon's world changed again. Lord Tywin, recognizing his nephew's sharp mind and unwavering determination, made Aemon his cupbearer. It was a great honor, but also a heavy responsibility. Aemon understood the weight of it, even at his young age.
"Jaime will inherit the Rock after me." Lord Tywin said, his green gaze sharper than any Valyrian Steel as he ran a hand over his fully-shaved head, "That fool boy has no heart for studies, only for swords. Perhaps, he will grow into his duties, perhaps not. Rare is the man who can truly change. Still, he will rule, but I mean to see that you will help him rule well."
The esteemed role of cupbearer altered Aemon's routine significantly. His mornings were still spent in the training yard, but his afternoons were now filled with lessons in governance, economics, and diplomacy. Tywin himself taught many of these lessons, his stern voice echoing in the great hall as he imparted his knowledge to his young charge.
Lord Tywin was relentless in his efforts. Aemon witnessed him sitting with Jaime for hours a day for weeks on end until his heir could read adequately. There was no need for such rote and protracted lessons with Aemon.
After speaking with a particularly obsequious merchant from Lannisport, the Lord of Casterly Rock accepted a flagon of watered wine from his protege.
"Everything is about power." Tywin intoned as they hawked together. Lord Tywin's hawk swooped low to catch a fleeing hare. He continued, "There are sentiments that capture and bind, but those are fleeting and ephemeral. Every interaction be it between people or kingdoms is about power. Those who have it must choose how to protect and grow it. Those who want it will invariably seek to grasp more for themselves. Mark my words, my boy."
Aemon absorbed such nuggets of wisdom with a hunger that surprised even Lord Tywin. The boy had a mind like a sponge, soaking up every word, every detail, every nuance presented to him. And yet, he never let go of his dreams of knighthood. His martial training continued, and he excelled in it, refusing to neglect his sword for the sake of politics.
In the end, he thought that they fed upon one another. With a sharp mind and a sharp sword, there would be no limit on what the right man could accomplish.
It was during this time that Aemon also became fluent in High Valyrian, the ability to read and write in that eastern language impressed Tywin greatly. Aemon oft serve as interpreter for Essosi merchants as Lord Tywin reached far and wide to establish the foundation of his fledgling Sunset Bank.
The young Targaryen continued to read voraciously, devouring every book he could get his hands on, and his bond with Cersei deepened as she, too, began to take an interest in books. Aemon thought her growing scholastic interests had something to do with Prince Rhaegar being famously bookish, or her poorly hidden dissatisfaction with her betrothal, but he kept those observations to himself. Discretion can well be the better part of valor!
But while Aemon sought knowledge for the sake of understanding, for the sake of uncovering the meanest measure of this world's mysteries, Cersei's interests were more…selective. She preferred books that reinforced her own notions, that painted her and her family in the light she wished to see herself. Many of her favorite books were commissioned by former Lannisters and documented the glorious past of their family. Aemon saw this, but he did not challenge her on it. They were still close, and he cherished their bond too much to risk straining it over something so trivial. No doubt she would realize the error of her ways as she grew older and wiser.
Still, it was tiresome to build a worthwhile library around Cersei's proclivities.
By the time Aemon turned nine, his life had settled into a rhythm that he found both comforting and exciting. His duties as cupbearer continued, and his lessons with Tywin became more complex. He sat in on several trials, advising Lord Tywin on what he thought the best course was. He became intimately familiar with the finances of Casterly Rock and the large expenditures made to build up the Sunset Bank.
It was not all about ruling and politics. Aemon found joy in the simple things, like spending time with his sister Visenya aboard her ship, Vhagar. The ship had been a gift from Tywin to Visenya, who had developed a passion for sailing. Aemon often joined her on her voyages. Here, clad in breeches and a waistcoat, she smiled and laughed as in the old days before she was saddled with her three Septas by King Aerys.
Aemon shared her delight while sailing upon the open sea. He quickly proved to be a natural sailor. He dove into the craft with unfettered interest, and learned from the saltiest of scalawags alongside the captain of Vhagar.
The sailors aboard Vhagar came to believe that Aemon was blessed by the sea. Whenever he was aboard, the waters seemed calmer, the winds more favorable. Aemon didn't know if there was any truth to this, but he loved the sea regardless. He loved the feeling of the wind in his hair, the salt spray on his face, the sense of freedom that came with sailing on the open water. It was a world away from the stone walls of Casterly Rock. While there was a hierarchy aboard the ship, it was more based on capability and experience rather than birth.
Aemon cherished every moment of it.
As he diced, finding a great passion for gambling stoked, he also grasped trade talk, a coarse argot developed using hand gestures and words from a dozen languages. The more experienced sailors had the greatest stories to tell from seeing leviathans to the Doom finally relinquishing its grasp on Old Valyria after nearly four hundred years.
A horde of locusts descended on the fields of the so-called Lamb People. A former slave spat that the Red Priests were going crazy, believing it was a sign from their God. He also was certain a Dothraki Khal tried to put their Holy City, Vas Dothrak, to the sword. Rumors of priests and holy men of all faiths acting strangely seemed on everyone's tongue. And the secular powers of the world moved, too. One Lysene sailor spoke of a Valyrian Steel sarcophagus being hauled from the Smoking Sea all the way to Lys. Another older man regaled him with tales of piracy in the Stepstones where treasures were plundered.
But even as he sailed the seas with his sister and threw dice with the sailors–luckily he always seemed to win more than he lost!--Aemon never lost sight of his responsibilities. He continued to study, to train, to learn. He frequently played cyvasse with his brother Daeron, who often bested him with his surprisingly sharp grasp of tactics and strategy Aemon didn't mind losing; it only made him more determined to win next time. He was always learning, always growing, always pushing himself to be better.
"My son," Maegor said as he tended to his small garden near the Rock. The Targaryen prince was dressed much as you'd expect a farmhand might appear, but even in humble dress and covered in dirt, he exuded strength and stability. He continued grim faced, "the nature of life is growth. Only the dead are stagnant. We only have one life, it is both our duty and our delight to live it to the fullest." He pulled out a particularly tenacious weed with a grunt, "However, one may decide to thrive in life by breaking and exploiting others, and these men often succeed." He glanced at the towering Rock in the distance. "They can forge wonders, wield power with vile cunning such that nothing on this mortal coil dares challenge them." Maegor Targaryen, the King Who Never Was, stood and his gaze was steadfast, "Still, all men eventually meet the Stranger, all men must face the Father's Justice. All men reap in death what they sowed during life."
Aemon's tenth year brought with it new challenges and new adventures. He was now recognized by many within the Rock as a brilliant mind and a near martial peer to the prodigious Jaime Lannister. Overall he had earned the respect of his family and the distant admiration of the many noble fosterlings dwelling in the Rock. But there was still so much he didn't know, so much he hadn't seen. The world was full of mysteries, and amidst all his other responsibilities, Aemon kept alert for opportunities.
It was on one such adventure that Aemon found himself standing before a bedraggled tent.
"This it, then?" Aemon asked warily. The dark green tent with a tall peaked roof did not look like much, but a chill crawled up his spine. He touched the dagger at his belt.
"They call her Maggy the Frog." Cersei said for the tenth time. She stood in a modest dress meant for traveling. She breathed heavily as she pulled her cloak tight against the cold of the evening, "The smallfolk say years and years ago she came here all the way from Essos, and a washerwoman went on about this old thing brewing love potions and remedies and salves. She grumbled about them costing an arm and a leg, but she swore they work."
"And she can tell fortunes?" Visenya questioned from your other side, also for the tenth time. Aemon's elder sister wore modest clothing as well. Been quite the feat to sneak her away from her old Septas. Desire was clear in her tone. Aemon knew she was anxious about the future, about her forthcoming marriage. Queer dreams haunted her of late, but she kept her own counsel about that sort of thing.
"That's what all the stories say." Cersei assured her.
"Sounds like a load of rubbish." Jaime dismissed, as he gave a smirk. "Let's get this over with then. Addam and Lyle want to train for the squire's contest, and so do I. I'll not miss sleep on some toad's account!"
Out of the usual quintet, only Daeron was missing from this outing. The older Targaryen was away visiting his betrothed's family at Fair Isle. Thus, when Aemon overheard Cersei and Visenya plotting to sneak away from the Tourney to visit this 'Maggy the Frog', he could only serve as their escort. Both girls were annoyingly willful. Luckily, the opportunity to rope Jaime into this farce presented itself.
Without further ado, the quartet entered the shabby tent. Aemon and the others coughed as the rich smell of herbs assaulted him. Blinking to adjust his eyes, he eyed the central fire above which a large pot simmered.
Aemon had thought the whole thing nonsense, a lark based on small-minded superstition. That supposition fled. The crone was squat and warty. From across the smoke filled room, she might have looked like any old crone. In fact, he might have thought her well named because she looked much like a frog indeed.
Yellow eyes met his own jade gaze, and his heart thundered in his chest. He stopped in his tracks as his sister and cousins continued forward. Aemon's tongue clove to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. This was no common witch woman. Over the scent of herbs, Aemon was assaulted by the smell of blood. Beyond the crackling of flame, he heard a cacophony of whimpering and screaming.
A maegi, one the sorcerers of the east.
He'd read about them in a half dozen tomes. A couple of the wise men wrote of avoiding them whenever possible, of treating them with utmost caution and sincerity when compelled by circumstances to treat with them. One misstep could lead to curses that ruined lives and toppled kingdoms.
Of course, the commons turned 'maegi' into Maggy. The foreign word would be difficult for them to pronounce.
And they had entered into this maegi's lair unawares and unprepared. His right hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, the left was rolling the Silent Stone between his thumb and forefinger. Forcing his hands to stillness, he relaxed.
This was a fateful moment.
He would not shirk away.
Before any of his kin could speak, he strode forward.
What does he do?
[] Apologize to the maegi for intruding in her tent, and get everyone out now. Enlist Jaime to help escort the willful girls away. He will help. Explain later.
[] Aemon's thirst for knowledge must be sated, but magic is a lingering stain on a reputation. Find a way to receive a private lesson.
[] Aemon declares that he wishes to hear his future. While he respects the power of a maegi, he does not fear what is to come.
[] Write-in
Prayers at dawn were the first order of the day, as always. Aemon took great comfort in the rites. His father was there every morning, so it was a treasured opportunity to spend time with his father. The boy dressed quickly with help of servants in Lannister livery, pulling on the fine but simple garments his mother, Lady Genna, had laid out for him. His steps were soft as he made his way to the Sept, where the sound of murmured prayers echoed against the high walls. He knelt beside Jaime, his milk-brother and the one closest to him in age. Cersei, the third of their little trio, was already there, her blonde hair gleaming in the candlelight. She looked up and gave Aemon one of her cheshire grins.
His elder siblings, Visenya and Daeron, were already deep in prayer alongside their mother.
Aemon joined the whispered prayers, though his mind wandered as it often did. He thought of the day ahead—another day of arms training under his Uncle Tygett, lessons with Maester Lyman, and, if he was lucky, a chance to explore more of the secret passages of Casterly Rock. Since returning from King's Landing, he and Midnight discovered many already, but he knew there were more to discover. The tomcat had an uncanny knack for finding hidden things, and Aemon had learned to trust Midnight's instincts as much as his own.
After prayers, breakfast was served in the grand dining hall. The scent of roasted meats and freshly baked bread filled the air as Aemon took his place beside his siblings and cousins. Lord Tywin sat at the head of the table, his expression as cold and severe as ever, though there was a flicker of interest when his gaze fell on Aemon. He returned to conversation with the very much pregnant Lady Joanna.
"Eat, Aemon," Genna urged, her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "You'll need your strength for the day ahead. Alsbett made your favorite this morning!"
Aemon nodded enthusiastically. Soon he had a plate full of ham and eggs with biscuits and blackberry jam. The six year old ate quickly, his mind already drifting to the courtyard where he and Jaime would soon be sparring under the watchful eye of Ser Tygett. Of all his family, Tygett was the greatest warrior, one of the greatest knights in the realm, but he was also a strict taskmaster with a volatile temperament. Sometimes he would have a roguish smile, and then something innocuous would trigger one of his black moods. Only Aemon's parents and Lord Tywin himself walked easily around him when Tygett was angered.
Arms training had become one of Aemon's favorite parts of the day. To be truly respected in this world, a man must be able to display martial might. Contrary to much of the teachings of the Faith, the strong were revered while the weak were as sheep before wolves. Also, the boy pictured himself riding in the lists against the White Bull or unhorsing the Prince of Dragonstone. It would take a very great knight to accomplish such feats. Luckily, he took to his martial training nearly as well as he did to the books in Maester Lyman's chambers, though he lacked Jaime's single-minded fanaticism for training. His skill with a blade was already notable for his age, and Ser Tygett often remarked on his progress with quiet pride.
Once breakfast was done, Aemon made his way to the training yard alongside Jaime with Daeron leading the way. Outside the Rock, the sun must have climbed higher in the sky, but in the Rock only the light of candles, torches, and braziers lit their mountain home. They donned which padding and drew their heavy wooden swords and took their stances. Aemon's muscles were still sore from the previous day's training, but he ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on the feel of the hilt in his hand, the weight of the blade, the balance of it. Jaime was quick and agile, but Aemon had the advantage of reach. Aemon was quite tall for his age, being even taller than his elder brother. They clashed with the sound of wood striking wood, the thuds echoing in the yard as Ser Tygett watched, occasionally stepping in to correct a stance or offer advice.
"Stop your yawning and fight!" Tygett was fond of saying, if he found his charges too laggardly. "Your enemies won't care if it's the Hour of the Wolf when killing starts. Never hesitate, never give them an inch!"
It was only after the training session ended that Aemon had the chance to slip away, Midnight padding along at his heels. There was always a moment between training and lunch when the Rock grew exceptionally busy, the bustle of the day providing enough distraction for him to disappear without drawing too much attention. Poor Ser Ilyn had been relieved of duties as Aemon minder. He followed Midnight down the winding corridors, past the bustling kitchens and through the narrow servants' passages that crisscrossed beneath the main halls. He had explored many of these secret ways already, but today Midnight led him somewhere new.
The tomcat darted ahead, his sleek black form vanishing into the shadows. Now several months old, Aemon hurried after him, his heart pounding with excitement as they passed through a hidden door he hadn't noticed before. It was a small, unassuming vent, half-covered by old tapestries. Aemon squeezed through the narrow opening and found himself in a forgotten corridor, the air stale and thick with dust.
Midnight led the way, his eyes gleaming in the dim light as they wound their way through the hidden passages. Aemon could feel the Rock's ancient stone walls pressing in around him, the weight of millennia bearing down as they delved deeper into the fortress. Casterly Rock had been continuously inhabited since the Age of Heroes. Such a long period of time, so many of his ancestors making improvements to this mighty castle was hard to fathom. What were they like? What did they do? So many questions.
After what felt like an eternity, the pair reached a small, secluded chamber covered in a thick layer of dust. They must be deep in the Rock indeed. Lifting his lantern, Aemon looked at the far end of the chamber. Collapsed. Immediately looking around, he noted the ceiling looked quite secure. The light from his lantern caught sight of something. There, near the center of the floor, lay a small, smooth marble—darker than Midnight. Aemon picked it up. Cold to the touch. The boy frowned as he turned it over in his hand. It felt heavier than it should, and when it slipped out of his hand, there was no sound when it hit the floor. Not even the faintest clink of stone against stone. Aemon's heart raced with curiosity.
He tested it several more times. Bouncing the stone off floor and walls with increasing gusto. He let out a delighted laugh. The marble, or the Silent stone as he would come to call it, was a mystery, one he couldn't wait to unravel.
"Boy," he addressed his feline friend as the cat sniffed at the collapsed way ahead, "tonight you're eating tuna!"
"Mreow!" Midnight rubbed against Aemon's leg happily.
But lunch called, and soon enough, Aemon had to return to the great hall. He slipped the silent stone into his pocket, a secret treasure known only to him and Midnight. As he made his way back through the hidden passages, he couldn't help but smile. The Rock was full of secrets, and Aemon intended to find them all.
The routine of life in Casterly Rock continued, but the world around Aemon began to change. It was during this year that tragedy struck. Lady Joanna Lannister, mother to Jaime and Cersei, and almost a second mother to Aemon, died giving birth to a malformed son, a dwarf who was named Tyrion. The babe was small, weak, and strange-looking, but Aemon loved him without reservation. Lady Joanna would have wanted it that way.
The Rock mourned, Aemon's mother wore black for an entire month, and none more so than Tywin Lannister. The loss of his wife changed him in ways that even Aemon, young as he was, could see. His uncle's grief was not loud or obvious, but it was present in the stony silence that hung over the family for weeks after Joanna's death. Tywin locked himself away for a time, and when he emerged, he threw himself into his work with a ferocity that left no room for mourning. Aemon watched from a distance, unsure of how to help, or if he even could. After Lady Joanna died, Aemon did not see his taciturn uncle smile.
His own routine carried on, though with a new weight. He found solace in his training, throwing himself into the sword drills and sparring sessions with Jaime, Daeron, and the other fosterlings from the Westerlands. He was determined to grow stronger, faster, and smarter, as if by bettering himself, he could help stave off the pain that had settled over his family.
But it wasn't all sorrow. Life continued in its own way. Jaime was betrothed to Malora Hightower, and Cersei to Mace Tyrell. The twins threw such childish fits when they received the news that they had to be confined to separate rooms for a fortnight until they cooled their heels. Even the news of other betrothals for political reasons, such as Robert Baratheon being matched with sickly Elia Martell or Lyanna Stark promised to the older Elbert Arryn, did little to ease their anger.
On the other hand, Daeron, always the more reserved and dutiful, grew close to Jeyne Farman, a maiden from Fair Isle. The match seemed a good one, and the children got along well. Jeyne made the ever-dour Daeron laugh and smile.
Aemon, meanwhile, remained unbetrothed, something his father, Maegor, insisted upon. Maegor wanted his youngest son to marry for love, as he had, and Aemon was glad of it. Being tied down and bound to one person for life? It worked well enough for others, but it just seemed absurd. He was too young to be thinking of marriage anyway; there was still so much of the world to explore, so many mysteries to uncover.
At eight, Aemon's world changed again. Lord Tywin, recognizing his nephew's sharp mind and unwavering determination, made Aemon his cupbearer. It was a great honor, but also a heavy responsibility. Aemon understood the weight of it, even at his young age.
"Jaime will inherit the Rock after me." Lord Tywin said, his green gaze sharper than any Valyrian Steel as he ran a hand over his fully-shaved head, "That fool boy has no heart for studies, only for swords. Perhaps, he will grow into his duties, perhaps not. Rare is the man who can truly change. Still, he will rule, but I mean to see that you will help him rule well."
The esteemed role of cupbearer altered Aemon's routine significantly. His mornings were still spent in the training yard, but his afternoons were now filled with lessons in governance, economics, and diplomacy. Tywin himself taught many of these lessons, his stern voice echoing in the great hall as he imparted his knowledge to his young charge.
Lord Tywin was relentless in his efforts. Aemon witnessed him sitting with Jaime for hours a day for weeks on end until his heir could read adequately. There was no need for such rote and protracted lessons with Aemon.
After speaking with a particularly obsequious merchant from Lannisport, the Lord of Casterly Rock accepted a flagon of watered wine from his protege.
"Everything is about power." Tywin intoned as they hawked together. Lord Tywin's hawk swooped low to catch a fleeing hare. He continued, "There are sentiments that capture and bind, but those are fleeting and ephemeral. Every interaction be it between people or kingdoms is about power. Those who have it must choose how to protect and grow it. Those who want it will invariably seek to grasp more for themselves. Mark my words, my boy."
Aemon absorbed such nuggets of wisdom with a hunger that surprised even Lord Tywin. The boy had a mind like a sponge, soaking up every word, every detail, every nuance presented to him. And yet, he never let go of his dreams of knighthood. His martial training continued, and he excelled in it, refusing to neglect his sword for the sake of politics.
In the end, he thought that they fed upon one another. With a sharp mind and a sharp sword, there would be no limit on what the right man could accomplish.
It was during this time that Aemon also became fluent in High Valyrian, the ability to read and write in that eastern language impressed Tywin greatly. Aemon oft serve as interpreter for Essosi merchants as Lord Tywin reached far and wide to establish the foundation of his fledgling Sunset Bank.
The young Targaryen continued to read voraciously, devouring every book he could get his hands on, and his bond with Cersei deepened as she, too, began to take an interest in books. Aemon thought her growing scholastic interests had something to do with Prince Rhaegar being famously bookish, or her poorly hidden dissatisfaction with her betrothal, but he kept those observations to himself. Discretion can well be the better part of valor!
But while Aemon sought knowledge for the sake of understanding, for the sake of uncovering the meanest measure of this world's mysteries, Cersei's interests were more…selective. She preferred books that reinforced her own notions, that painted her and her family in the light she wished to see herself. Many of her favorite books were commissioned by former Lannisters and documented the glorious past of their family. Aemon saw this, but he did not challenge her on it. They were still close, and he cherished their bond too much to risk straining it over something so trivial. No doubt she would realize the error of her ways as she grew older and wiser.
Still, it was tiresome to build a worthwhile library around Cersei's proclivities.
By the time Aemon turned nine, his life had settled into a rhythm that he found both comforting and exciting. His duties as cupbearer continued, and his lessons with Tywin became more complex. He sat in on several trials, advising Lord Tywin on what he thought the best course was. He became intimately familiar with the finances of Casterly Rock and the large expenditures made to build up the Sunset Bank.
It was not all about ruling and politics. Aemon found joy in the simple things, like spending time with his sister Visenya aboard her ship, Vhagar. The ship had been a gift from Tywin to Visenya, who had developed a passion for sailing. Aemon often joined her on her voyages. Here, clad in breeches and a waistcoat, she smiled and laughed as in the old days before she was saddled with her three Septas by King Aerys.
Aemon shared her delight while sailing upon the open sea. He quickly proved to be a natural sailor. He dove into the craft with unfettered interest, and learned from the saltiest of scalawags alongside the captain of Vhagar.
The sailors aboard Vhagar came to believe that Aemon was blessed by the sea. Whenever he was aboard, the waters seemed calmer, the winds more favorable. Aemon didn't know if there was any truth to this, but he loved the sea regardless. He loved the feeling of the wind in his hair, the salt spray on his face, the sense of freedom that came with sailing on the open water. It was a world away from the stone walls of Casterly Rock. While there was a hierarchy aboard the ship, it was more based on capability and experience rather than birth.
Aemon cherished every moment of it.
As he diced, finding a great passion for gambling stoked, he also grasped trade talk, a coarse argot developed using hand gestures and words from a dozen languages. The more experienced sailors had the greatest stories to tell from seeing leviathans to the Doom finally relinquishing its grasp on Old Valyria after nearly four hundred years.
A horde of locusts descended on the fields of the so-called Lamb People. A former slave spat that the Red Priests were going crazy, believing it was a sign from their God. He also was certain a Dothraki Khal tried to put their Holy City, Vas Dothrak, to the sword. Rumors of priests and holy men of all faiths acting strangely seemed on everyone's tongue. And the secular powers of the world moved, too. One Lysene sailor spoke of a Valyrian Steel sarcophagus being hauled from the Smoking Sea all the way to Lys. Another older man regaled him with tales of piracy in the Stepstones where treasures were plundered.
But even as he sailed the seas with his sister and threw dice with the sailors–luckily he always seemed to win more than he lost!--Aemon never lost sight of his responsibilities. He continued to study, to train, to learn. He frequently played cyvasse with his brother Daeron, who often bested him with his surprisingly sharp grasp of tactics and strategy Aemon didn't mind losing; it only made him more determined to win next time. He was always learning, always growing, always pushing himself to be better.
"My son," Maegor said as he tended to his small garden near the Rock. The Targaryen prince was dressed much as you'd expect a farmhand might appear, but even in humble dress and covered in dirt, he exuded strength and stability. He continued grim faced, "the nature of life is growth. Only the dead are stagnant. We only have one life, it is both our duty and our delight to live it to the fullest." He pulled out a particularly tenacious weed with a grunt, "However, one may decide to thrive in life by breaking and exploiting others, and these men often succeed." He glanced at the towering Rock in the distance. "They can forge wonders, wield power with vile cunning such that nothing on this mortal coil dares challenge them." Maegor Targaryen, the King Who Never Was, stood and his gaze was steadfast, "Still, all men eventually meet the Stranger, all men must face the Father's Justice. All men reap in death what they sowed during life."
Aemon's tenth year brought with it new challenges and new adventures. He was now recognized by many within the Rock as a brilliant mind and a near martial peer to the prodigious Jaime Lannister. Overall he had earned the respect of his family and the distant admiration of the many noble fosterlings dwelling in the Rock. But there was still so much he didn't know, so much he hadn't seen. The world was full of mysteries, and amidst all his other responsibilities, Aemon kept alert for opportunities.
It was on one such adventure that Aemon found himself standing before a bedraggled tent.
"This it, then?" Aemon asked warily. The dark green tent with a tall peaked roof did not look like much, but a chill crawled up his spine. He touched the dagger at his belt.
"They call her Maggy the Frog." Cersei said for the tenth time. She stood in a modest dress meant for traveling. She breathed heavily as she pulled her cloak tight against the cold of the evening, "The smallfolk say years and years ago she came here all the way from Essos, and a washerwoman went on about this old thing brewing love potions and remedies and salves. She grumbled about them costing an arm and a leg, but she swore they work."
"And she can tell fortunes?" Visenya questioned from your other side, also for the tenth time. Aemon's elder sister wore modest clothing as well. Been quite the feat to sneak her away from her old Septas. Desire was clear in her tone. Aemon knew she was anxious about the future, about her forthcoming marriage. Queer dreams haunted her of late, but she kept her own counsel about that sort of thing.
"That's what all the stories say." Cersei assured her.
"Sounds like a load of rubbish." Jaime dismissed, as he gave a smirk. "Let's get this over with then. Addam and Lyle want to train for the squire's contest, and so do I. I'll not miss sleep on some toad's account!"
Out of the usual quintet, only Daeron was missing from this outing. The older Targaryen was away visiting his betrothed's family at Fair Isle. Thus, when Aemon overheard Cersei and Visenya plotting to sneak away from the Tourney to visit this 'Maggy the Frog', he could only serve as their escort. Both girls were annoyingly willful. Luckily, the opportunity to rope Jaime into this farce presented itself.
Without further ado, the quartet entered the shabby tent. Aemon and the others coughed as the rich smell of herbs assaulted him. Blinking to adjust his eyes, he eyed the central fire above which a large pot simmered.
Aemon had thought the whole thing nonsense, a lark based on small-minded superstition. That supposition fled. The crone was squat and warty. From across the smoke filled room, she might have looked like any old crone. In fact, he might have thought her well named because she looked much like a frog indeed.
Yellow eyes met his own jade gaze, and his heart thundered in his chest. He stopped in his tracks as his sister and cousins continued forward. Aemon's tongue clove to the roof of his suddenly dry mouth. This was no common witch woman. Over the scent of herbs, Aemon was assaulted by the smell of blood. Beyond the crackling of flame, he heard a cacophony of whimpering and screaming.
A maegi, one the sorcerers of the east.
He'd read about them in a half dozen tomes. A couple of the wise men wrote of avoiding them whenever possible, of treating them with utmost caution and sincerity when compelled by circumstances to treat with them. One misstep could lead to curses that ruined lives and toppled kingdoms.
Of course, the commons turned 'maegi' into Maggy. The foreign word would be difficult for them to pronounce.
And they had entered into this maegi's lair unawares and unprepared. His right hand gripped the hilt of his dagger, the left was rolling the Silent Stone between his thumb and forefinger. Forcing his hands to stillness, he relaxed.
This was a fateful moment.
He would not shirk away.
Before any of his kin could speak, he strode forward.
What does he do?
[] Apologize to the maegi for intruding in her tent, and get everyone out now. Enlist Jaime to help escort the willful girls away. He will help. Explain later.
[] Aemon's thirst for knowledge must be sated, but magic is a lingering stain on a reputation. Find a way to receive a private lesson.
[] Aemon declares that he wishes to hear his future. While he respects the power of a maegi, he does not fear what is to come.
[] Write-in
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- Location
- USA
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That might not be a good thing. Lots of fun stuff that I'll dissect later today but moving onto the maegi...
[X] Apologize to the maegi for intruding in her tent, and get everyone out now. Enlist Jaime to help escort the willful girls away. He will help. Explain later.
Not sure I want the kids to have anything to do with her. The idea of magic lessons from her is tempting as hell especially with magic looking a tad more active. Tough choice that I'll probably be changing my vote on a fair bit as I come to terms with things.
- Location
- The Void
[X] Apologize to the maegi for intruding in her tent, and get everyone out now. Enlist Jaime to help escort the willful girls away. He will help. Explain later.
Out of all matches I didnt expect Mace Tyrell for Cersei.
[X] Aemon declares that he wishes to hear his future. While he respects the power of a maegi, he does not fear what is to come.
[X] Aemon declares that he wishes to hear his future. While he respects the power of a maegi, he does not fear what is to come.
[X] Aemon's thirst for knowledge must be sated, but magic is a lingering stain on a reputation. Find a way to receive a private lesson.
I don't about you guys when you have chosen Mysteries of the World in your previous votes yet doesn't go through with it here.
Considering how we have made Aemon spend his time if we don't pick this option we have thoroughly his wasted time.
The time which he could have used to hone his Martial skills.
I don't about you guys when you have chosen Mysteries of the World in your previous votes yet doesn't go through with it here.
Considering how we have made Aemon spend his time if we don't pick this option we have thoroughly his wasted time.
The time which he could have used to hone his Martial skills.
[X] Aemon's thirst for knowledge must be sated, but magic is a lingering stain on a reputation. Find a way to receive a private lesson.
- Location
- USA
I think part of the issue is that Maggy was involved in Cersei's shitty future. A concern that it might not be the safest option...but magic in ASOIAF isn't safe and is fucked up. So yeah, learning from her in private might be the best.