Jeor's mind raced, processing the young prince's words, but before he could respond, Aemon, ever the steadying presence, spoke up.
"I imagine you escaped through the tunnels," he said, his voice calm but tinged with an underlying worry.
The prince gave a small nod, his expression unchanging. "Yes. That's how I got out."
"And then?" Aemon pressed, his curiosity piqued. "How did you end up here, at the Wall? And why the Wall and not your uncle at Winterfell?"
The boy's eyes narrowed slightly as he answered. "I found myself on a ship bound for White Arbor. The captain, understanding my plight, took pity on me. A young boy who had lost his father, needing to return to the North. I had no coin, but I offered to work aboard the ship. He was kind enough to accept. Once I arrived at White Arbor, I met Yoren, and he didn't hesitate to take me along with him. As for why the Wall and not Winterfell—well, Lord Stark never wrote to my mother, despite the many letters she sent. At least, she used to send them, before I was locked away. Clearly, Lord Stark has no care for his sister or her children. And besides, I don't know him. Who's to say he wouldn't have had me killed, or used me as a hostage, or worse, sent me back to King's Landing?"
Jeor couldn't help but interject. "Ned Stark is not that kind of man," he said firmly.
The prince's gaze flickered up to meet his, but there was no warmth in his eyes. "So you say," he replied, his tone dismissive, almost as if he were humoring the old commander.
"You came all the way up here from King's Landing, just to avoid taking the black?" Jeor asked, a note of disbelief in his voice.
The prince shrugged, his indifference apparent. "It's not like the Wall will disappear in forty years, is it?"
Aemon, ever the voice of reason, nodded in agreement. "He does have a point, Commander."
Jeor let out a soft grunt of frustration, but the prince wasn't finished. "I just got my freedom," the boy continued, his voice hardening slightly. "I'm not going to forgo it, not now. In fact, I'm starting to think about going beyond the Wall."
The words hit Jeor like a slap. The chair he had been sitting in scraped loudly against the stone floor as he shot to his feet, his expression twisting in disbelief and disgust.
"You would join the wildlings?!" Jeor roared, his voice filled with fury.
The prince stood his ground, unflinching. "No. Just go beyond the Wall. Explore. Live there. I have no intention of mingling with them," he answered coolly, his icy tone betraying no sign of fear.
"Why?" Maester Aemon asked, his voice laced with concern.
The prince's gaze became distant, as though he were already lost in thought, pondering his own future in this harsh world. "There are only three places in the world where no one would look for me, if they ever remember I exist down south. Sothoryos, Valyria, and beyond the Wall. Only the last one is somewhere I could survive."
Jeor's jaw clenched, his fists tightening at his sides. "You're just a boy! You won't survive out there!" he barked, his voice shaking with anger and concern.
The prince's eyes remained cold, indifferent. "Probably not. But at least I'll have a chance."
The words hung in the air, chilling both older men to the core. Jeor's mind raced, his anger still simmering beneath the surface. "The chances are higher for the Others to be real! I won't let you go beyond the Wall."
The prince gave a shrug, his expression unbothered. "Then I'll find my own way."
_________________________________________________________
Rick stood up, ready to leave the room. He felt the conversation was over, his mind already shifting toward the next step. However, his namesake, Maester Aemon, grabbed his clothes gently but firmly, halting him.
"Nephew," Aemon said softly, his voice carrying both concern and a touch of sorrow, "the lord commander is right. You're too young to go beyond the wall alone. Grown and experienced men lose their lives by doing so. You'd just be throwing your life away."
Rick's response was cold, detached. "It doesn't matter, and nobody would care."
Aemon's old eyes softened with understanding, his voice almost a whisper. "Now that's not true. You came all this way from King's Landing to see me, did you not? No one from our family ever did. Rhaegar sent letters from time to time in his youth, but it's been nearly five and ten years since he sent anything. That makes you my favorite kin by far, and while I don't have much time left, I would prefer to spend it getting to know you. And unlike me, you're young. You have your whole life ahead of you. Don't waste it."
Rick's lips tightened into a thin line, and he glanced away, looking out the window. "What do you want me to do then, uncle? I have nowhere else to go. Westeros is out of the question. I'm not talking about Essos, which is far more dangerous and where I'd probably be enslaved. At least beyond the wall, I'd be free. Not a scapegoat or a puppet to replace Aegon."
"A puppet?" Jeor Mormont's voice rang out, his eyebrows knitting in disbelief.
Rick's gaze hardened, and his voice turned icy. "Last time I saw Aegon, he was a lazy, entitled, and spoiled prince who could do no wrong. I won't be surprised if he hasn't changed a bit in five years and ended up the second coming of the Unworthy down the road. There's a reason why I was kept alive and educated."
"If that's true," Mormont interjected, "why would… the person that kept you alive let you out of their sight?"
Rick's eyes flicked back to the older man, a faint flicker of something—resignation or perhaps bitterness—in his gaze. "I would have left anyway, but by helping me, they keep our relationship positive. I'm pretty sure they still have an eye on me somehow. It's not like I'm the plan. I'm just the contingency."
'Contingency that would probably end up as the plan,' Rick thought, the idea lingering in his mind as he glanced at the young man before him.
Rick wasn't sure of Varys' true intentions. Whether it was really to place him on the throne or to use him to further fracture the realm. His instincts told him it was the latter, but there was no clear answer yet.
"I won't let you go beyond the wall, and that's final," Mormont said firmly, his voice taking on an edge. He raised his hands as if to stop any further protests. "I may know a place that would welcome you without a problem. A safe place here in Westeros, in the North, where you'll have your freedom."
Rick's brows arched, his curiosity piqued. "If you're thinking of Skagos, you…"
"No, I'm not that mad," Mormont chuckled, shaking his head. "I'd never send you to them. They're barely better than the wildlings. I was thinking of Bear Island."
Rick blinked in disbelief. "You're kidding, right?"
"I'm not," Mormont replied. "My little sister is trustworthy. If I write to her to take you in as a ward, she will. She won't say anything to anyone."
Rick's skepticism was clear. "Why? Aren't the brothers of the watch supposed to be beyond the matters of the realm? You'd ask your sister to hide a prince? Do you know the consequences if it were to be known?"
Mormont's gaze grew intense, his voice soft yet firm. "Because you're a son of the North. Stark blood, First Men blood flows in your veins. No matter the sins of your parents, you should not have been treated the way you were. No child of the North should be. As far as I'm concerned, you're just a child asking for help, not a runaway prince."
Rick fell silent, his gaze locked on the old lord. The weight of his words settled in his chest, a strange feeling blossoming—gratitude, perhaps, or a sense of being seen for the first time. No one had ever done something for him without asking for something in return. Not like this.
"I thought that in the North, what you get is what you earn," Rick said, breaking the silence with a quiet observation.
Mormont grinned slightly, his tone light but serious. "Aye, that's true, but I never said you'd be freeloading, did I? You'd be expected to work—and even fight."
Rick's lips curled into a small smirk. "Good."
"I'll send a raven to my sister. I should have an answer within the week. Until then…" Mormont's eyes flicked to Aemon. "I'm sure you could help Maester Aemon."
Rick nodded in agreement, rising from his seat to assist his namesake. He placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward the door.
As they exited together, the weight of the conversation seemed to linger in the room, but for the first time in a long while, Rick felt a flicker of hope.