Warm Words Amidst a Frosty Welcome

Astonished Lyonel stood on the balcony above Castle Blacks yard, at the foot of the rim of civilization. The Wall. Higher than any skyscraper he had been to in his previous life, made from ice and magic and overall the most imposing view he had ever laid eyes on. On the show he had seen it fall, but while standing in its looming shadow, the bare notion that that could be possible seemed like the fewer dream of a madman. It had stood here since long before his birth and it would still stand long after he had perished, in this moment Lyonel was sure of that.

"A cold beauty that one. Looking at it leaves you speechless, touching it leaves ya fingerless. Only difference to a lady of the night is that the Wall freezes them off herself and doesn't need a guard to swing the knife", a stranger had come up behind Lyonel. A stranger that had one arm and the telltale look of a blacksmith.

"That and the fact that this icy temptress guards the realm, while the others might as well be the doom of it", Lyonel quipped back and got a hearty laugh from Donal Noye.

"At least of House Baratheon if I remember our king correctly", he said with an ease that was untypical for the one-armed armorer. They had hit it off directly after Lyonels arrival. A Baratheon man through and through, the sturdy man had asked for an audience with the prince, only to find him opting for a friendly chat as equals. He's said he may be the prince on the outside, but at the Wall, all men are equals. Lyonel didn't wear the black, but he actually understood what they stand for. Donal took an instant liking to the boy.

"Maester Aemon wasn't in the hall either, is his condition that grave?", Lyonel changed the topic as their shared laughter calmed down.

The armorer grumbled.

"Aye. He rarely visits us down here anymore. He's holding on and don't get me wrong, in his own right he's a fighter like the rest of us, but I'm afraid his watch draws to an end. A shame really", Donal had turned his back to the Wall and instead stared southward.

"He doesn't miss it, you know?"

"The South?", Lyonel threw in.

"The life down there. The life outside. A while back we got to talk and maybe I'm getting too old myself, but I asked him about regrets and what he'd change. He said "nothing"."

Noye let the silence reign for a moment.

"The man is older than half the houses of Westeros, yet he has made peace with all those decades of turmoil. He's at peace with "what has been, what is and what will be", whatever that means."

It means that the two of us are very different, Lyonel thought. He himself was quite literally on a warpath with "what will be".

"And that got you thinking?", Lyonel now stood next to him on the railing.

"I don't know you, that's true, but I know of you. The way my father tells it, you ended the mad kings reign almost as much as he and Stark did. That hammer you gave my father might have as well been made by the Smith himself, the way it struck down Rhaegar on the Trident. A little too light, a little too heavy, not seasoned enough or left brittle and my fathers blood would have coloured the river red that day instead of pumping through my veins. You did your part, more than most others. And even now you continue to serve Westeros against the chaos. With a legacy like yours, there is nothing to regret."

The silence returned with a vengence. For what felt like an eternity, the two of them just stood there in the icy wind, until Donal Noye broke the proverbial ice.

"I don't believe one speck of what you just said.... but thank you. You look like your father reborn, but you got a way with words my boy. There must be at least something of your mothers side in there too", the smith gave him a little grin, but Lyonel could see that under the tough facade, the sworn brother really way moved by his reaffirmation.

"Should you need some of your metal repaired, go come see me again before you leave. I'll make an exception and move you to the front of the list, your majesty."

With a little more swing in his step the blacksmith left the prince with his thoughts. Ok, Robert really did praise his prized warhammer and its creator multiple times, but giving Noye any credit for slaying the dragon prince was more than a bit of artistic license on Lyonels part. His intentions were pure though. In canon Noye had defended the Seven Kingdoms, literally to his last breath, even killing a giant while protection the gate. That man deserves some nice words once in a while. A warm and gentle smile on his lips, Lyonel felt another hush of cold and unforgiving wind blowing past him. He needed to get inside.

It was getting late and the darkening sky promised even hursher weather. It might be proper etiquette to ask the Lord Commander first, but while walking towards the buildings, something inexplicibly drew Lyonel to the Maesters chambers and he simply couldn't resist that pull.

*Knock* *Knock*

"Maester Ae-", the door opened mid-sentence.

"The old man is waiting by the fireplace", a brother in black said to Lyonel before brushing past him and into the yard.

Bewildered Lyonel made a step inside and closed the door behind himself, not to let the heat evade him as well. He followed the warmth and indeed found a silhouette in a wheelchair in front of the fireplace.

"He has a temper, now and then, but he means well" Aemon spoke with a voice raspled by time, but that only added to its gravitas. It was a soft voice and still, Lyonel felt like it could calm a snowstorm.

"A temper? Did my arrival enrage him?", if this was who Lyonel thought it was, then he seriously doubted that he means well.

"I lost one steward to the Citadel and another to the frost. I am afraid I might loose a third to literacy. But that is my own fault. I can understand Chetts frustration, a blind man isn't the best teacher when it comes to writing."

Lyonel had now circled the old man and saw a faint smile on his face.

"Maester Aemon, my name is Lyonel Baratheon, son of -"

"Robert Baratheon. Prince of the Seven Kingdoms. I know. What I don't know is, to what do I owe this high visit. You even asked for me on your arrival. What can an old maester at the Wall do for you, that a young one in the South can not?"

Lyonel would have expected at least a hint of hostility, but found none in the oldest man of Westeros. Only honest curiosity. The same **** that drove Lyonel to him in the first place.

How to answer that question? What could Aemon do for him? Lyonel had traveled North instead of South. To the sworn brothers instead of to his brother, his sister, everyone he knew and loved. Sought maester Aemons council instead of Bells embrace. Why?

The Others. That's why. The daunting vision at Winterfell had sealed it. By saving Bran Lyonel hadn't just thrown a pebble into the river of time, its waves calming and the flow continuing undisturbed, he himself had become a bolder in said river. His presence rerouted the stream and the advancing pressure fought to move him away. The three-eyed Raven, another key player in this twisted game, he certainly knows more than he let on. In the books he was always a morally grey character at best. This is where Aemon. and Aemon alone, might be able to help Lyonel. As the only living person to have known Brynden Rivers, as his relative and for a time his maester, Aemon could surely shed some light on Bloodraven.

"I have some questions regarding a former Lord Commander", Lyonel begins.

Aemon looked up like his milky eyes sought something on his studies cealing.

"Yes, I assume then I will be able to assist you better than the others", the blind man raised his left arm lightly and pointed towards another chair. Lyonel placed it next to the fire and faced the maester.

"The Lord Commander in question is Brynden Rivers."

The maester flinched noticibly.

"The 987th Lord Commander -" "and your great-uncle", Lyonel rudely completed the sentence.

"Yes", the maester stated tensly. "That he was."

He didn't make any attempts to continue, so after a while Lyonel started another attempt.

"You came to the Wall together, didn't you?"

"Mhm", the old man nodded,"We did. Me as a chained maester, he as a chained prisoner. With us came so many of his men, while the wildlings call us crows, for a time "ravens" would have been more fitting."

"Right, the ravens teeth were exiled here as well."

"Here and at Eastwatch and at the Shadowtower and at four other forts. And at all those places, they continued to be his eyes and ears."

A thousand eyes and one, it rang through Lyonels head.

"It came as no surprise, when a few years later, after the Lord Commander died of an infection, my great-uncle was elected to succeed him. He was a good commander, you know?"

The question was not rhetorical, the maester really did ask Lyonel if he knew that.

"From what I know, he was a very calculated man. A schemer, if you'll excuse me saying that."

The faintest hint of warmth found his way into Aermons face.

"No need for apologies, you are right, but so am I. Brynden was a man of focus and dedication. He didn't join the festivities after great excursions, he didn't seek the distractions of Molestown, he generally wasn't around his people much. He was reclusive, more so with each passing year until... his demise. But he led the Nightswatch well. He arranged prison transfers from all over the seven kingdoms, he kept us all well fed and pushed back more than one would-be invasion. Still, his greatest accomplishment was, what many before him had failed at. He did not meddle with the realm down south. All his life, he was involved one way or another in the worldly affairs of Westeros, but after taking the oath, he turned his eyes away from the South."

And aimed them at the North.

"You mentioned his demise, he did go missing beyond the Wall, right?"

"For 13 years he served the realm as Lord Commander of the Nightswatch. Until one day he..."

His blind, milky eyes seemed to muster Lyonel before continuing.

"He visited me. In the early morning hours of a moon-filled night. He was drenched in sweat and... angry. I am blind now, but sometimes my dreams still picture him, as clear and brazen as in that night. He told me he'd leave, never to return. I spoke of mutiny, told him he could not abandon his post. He grabed my shoulders and shook me, reciting our vows. "I am the fire that burns against the cold, Aemon, the light that brings the dawn." And I saw it in that night. The fire behind his eye, the fire that has consumed our family. He spent the whole day asking me questions about fables and myths and ancient history. That was the last day I ever saw my family."

A tear rolled down his wrinkly cheek.

"I am sorry for stirring that up maester Aemon, maybe I should go. I did not mean to disturb you", making a man past a hundred cry was nothing Lyonel had come here for and he had already gained some insight.

"He asked me to accompany him", he continued as if he hadn't heard Lyonel, "There is fire in our veins Aemon. The ice is coming and only fire can stop it", I called him a madman. Back and forth and back and forth. I shared with him knowledge and hearsay, he spoke of his dreams, those godsforsaken dreams, and we fought. According to each other we were a traitor and a coward, bound by blood and oath. He left, I stayed, he... died, I lived. It took me years to accept it, but we both wanted the same that day. Protect the realm and do right by our lineage. I forgave him a long time ago and I hope he did the same for me."

A smile appeared on the maesters lips, fragile but genuine.

"Thank you maester Aemon. Thank you for your time and your honesty."

"You did not come here for a history lesson. Since you arrived here, I knew what you want. You will go beyond, is that not true? You are driven by the same ghosts that haunted my great-uncle. You are bound to walk towards the same fate."

"I-"

"Don't bother lying to an old man. I will keep your secret like I kept his. I only ask that you do him the honours, should you find him."

"I will."

"And he took off with a party of four dozen men and still didn't return. If you want to give yourself a fighting chance, go talk to the wilding girl they hold in the Commanders tower. She knows those lands as well as our best rangers."

"What wildling girl?", Lyonel was still trying to cope with the rest of Aemons revelations when Aemon dropped this proverbial bomb.

"They are trying to hide her up there, but even a blind man notices the hushed whispers and the snickering in Castle Black since the scouts came back two weeks ago. Take her with you if you can, you would do a favour to yourself as well as my brethren."