A Different Song (ASOIAF- OC/Reincarnation)

Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.

Chapter 28: The Mad Bastard

The Wolfswood

Daemon Snow.

The last few days had been quite good for me—I had slaughtered my way through the bandits. Whoever said violence is never a solution must have never been in a fight. It was cathartic, and the turmoil of my emotions settled enough for me to think clearly about what would happen when I returned to Winterfell.

I am an adult now, and if I combine the years I have lived, my age would be close to eighty. Holding onto this level of hatred for my father and grandmother at this point is not normal. For fuck's sake, I am ageless, and yet I still wonder why anger grips me whenever I think of my father—especially when I have done the same, or worse, to countless children of my own across the North. Whatever my issues are, I was never a hypocrite. Yet, the fact that I never even realized this contradiction myself was something that angered me greatly. I had considered all my other weaknesses and taken steps to turn them into strengths, and yet I never realized how compromised my own emotions were.

It took Cregan pointing out that I became irrational whenever the Targaryens were involved for me to finally understand it. And the fact that my little brother had to be the one to point out my weakness pissed me off. It happened during an argument when Cregan realized that if I was in Winterfell when the Targaryens arrived, I would refuse to kneel with the Stark household.

"Daemon, what is wrong with you? You're clever enough to hide your emotions in any other matter, to the point where I have to pry them out, but you wear your hatred for the royal family on your palms. Your plan to disrespect the Queen so blatantly may even lead to useless bloodshed. For fuck's sake, you even forgave Brandon, your sworn shield, and made me forgive him too—despite the fact that he abandoned his oaths to you and had a bastard with my mother. I love my half-sister, Sara Snow, but if anyone finds out that he did it without your permission, you'll be forced to take his head. The Targaryens have never even come close to that level of betrayal and disrespect." Cregan had yelled at me.

I was shocked then, as I finally grasped the truth.

"Cregan, you've given me a lot to ponder." I exhaled, rubbing my temples. "In Brandon's case, I never wanted a sworn shield. It was only a means to an end—to spread tales of my god-blessed abilities among the people of the North. And at the end of the day, love is blind. Let him and Aunt Giliane have their happiness, or do you really want your mother and sister's hatred aimed at you? Let the story of their marriage spread, and it will be the end of any bad-mouthing." 

After the slaughter, I sat under the nearest weirwood and decided to meditate on my life until now. I wanted to understand why this hatred existed and how I needed to deal with it. After all, everything had happened according to canon as long as I wasn't involved. Aemon would fight back against the Myrish and die accidently in 92 AC. I had kept an eye on Myr and the bloodbath was just starting. It was pointless to hate someone when I had already almost had my revenge even without trying. Aemon will never be king and his own wish of Rhaenys being the queen will never happen then. 

The most Aemon had done to me is ignore me and that allowed me to train and attain the power I had today. It was the best thing as I would have been limited in kingslanding. I will return the favor by ignoring him and what will happen;

Aemon would die, the king would ignore Aemon's wishes and make his daughter a laughing stock before the realm by ignoring her claim, not once but twice. No matter how I looked at it, I had come out on top without even playing the game of thrones. And yet, my irrational mind in not satisfied with it.

I closed my eyes, my thoughts drifting back to the first and last time I had met my paternal family. Within minutes, I reached the moment I first gained consciousness in this world. I saw my father's eyes fading into death, filled with hatred toward me, and my grandmother's sheer indifference. The only time they had actually acknowledged me. Having an adult mind had allowed me to remember it clearly.

I opened my eyes and sighed. They had never actually harmed me, and yet, I couldn't let go of my anger. Looking back, the Targaryens had even helped me in some ways. The money they granted me, the king's decree that no blood of the dragon should be punished—both had made me untouchable in the North. Only my Stark grandfather could have disciplined me, and he had died long ago. I had even gotten my revenge on the Targaryens without trying. The number of them who had died and would continue to die in the future simply because they couldn't be bothered with me should have satisfied me.

I was never the grudge-holding type. I was the "forgive, but never forget and be indifferent" type—the kind who would never help those who had wronged me. Even in this life, I treated most people the same way—except for my paternal family. Like Cregan said, I had even forgiven Brandon just the other day for abandoning his vows of life and sword to me, for siring a bastard with Lady Giliane. At least I could give him credit for managing to bed a woman so far above his station. And yet, I still couldn't forget my anger and hatred toward my family. Maybe this was my own version of Targaryen madness.

Every Targaryen had their own kind of madness, both in canon and in this world. Aemon, with his fear of childbirth and his hatred toward me. Jaehaerys, with his obsessive micromanaging of the royal family and his hatred for anything connected to Maegor. Alysanne, with her indifference and unshakable belief in her own opinions. Baelon, with his blind, almost fanatical loyalty to Aemon. It was almost amusing when I heard that the second son had been named Daemon in this life too. I had thought my presence might change things, that the Rogue Prince might be given another name. But Aemon's attempt to replace me, and Baelon's support for such foolishness, painted a clear picture. Then there was Queen Visenya, with her disdain for anyone without Valyrian blood.

I shook my head, clearing my thoughts. I couldn't keep dwelling on this. Sighing, I decided to enter the weirwood network and observe the recent happenings in Winterfell.

I saw the queen's arrival and the talk of my presence. I saw the servants being cheeky and laughed to myself—perhaps I should give them something more to gossip about. I watched Aemon and the queen discuss matters, and though I could understand the logic behind their words, they had forgotten one thing—I was not some nameless peasant's son. I was a son of Winterfell, raised as almost a Stark.

I followed them into the godswood.

Seeing my daughter standing so close to Silverwing made me freeze in shock. My body tensed, ready to brute-force my way through time itself if necessary to save her from harm. But what followed was something I had never even dreamed of.

At least Aemon and the queen were sharp enough to recognize Lyanna and even show some care for her—care they had never shown me. I saw the deep sadness in Aemon's face as he spent almost the entire day with my daughter, even taking her for a ride on Caraxes.

At least they had not dared to make my favorite daughter sad or harm her. Otherwise, I had no idea what I would have done.

I saw Rhaenys observing her father's interaction with Lyanna, frowning. She subtly inquired about the girl's identity, and the queen told her that she was her bastard brother's daughter—a Mormont at that.

Relief flickered across Rhaenys' face as she asked if I was married, but when the queen denied it, the relief vanished faster than it had come.

Seeing that my daughter was in no danger, I withdrew from the weirwood network and returned to the present.

I was surprised. They had so easily forgotten about me and treated Lyanna with warmth. I couldn't understand how they could do that when I, in contrast, could never think rationally where they were concerned.

What was wrong with me?

I let out a bitter laugh and snapped loudly to the forest.

Suddenly, I heard Aethan's voice in my mind, echoing words from the night my grandfather died.

"….You're crying because you loved him enough that your control over your emotions has shattered. The indifferent mask you always had for others from the first moment I saw you had finally shattered….."

 I recalled the rest of my thoughts from that day, and the answer struck me like a hammer blow.

I couldn't feel anything but anger and rage because of my ability to control myself.

I remembered my father's sheer hatred and fury in my first moment in this life—hatred that should have been love. The baby I had been had imprinted that emotion deep into my mind. My own response that day, just before I lost consciousness, came rushing back to me.

"Fuck the Targaryens."

I laughed hard as I realized that my own irrational hatred was because of that day and how much the words I casually said because of my own anger at being cheated by the Being send me here. I was expecting to be Jon Snow after all. 

Fenrir padded over and licked my face, sensing the sheer fear that gripped me. I had spent so long believing I was rational, only to realize I had been acting irrationally because of my own ability. I had pride on my own long term planning and how I was accomplishing my goals to end the threats in this world, but now I have to rethink everything and decide whether it was actually good or not.

I needed my rationality. I needed my logical mind. Without them, I was doomed in this world of death and chaos.

And what would happen if I lost a battle and was the last man standing?

A violent shiver ran down my spine as the terrifying thought took root. I would be nothing more than a vessel for the Night King—or some other entity. A slave within my own mind. That was a fate I had to avoid at all costs.

"Boy, it seems that I was fucked by my own abilities. Atleast I should correct it as I am going to interact with Targaryens in the coming days and years. why bother making unnecessary enemies when I could achieve what I want from them without even interacting with them that much." I whispered to Fenrir as I scratched behind his ears.

Fenrir let out a soft huff, sending me his feelings of absolute belief in me.

It took almost the entire night to unravel the control ability from my emotions. The moment the automatic application of control was lifted, I felt as if a heavy weight had been removed from my shoulders. I had been shackled by irrational hatred and anger. Without serving any purpose to motivate me, such emotions were nothing more than self-destructive forces waiting to consume me.

My father despised me, and my grandmother had insulted me. They had suffered for it—my grandmother lost her children, and my father would die before ever seeing a grandchild from Rhaenys. I decided I would no longer go out of my way to enrage or provoke them. Instead, I would focus on something far more crucial for my survival and my plans to explore this world—securing a dragon of my own.

From the moment I witnessed it easily kill and devour another dragon at Dragonstone, my eyes had been set on one beast. I gave myself two years to tame and bond with it after Aemon's death in 92 AC. Even if that didn't happen because of butterfly effect, I resolved to travel to Dragonstone and blend in among the smallfolk. My natural ability to learn quickly would help me mask my accent and integrate seamlessly.

But before I ever stood before the green, deadly flames of the Cannibal, I needed to develop some resistance to dragonfire. I had seen its flames consume dragon scales as if they were mere kindling. If I were caught in such fire unprepared, there would be nothing left of me but ashes.

"Thank you, Cregan," I whispered, realizing that my resistance to dragonfire could be built easily now that there were three dragons in Winterfell.

I considered my options carefully. Silverwing was the first I dismissed—far too old, and I wasn't willing to risk being turned to cinders instantly. The second was the Blood Wyrm, Aemon's dragon, but it was the most volatile. I couldn't be certain it would use fire instead of simply mauling me. I had seen it play with its prey many times, only unleashing flames after its victim was already dead.

That left only one option—Meleys, Rhaenys' Red Queen.

"Well, Fenrir, you should hide when we get near Winterfell. I'll find Meleys and try to make her breathe fire."

Fenrir gave me a look as if I were an idiot and huffed mockingly.

"Yeah, I know it's foolish, boy," I muttered. "But I have no choice. I won't stand before the Cannibal without this. It's too risky."

Fenrir simply huffed again and disappeared into the forest cursing the Old Gods for making him bonded with such an idiot.

I was on my way back to Winterfell when I heard a distant roar. Immediately, I connected with one of my eagles, and elation filled me as I spotted the Red Queen soaring over the forest.

I stood in a clearing where the dismembered bodies of bandits lay scattered. The blood had already attracted scavengers, feasting on the remains. I decided to wait there, wondering if the scent of death would draw the Red Queen.

As I had guessed, the dragon descended into the clearing. However, I was immediately proven wrong about her coming for the scent when I saw the slender form of my younger half-sister dismounting. She spoke in High Valyrian, her tone light.

"Thank you, my dear Meleys. I needed to clear my head, and this was a nice flight. I knew you would land in this clearing, as I said."

The dragon sniffed the air, then let out a low growl of warning. At once, Rhaenys tensed, her gaze sweeping over the clearing. Her cautious expression twisted into one of fear and disgust as she took in the gore and scattered body parts.

Quickly, she climbed back onto her dragon, ready to take off in case any threats remained.

"No need to worry about bandits, my dear sister," I said with a grin, stepping out from behind a tree and into the clearing.

Rhaenys stiffened further atop her dragon, her eyes narrowing at my casual tone.

"What? This is your doing?" she demanded.

"Aye, dear sister. I left to hunt this scum, after all," I said with a shrug.

"But this is needless cruelty! They deserve a burial at least. You left their bodies to be devoured by animals," Rhaenys said, her voice filled with reproach.

"Of course I did, dear sister. Why should I bother burying this filth? I have far more important matters to attend to," I replied with an air of indifference.

"Monster," Rhaenys hissed. "And don't call me sister, bastard. I am a trueborn Princess of the Realm, and you are just a bastard." Her voice dripped with venom, her lips curling into a mocking smile.

My smug grin only widened. The word bastard had long lost its sting, whether it had any in the first place. She must have truly expected it to affect me, for a flicker of fear and surprise crossed her face when she saw my lack of reaction.

"Of course, I am a bastard," I said, my voice amused. "Both literally and figuratively, dear sister. And now, you must think carefully before insulting such a monstrous bastard in the middle of the forest—when you are alone. After all, I could harm you, sister."

Her fear melted into mocking laughter.

"Are you out of your wits? You stand before my dragon, while I sit upon her back. A single word from me, and you would be nothing but ash where you stand. You should be thankful that I do not punish innocent men over foolish words."

She looked at me then, my bright smile unwavering. Something in my expression must have unsettled her, for a storm of emotions flickered across her face.

"That is the most perfect thing you could do for me, Princess," I said with a mocking bow. "After all, I was planning to have Meleys breathe fire on me. I need to adapt to the magical nature of dragonfire, and the other two dragons are far more powerful—and far more dangerous. So, Dracarys is the word, Princess Rhaenys. Say it now." I smirked, spreading my arms as if welcoming the flames.

For almost a minute, Rhaenys remained silent, her mouth slightly open in sheer disbelief.

"What? I am no kinslayer! Are you mad?" she finally yelled.

"Of course, I am mad, little sister. A small piece of advice for you—take it as you will. Everyone in this world is a little mad, and only the consequences of their actions hold their madness in check. You insulted me without reason, and now, you will bear witness to my burning. Had you simply greeted me or even ignored and left me be, I would have enacted my plan tonight when the dragon was alone. But now, this will serve as a lesson—to never insult your elders. And most importantly a valuable lesson to you little sister, never issue a threat unless you are prepared to carry it out. After all, you are supposed to be this land's future Queen," I finished with a mocking grin as I remembered the future.

Rhaenys snorted. "Oh? You think you can make me do this, bastard? You are truly mad. And these lands' queen? I am no fool—I did not miss the mockery in your voice nor the implication that I would not be your queen. You seek something that does not belong to you."

My eyes widened briefly at her words before I burst into laughter.

"Oh, sister. I have no lands, and therefore no king or queen to swear to. I could always leave for Essos and do whatever I wish. And as for the Iron Throne? I have no need for a seat that is painful for mere mortals to sit upon. I merely meant that you would curse your own chance of ruling. After all, you are deciding whether to marry the arrogant Sea Snake or Viserys. If you desire the throne, marrying Corlys Velaryon would be idiotic. My second and final piece of advice to you—marry Viserys and be the Queen. Marry Corlys, and you shall be the Queen Who Never Was.

"Now, enough talk. Say Dracarys and let us be done with this. I estimate it will take two days to heal from the burns and return to Winterfell."

Rhaenys stared at me, anger flashing in her eyes. Finally, she shook her head.

"I will not be part of your madness be a kinslayer and I have better things to do. I am leaving, bastard. May you become food for some beast in this cursed forest."

I merely grinned, feigning a wound to my heart. "Now, now, sister. No need for such negativity. Since you refuse to comply, I shall make Meleys do it myself."

I cut my connection with all but Fenrir, focusing my mind.

Rhaenys snorted. "You may have the blood, but you lack the knowledge of even basic dragonlore, Snow. Bonded dragons obey only their riders."

"Oh? Is that so, dear sister? Then allow me to test it," I said before shouting, "Dracarys!" as my mind slammed into Meleys like a battering ram.

The dragon's mind immediately flared with fire, burning away my intrusion. But black flames engulfed me, shielding me from Meleys' mental defenses.

A piercing scream from Rhaenys rang out, filled with agony. I ignored it, sending another command to the dragon. Panicked, Meleys did what was natural to her— Breathe fire at the perceived threat. Lots and lots of fire. 

Immediately I left the mind of Meleys and prepared myself. 

A furious "NO!" tore from Rhaenys, but I paid it no mind.

The dragonfire engulfed me.

For fifteen seconds, I felt nothing—my trained fire resistance battling the flames. By the twentieth second, I sensed faint warmth on my skin. My clothes had already disintegrated into ash. At thirty seconds, blisters formed. By fifty seconds, pain set in—but I suppressed it using my control ability.

Meleys, enraged beyond reason, continued spewing fire, the stench of burning flesh filling the air.

At the two-minute mark, Rhaenys, sobbing in horror, finally regained control, slashing Meleys' side with her whip. The fire ceased.

I jumped sideways from the burning area. I opened my eyes and looked at my body. I had protected my face using my hands allowing my eyes to be saved from burning. Apart from my hands and the place in my stomach, I had stabbed Ice to stop the necrosis of the Night King, my entire flesh had vanished and become ash. My hands and the place in abdomen which had already injured by magical fire long back had only 4th degree burns. I was glad about the control aspect as I could just mute my pain, otherwise I would have turned insane by this amount of pain.

Rhaneys looked at me in horror her eyes filled with tears. She was shaking in the saddle, whispering, "No… no…"

I grinned. "Oh, sister. Don't worry. It's just a flesh wound. I'll be fine in two days."

And I was right.

 My own healing has improved so much that I am sure I now has atleast 70 percent of wolverine's healing ability. Unlimited potential is just such a hack. And the muscles was already healing slowly to visible eye.

Rhaenys whispered in awe and fear, "What… how? Who are you?"

"I am god-blessed, sister," I said darkly. "You have heard the rumors. And you will keep this knowledge to yourself."

"And why would I want to do that?" Rhaneys asked, her tone sharp with defiance.

"Because if you don't, the realm will brand you a would-be kinslayer—driven by hatred and jealousy toward the so-called god-blessed bastard. And if you remember your lessons, the last kinslayer to sit the throne did not have a good reign." My voice was calm, but the warning was clear.

Rhaneys hesitated before nodding. "I will be silent," she whispered, though her face betrayed lingering resentment. Then, without another word, she turned and shouted, "Soves!" The great beast took to the skies, its wings beating against the air as it carried her away.

I sighed, already feeling the weight of exhaustion settle over me. The healing process had already started draining me, but at least I had Fenrir to bring a fresh supply of game—dozens of animals for me to cook and consume while my body recovered.

Surveying the damage left by Meleys, I grimaced. Even a younger, lesser dragon had done this much to me. It was a sobering reminder of how much more dragonfire is. I can now stand in ordinary fire for hours now and yet with dragonfire this was the result.

 I had the foresight to test myself now before standing before the Cannibal. Had I gone to him unprepared, I was certain I would have been reduced to ashes before I even had the chance to react. At least now, I had the experience and the adaptation against Dragonfire to atleast survive the coming confrontation.

Winterfell

I sat with my back against the weirwood in the godswood of Winterfell while Fenrir rested his head on my legs. I was patting the warm, soft fur of the wolf when the scent and sound of someone approaching reached me—or rather, reached Fenrir first, and our bond alerted me. Whenever I was near Fenrir, our connection had strengthened to the point where I could almost have parallel thoughts. I wondered how much of that was due to my fight with the Night King, which might have helped develop this bond. After all, the Night King had multiple perspectives and controlled many at once.

I opened my eyes and saw Prince Aemon Targaryen walking toward me. Ever since I returned to Winterfell after healing, I had been busy with wedding preparations and had not spent a single minute with Aemon. He had been trying to meet with me alone, without it being an order, and I had been avoiding him—without even trying—simply because I was too occupied. Now that the wedding was over as of yesterday, I knew this meeting was inevitable.

Rhaenys had not said a single word about what had happened, and for the past two days, she had looked at me with a mix of fear and awe. The queen had ignored my presence entirely. At least both Aemon and the queen had spent much time with my daughter, and those were good moments for my daughter.

Aemon reached the weirwood and looked at me.

"Prince Aemon. This is truly a surprise," I said, without any courtesy, still lying with my back against the tree.

A frown passed over his face, and I wondered—was it because I called him "Prince Aemon," or was it my lack of courtesy?

"Surprise? There is nothing surprising about it. A father can have a meeting with his son. I am not 'Prince Aemon' to you. I am your father. Call me that," Aemon said with some sternness.

I snorted and couldn't stop my laughter.

"You are twenty years too late to establish a father-son bond, Aemon," I said with a grin. "This is the first time I'm meeting you, so yes, it truly is a surprise. What do you want?"

Aemon took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"I... I..." Aemon started, then stopped, as if lost for words. After several moments of uncomfortable silence, he finally asked,

"Don't you have any questions? About why? Why I hated you and left you behind?"

I looked at Aemon carefully and saw that he was tired. Dark circles under his eyes made it clear he hadn't been sleeping.

"What is there to question?" I replied. "I know you foolishly blamed me for my mother's death in childbirth, and you were madly in love with her. That means nothing to me, nor is it something I care about." I shrugged indifferently.

I could see that my nonchalant attitude had rattled Aemon, and I mentally patted myself for maintaining control over my emotions. Truly, sheer indifference was more damaging to Aemon than any rage I could direct at him.

"My son, please—at least shout at me. You may even hit me. Why are you just sitting there, doing nothing? Don't you even care?" Aemon snapped.

"It is pitiful that it took you two decades to move past your grief," I said, my tone calm but cutting. "And I don't care about you enough to shout at you or blame you. Do you know something, Aemon? I remember everything that has happened in my life from the moment I first gained consciousness after birth. I saw the madness in your eyes when you heard the healer declare my mother dead. It took me several years to fully understand, but by then, I already had another father figure." I shrugged again. "I lost nothing when you left me here. It was your house that lost much because of it."

Aemon thought about what I meant, and realization dawned on him—the deaths of his brothers and sisters. If I had been in the South from the beginning, they might have lived, thanks to my abilities. He looked at me again, finally understanding the sheer indifference in my words and stance. It was the same cold detachment his own mother had for some people. The same his father had.

Anger flickered across his face, but the mocking grin on mine, as I recognized that I had gotten to him, tempered it.

"I see," Aemon said at last. "You truly are your grandmother's grandson. The sheer indifference, the lack of care for your blood relatives—it's just like her."

Aemon smirked as he saw anger flash in my eyes. I was so tempted to let Fenrir take a bite out of him for comparing me to that bitch of a grandmother. The so-called "Good Queen" was someone I had always disliked in my past life, and nothing had changed in this one.

"Ah, well," I said coolly. "I have your blood, after all. And I'm glad it was the indifference I inherited, and not your cowardice."

Aemon smirked. "I'll give that a seven out of ten. But I'm not young enough to be angered by being called a coward. I was afraid, and I ran away—from duty, from you. It was cowardice." He took a deep breath. "Anyway, I'm not here to trade insults with you. You are my son, and your exile must end. My father doesn't want you in King's Landing, but I am sure I can convince him. I came here to ask if, when the time comes, you will come with me and try to mend the rift between us."

I was surprised by the offer, but there was no way in hell I would let myself be trapped in King's Landing—especially not now. I needed to be free to travel the South. To claim Cannibal.

"You shouldn't bother, Prince Aemon," I said, stressing the title. "Should such a letter come to Winterfell, the answer would be no. I will not come. There's no need to mend anything, just so you can placate your guilt. Or is it that, after two decades and you growing old, you finally remember my mother will be very angry with you in the afterlife?" I tilted my head. "Whatever the reason, I don't want anything to do with you or the king."

Aemon looked as if I had struck him. He sighed, tired and resigned.

I see you have her stubbornness added with my own. I will not send such a letter. 

"I see you have her stubbornness," he muttered. "Mixed with my own. I will not send such a letter, but I will be in contact with you."

"Good," I said simply. "Anyway, I have to go to my sleep now. Get some sleep—you need it."

I stood up, and Fenrir followed suit.

"Also, Prince Aemon," I added, pausing for a moment, "you've been good to your granddaughter, so I'll give you a single piece of advice."

Aemon frowned. "Advice?"

"Always stay on top of your dragon when you're in enemy territory or a war zone," I said. "Myrish crossbows are deadly at close range."

Aemon's eyes widened in shock as I walked away from the godswood.

I wondered why I had tried to save my father's life.

It was a gamble. A test to see how much I could change the canon by just existing. Aemon's death mattered more to the timeline than Aegon's or Viserra's. Would fate fight back?

And if so, how much effort would it take to truly change the canon?

===========================

Maesters often wondered what Prince Aemon's reign would have been like had he not died in 92 AC at the hands of traitorous assassins disguised as Myrish men. The Myrish exiles who swarmed Tarth were defeated by the combined might of the prince's dragon, the Velaryon fleet, and Stormlander troops. But victory turned to tragedy for the royal family with the cowardly assassination of the crown prince.

When the news reached King's Landing, it is said that the king himself had to restrain Prince Baelon from mounting Vhagar and going on a rampage. Yet, not even the king's closest confidants knew that the usually wise and benevolent ruler was merely waiting for the full picture to emerge—before proving that he was indeed King Maegor the Cruel's nephew after all. No matter how far one tries to run from it, blood still reigns supreme.

Author's Note: Yeah that happened… daemon is finally over the emo-moody teenage behavior whenever targs are considered. Rhaenys is traumatized by the madness or is it greatness? I wonder.

Anyway, to tell you the truth, in my initial plan I had no plan to make the meeting between aemon and daemon. It was supposed to be left to readers discretion and daemon not initiating such a meeting because he didn't want to change the canon. But thorugh out the story I understood not even having a single conversation will be disappointing for all and thus this happened.

Aemon who loves and hates daemon at the same time, in his maturity wanted to mend the relationship by the time he is king. But was stopped by the sheer indifference of daemon for now... he thinks he has time and a way to reconcile or atleast be in friendly terms through lyanna, but fate happens...

next chapter it is kingslanding chpter and we see the fallout of rhaenys disastrous meeting with daemon and it is 92 AC and we see the fallout of aemon's death..

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