POV Aemon Targaryen
Dragonstone felt more home to Aemon than Winterfell ever had in his two lives.
Meleys landed on the platform by the caves which led to the maze beneath the volcanic mountain and watched as the men nearby scrambled, not in fear but more in panic as they watched a dragon land this early in the morning. He was used to people's panic now and Meleys loved to show her strength.
He slid from his juncture on her neck from between the spikes and landed on the volcanic stone and stood for a moment with his hand against Meleys's neck, feeling the slow furnace warmth of her moving through his palm.
"Easy," he said. He always said that to her in appreciation for her actions, though he missed Ghost since he left him with his aunt Shiera, Meleys company with him had not been any less memorable.
From the side he heard Brienne drop to the platform. She was considerably better at mounting and dismounting than she had been at the Summerhall. Moreover she had changed since they met there, now she was more confident, less uncertain.
The gates to the castle were open by the time they reached them. A man who had the night watch, met them in the gateway with a torch.
"Your Grace, we weren't expecting you today-"
"Its alright." He said calming the hyper man and asked an inquiry of his own. "Is Lord Velaryon in the castle?"
"In the east tower, my lord."
"Good." He walked on without breaking stride. "Send word to Maester Cressen. Tell him I'll come to his solar soon."
The great hall of Dragonstone had never been a comfortable room, and that had been a deliberate choice by the men who made it. The ceiling was too high for warmth, the stone too dark for ease, and the carved dragons on every column and lintel were too accurately rendered to let you forget what the castle had been built around. It was a room that told the arrived guest about where he was without any ambiguity, and Aemon had always respected that honesty even if he was sure that it was making Brienne cold to her teeth.
Lord Monford Velaryon was waiting in the hall rather than his tower, which meant he had come down the moment Meleys's landing shook the walls. His eyes were full of intelligence and very quick, the eyes of someone who read situations fast and acted on his reading before most men had finished understanding what they'd read.
Beside him stood his daughter Alyssane, seventeen or thereabouts, with her father's silver hair and with his intelligent eyes. Her facial expression showed things without hiding a single thing and right now it showed relief, and underneath the relief something warmer that she caught and smoothed over when she noticed Aemon looking. At her side, his son Monterys, who was about twelve and who had entirely forgotten to look at Aemon because he was looking past him at Brienne with the open unguarded fascination of a boy who had never seen a woman around that size.
"Your Grace," Monford said, giving the correct bow. "We heard of Storm's End. The ravens-"
"Not alone Lord Monford," Aemon said. "We must see maester Cressen first. Come up."
Maester Cressen's solar was the warmest room in Dragonstone, though not as comfortable as the chambers of the prince and princess of blood but the old man kept a good fire going. There was wine on the table and the room smelled of old parchment, dried herbs and the dusty-sweet smell milk of poppy.
The old man was at the window when they came in, watching the sea in the pre-dawn. He turned when he heard the door and seeing him his face turned in relief.
"Your Grace." He bowed, crossing the room as he stepped in front of him and then he stepped back and looked at Brienne, who was standing near the door with the wrapped bundle still across her back, she had been carrying it since war on the Morne's gap, since they stripped Euron Greyjoy's chest.
"And this would be." The old maester asked.
"Ser Brienne of Tarth," Aemon said. "I met her at Summerhall, where she fought against men who were harming innocents, she fought at the Morne's gap against men disturbing King's peace and invading men of Golden Company. For her actions she was knighted by me and soon she would hold the white cloak."
"A woman in the Kingsguard," Cressen said in shock, his voice was not disapproving but was still deep in thought.
"A brave knight in the Kingsguard, there is no difference in bravery and chivalry of knight no matter if said knight is man or woman."
Brienne said nothing. She was looking at the wall, which was what she did when every eye in a room was on her and she had nowhere to put the weight of it.
"Please tell me of Storm's End, your grace" Cressen said as he motioned Aemon and others to seats and settled himself into his chair by the fire with the slow care of a man for whom sitting down was not without its own small suffering. "Tell me of Lord Stannis."
Aemon told him everything that happened Tarly and Ashford men's turning along with that of Hightower men, the Reach van breaking when the flanks giving up against then, Stannis holding his centre with three thousand men against fifteen thousand, the Dornish coming over the hills from the south, Meleys above the field though she did not breathe fire down on them. Though Reach lords joined with Lannister, he knew that it was Reach where Targaryen's of old had gathered most of their men.
"And Lord Renly's men," Cressen said, quietly, when he finished.
"Most surrendered after they saw their flank destroyed and Meleys up in the air. The Stormland houses have already sworn their fealty to Lord Stannis."
"And Lord Renly himself."
"He had been captured." He paused. "but his end will not be well. He refused to swear to the rightful crown and then led the Reach, the strongest and richest kingdom in Westeros, against Stormsland." He looked at the fire. "He will be a problem anymore."
Cressen looked into the fire alongside him for a moment. "Renly was a good-natured boy," he said at last and the twitch of Brienne from her place was ignored by the old man. "Whatever he has become, he was once good-natured as a boy, when he was a child. I remember him running the halls of Storms End. It is a terrible thing when brothers fight each other when they cannot find a common cause to stand together."
The room sat in silence with that. There was nothing to say to it that improved it.
"Lord Stannis, your grace" said Monford Velaryon, from the corner where he had settled himself. "What do you mean to do with him?"
"He has sworn fealty to House Targaryen, and so House Baratheon had been called in service to my house again, which is to be useful. He is a better man than almost anyone I have met and a considerably harder man to please. I would like to have a man like this on my council." He then turned to Brienne. "The armour, show it to them."
Brienne unwrapped it on the table of old maester, the cloth falling away, and the room went quiet.
This valyrian steel armor did not look like any valyrian steel sword. It was true black in color unlike the swords of same metal which have a contrast of color of grey. The breastplate was black, with faint ripples, the pattern danced when the firelight caught it at the correct angle. It articulated in a way no Westerosi smith had managed in three hundred years. There were markings at the edges, valyrian runes ran across there. Though Meleys fire had melted part of it from shoulders and regions below the chest which made the armor contain slag in various area.
"Gods," said Monterys in shock.
"Where did this come from," said Monford, leaning forward.
"From Euron Greyjoy," Aemon said. "He had armor on his body when Meleys burned her on the battlefield." He looked at the armour. "It is old, older than the time of conquest perhaps. Maester Cressen can you confirm it to be from Old Valyria."
The old maester had come to the table and was bent over the markings without touching, his face very close to the metal, his lips moving slightly. The room gave him his silence to concentrate and he stayed like that for a long time.
"I have never read something like this, your grace" he said finally, straightening with effort. "However there is a catalogue of runes in one of the older texts recorded by then Grand Maester Lyonce, who was the first archmaester of Citadel, and it list of Valyrian work made by dragonlords during time of Blood of the century and before. This armor survived probably the doom and then the dragonfire. If I have your permission, I could ask the Citadel for further inquiries." He said as he looked at Aemon across the table.
"Have a look at it then." Aemon agreed.
"You should wear it nevertheless." Cressen looked at him steadily. "This is yours, whatever it was made for, whoever it was made for, it is yours now."
It was not even a question to be asked, for Aemon had known since the moment he had found the armor.
"Eventually," he said. "There should be a worthy smith somewhere on Dragonstone to fit it properly."
"Now would be better than later," Cressen said. "I could also send a rave-"
Cressen suddenly stopped talking, because he remembered the parchment that arrived with a strange raven few days ago that now sat on the corner of the table, sealed since it came in. Cressen picked it up and showed it to Aemon.
He knew it to be Jojen Reed's message. He broke it and read, and read again, and the room waited.
"Is there a problem, Your Grace." Monford asked eventually.
"The Ironborn are moving toward Seagard." Aemon set the letter down and looked at the table. "When Ironborns attacked the North all most all were send to Wall while Theon and Asha Greyjoy were asked to be brought at Harrenhal until I could deal with them properly, but someone has talked or someone has guessed and the Ironborn fleet is coming up the coast south of the Neck. Jojen writes that they would reach Seagard soon." He looked at Monford. "Many lords of Iron Islands partake in it."
Both Monford and Cressen made faces hearing that, especially the men who make livelihood by relying on the seas around Westeros, which was the collective expression of everyone who had ever watched their harbours burn. "Ironborn they-" Monford paused, choosing his words. "They just reave everything. If they reach Seagard-"
"They would not reach Seagard," Aemon said. "That is the point of moving now." He looked at the letter again. "Jojen also tells me that Tarly and Rowan are prepared to move the moment the war starts. Now that the Lannisters have lost their hold in Stormland, because of actions of Tarly, Rowan, Ashford and Hightower they must act soon before Tywin hears the wind of it. They have been waiting for this since I met them at Horn Hill."
"Tarly moving will expose your strength to whole of Westeros, your grace." Monford said.
He turned to Brienne.
She had moved to the side when the letter came out, stepping back from the view of the letter as if she knew she was in no right to see it, nor had see commented in between the conversations as if it was not for her.
"Make yourself ready by our of the nightingale, Ser Brienne. We need to move fast."
She turned her head to him. "Yes, Your Grace."
"Let me show you the way," said Alyssane Velaryon, who had been very quiet in her corner of the room. She was looking at Brienne with a kind of open interest that had nothing calculating in it. "There is a room prepared on the west side."
Brienne looked at her and then she nodded. "Thank you, my lady."
They walked out and the door close behind them.
Aemon looked at the armour still on the table, the dark ripple of it in the firelight. "You will make contact with Lord of Cracklaw Point. Prepare your fastest ship for travel and make a hasty march to Harrenhall."
He looked at Monford directly. "March there yourself."
Monford's face went still. "Harrenhal, your grace" he said.
"Yes."
"Your Grace." Monford asked confused by the orders. "I have five hundred household men remaining here. Harrenhal is a weeks' travel from here and fastest way there is by sailing the Bay of Crabs and marching through the Riverlands but the castle itself is-"
"Largely a ruin, yes." Aemon folded the letter and folded it, pushing it deep in his tunic. "March there, Lord Monford and take remaining loyal lords with you. You will know once you arrive."
The way he said it closed the question coming on his lips. "As you say, your grace" Monford said and left the room.
Cressen waited until the door closed and they were alone. "The armour," Cressen said. "There is a smith in the lower yard. Belden, from the Essos, he knows Valyrian steel the best. You should have him look at the fit before you go."
"We will not have time, I want you to prepare the armor and send it with Lord Monford." Aemon said looking at the fire.
"It would be done your grace." Cressen nodded.
Aemon got up from his place to exit but then turned to the old maester, "Maester Cressen, what do you think of Grand Council."
POV Brienne of Tarth
The lady of House Velayron walked fast for someone who did not appear to be in a hurry. She followed Alyssane Velaryon through passages she did not know, in a castle she never thought of ever arriving.
Alyssane held a candle and moved through the dark with the ease of someone who had lived here long enough to find the place familiar. She did not look back often, but when she did it was with the quick assessing look of someone checking that the person behind them had not got lost.
"This way," she said, turning down a stair that Brienne had not noticed was there and soon they were outside a room.
The room was one of the smaller guest rooms, west-facing, with a narrow window that looked out over the sea, currently a dark mass below grey sky, the horizon not yet visible. The bed was properly made. There was a basin on the stand with cold water in it.
"There's more if you want it," Alyssane said, from the doorway. "The kitchens are two floors down and the cooks work in routine. He would make you something if you asked."
"This is fine." Brienne set down the empty bundle, His Grace had the armour now, and looked at the basin. "Thank you."
She had expected the girl to go but Alyssane did not go. She came a little further into the room instead, still holding her candle, looking at Brienne with the frank attention.
Looking at the young lady Brienne could see that the girl was around the same age as herself.
"Was it very bad?" Alyssane asked. "The fighting at Storm's End."
"There were fifteen thousand men on one side and three thousand on the other," Brienne said. "So yes for a time."
"And you were in it." Alyssane asked in anticipation.
"Above it first. We came down when the flanks broke." She paused. The flank breaking was not something she thought about considering her position high in the air. She remembered the noise of it, the way the ground looked from above, the specific confusion of a battle seen from above and then from inside it. "Above a battle and inside one are two different things."
"I imagine they are," Alyssane said, in the tone of someone imagining something rather than just agreeing halfheartedly to it. She was quiet for a moment, looking at the window and the dark sea outside it. "He mentioned you moments before." She said it simply. "He mentioned a woman from Tarth who stepped forward at Summerhall when the bandits came, he said she killed five men."
"Fought five men." Brienne corrected as she looked at her hands. "I killed only two, rest was all, his grace."
"He doesn't talk about himself much, I had noticed. Not even the last time when he came here." Something in Alyssane's face shifted, soft and private. "But when he mentioned you just now, it was different. The way he talked about your action." She almost smiled. "That is the most personal thing he had spoken off his lips."
Brienne looked at her for a moment. She had spent enough of her life watching people talk about things they meant to say but then spoke things entirely different, she herself had loved Renly but had joined his guard just to stay with him.
"You care for him," she said softly.
Alyssane's chin went up a fraction. "I do."
POV Aemon Targaryen
He was in the yard before full light by a shop that lay open even before the dawn.
Belden was a broad man from the Essos who had joined the household five years ago. Aemon sat in the man's shop and touched the steel plate of the torso armor in the light of his lantern with careful hands, checking how it sat across the frame of the wooden fitting stand.
"Made for a taller man," Belden said, eventually. "Broader through the arm, but the chest is a reasonable fit, your grace." He moved closer and pointed at the shoulder join. "It might not fit you in the shoulder but I can pad it to sit right. Not the same as altering the steel, but you'd feel the difference and no one watching you would see it."
"Padding is not needed for this," Aemon said. "What about the cold?"
Belden paused and looked at him. "The cold, your grcae."
"Dragons fly high in the air and Winter is coming."
The smith turned back to the armour. "Right. I'll pack the lining heavier. Though its your Valyrian armor that astonishes me. It holds heat better than ordinary plate, there's something in it, some quality I do not understand." He picked up the armor and flexed the articulation experimentally. "Whoever made this was the finest craftsman I have ever had the chance of looking at," he said, in the tone of a man paying a professional respect to a rival across several centuries of death. "Every mark is perfect. Thirty years I've been working metal and I couldn't have made this."
"Neither could anyone alive," Aemon said.
"No," Belden agreed, and kept working.
Brienne came down while Belden was still fitting, fully dressed, her sword belted, the white cloak over her travelling clothes. She had rested not long, but enough.
Aemon looked at her clothes and passed the thing in his hand. "This is for you, Ser Brienne."
Belden looked up from his working and watched with the carefully blank expression as the armor that the King himself checked now passed to a woman. The first woman knight, and then went back to what he was doing.
They then walked to Meleys, Brienne now wearing a armor.
Meleys lowered her wing. He went up the neck and settled in between the spikes, followed by Brienne and then Meleys launched from the platform and the castle fell away beneath them and the sea opened out in every direction and the sky was grey and enormous.
"Ready?" he said, to Brienne, not turning.
"Always," she said, from behind him.