"I think so too," Viserys said. "No matter what the future holds, I will use my dragons to protect the Targaryen bloodline and everyone I care about."
Aemon smiled, his expression full of relief. "That is enough, child. That is enough."
He gripped Viserys's hand tightly. "I am over a hundred years old, and I have spent my whole life at the Wall. I thought I would die here in silence, taking the family's regrets to my grave, but now I can be at peace. The true dragon has returned, and the Targaryens have a future. I can die without regrets."
"You don't have to stay here," Viserys said. "Once I take the iron throne, I can take you back to Dragonstone. It's the symbol of our family, and it's warm with plenty of sunlight. You can spend your final years there in peace."
Aemon shook his head, his stance firm. "No, Viserys. My vows were made here, and most of my life has been spent here. This is my home, just as you belong on the iron throne. Besides, I am too old to endure a long journey. To have seen... no, to have heard your voice with my own ears, I am already satisfied."
The two talked for a long time about the family's history, the current state of Westeros, and the hardships of the Wall. When late night arrived and Clydas came in to remind Aemon to rest, the old man was exhausted but very happy.
"Go, child," Aemon said at last. "Do what you must. Reclaim the family sword, see the truth north of the Wall, then return to your empire and take back the iron throne that belongs to our family. Just come see this old man one more time before you leave the Wall."
"I will remember," Viserys stood up. "Goodnight, great-great-uncle."
"Goodnight, Viserys," Aemon said with a smile. "May the Seven... no, may the gods bless you."
When Viserys left the Maesters Tower, Castle Black was silent, save for the occasional footsteps of patrolling Nights Watch.
When Viserys returned to the guest room prepared for him, a massive surge of Psychic power suddenly struck his mind. This feeling was familiar; he had felt it when he first arrived in this world. It was the current Greenseer, Brynden.
But he was no longer as defenseless as he had been as a child. He immediately mobilized the Psychic power in his mind to prevent himself from being pulled into a vision. After all, entering someone else's domain was always dangerous.
At the moment he reacted, Ghidorah outside also sensed Viserys's abnormality. With a jolt of its own Psychic power, it shattered the Greenseer's interference.
However, a few minutes after the Greenseer's failure, a Three-Eyed Crow flew over and landed on his windowsill, speaking directly. "Viserys, I mean no harm; I only wish to talk with you."
Viserys looked at the crow, which appeared identical to the one before, and spoke calmly. "I don't think there's much for us to talk about. I came this time specifically to take the sword. I hope you can hand it over yourself; it would be better for everyone. Otherwise, if I have to find it, you might be the one to suffer."
The Three-Eyed Crow fell silent for a moment. Sensing Ghidorah's presence, it had no choice but to reply, "Then let us meet at the Fist of the First Men. I will have the Children of the Forest bring the sword to you. That is as far as they are willing to go for now."
"Fine," Viserys agreed simply. "Then we shall meet at the Fist of the First Men."
The reason the Greenseer did not tell Viserys his exact location or ask Viserys to come to him was mainly that he was unsure of Viserys's attitude toward him and was even more wary of that dragon. If this young man truly intended him harm, that giant dragon outside could certainly deliver it.
Three days later, in the early morning, Viserys bid farewell to Maester Aemon and prepared to head Beyond the Wall.
Benjen Stark had also assembled an elite Ranger squad of fifteen. They prepared to head north deep into the Haunted Forest to search for signs of the Others.
In addition to their standard weapons, each man carried several obsidian daggers and spearheads. These dragonglass weapons had been unearthed from the depths of the Castle Black armory, originally covered in dust but now polished sharp.
Viserys had reminded them that only valyrian steel weapons and dragonglass weapons could kill the Others.
"We will follow the traditional route into the Haunted Forest, then rest at Craster's Keep. After that, we'll explore to the northwest, focusing on the Frostfangs and the upper reaches of the Milkwater. That's where the most Rangers have gone missing in recent years."
Benjen spread out a parchment map with simple charcoal markings. "Of course, we'll be on horseback, so we won't be very fast. Your Majesty, you can scout ahead on your dragon, but we can maintain contact. If we find anything unusual, we'll blow the horn."
Viserys nodded in agreement.
However, he would not let Ghidorah fly at a low altitude. That would reveal their position too early and risk an ambush by any Others that might be present. After all, he was still unsure if the Others' true strength could harm Ghidorah.
After agreeing on a general meeting area with the Ranger squad, he mounted Ghidorah and soared into the sky, flying toward the Fist of the First Men as agreed with the Greenseer.
Ghidorah's speed was immense, and the biting cold wind howled in Viserys's ears. Below lay the vast Haunted Forest and several frozen rivers.
Occasionally, traces of Wildling tribes could be seen, but most were abandoned. The further north they went, the less life there was, and a deathly silence permeated the world. The desolation and harsh environment Beyond the Wall were even more severe than the North south of the Wall.
By the time the Fist of the First Men appeared in Viserys's vision, it was nearly noon. It was a peculiar hill with a flat top, like a giant's clenched fist smashing into the earth, surrounded by lower hills.
Viserys began to lower his altitude. With his keen eyes scanning below, he immediately spotted signs of human activity.
On the leeward side of the peak, near the edge of a small pine forest, stood several crude tents patched together from animal skins and coarse cloth. Seven or eight figures were moving around the camp. They wore heavy furs, with weapons hanging haphazardly on them or stuck directly into the ground—wooden spears, bone bows, stone axes, and even a few broken swords that looked like they belonged to the Nights Watch.
Wildlings.
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