Valyria 310 AC.

Jon Snow/Aemon Targaryen.

Rhaegal soared over the lands below him, the remnants of the fourteen flames offering both warmth and light in a world where little of either existed. The scars that both he and the dragon bore were numerous and the exhaustion they felt was ever-present. He directed the green dragon to land and Rhaegal reluctantly did so. The dangers they faced on the home of the dragons were ones that both were more than willing to undertake. Their lives were nothing but danger, after all, the world they lived in was one fraught with it.

Why either of them still lived he knew not. Their time had long passed and their ends were inevitable, yet each time they faced their foes, they'd been let fly away after taking a little more damage. He felt as if the Night King was playing with them. A game that would only end when he decided it would and there were times when Aemon felt that he should simply deny him the victory that he'd won long ago. There were other times that he was ready to end his life for different reasons. His pain and anguish could at times be overpowering and the urge to just give up and go to them was something that he longed to give in to.

Yet he could not. Not only could he not be sure there was a heaven that waited for him, but he also was not sure he'd be welcome there if there was. Why would the gods reward a failure such as he anyway? Why would there be a place for a man who was supposed to save the world and couldn't even save his own family? A father who couldn't save his children and a husband who couldn't save his wife. Men like that belonged not in the heavens but in the seven hells that the world had become and so he suffered life because he deserved to suffer it.

He set the fire and watched as Rhaegal flew off to gather what food he could. Aemon knew the pickings were slim and he wondered if that would be what brought about his end. Eating his own meager supplies, he looked around him and knew that at least here the things that moved were living, unlike the rest of the world or as much of it as he'd seen. Essos like Westeros belonged to the dead now, to the dead and their king and a part of him welcomed that. He'd be a better king than he, after all. His subjects wouldn't fall while their king failed them and witnessed their deaths. There would be no large-scale sacrifices where the choice he faced would be to let some people die so that others could live. No hard choices, where despite the loss of life, the battle couldn't be fought if the war was to be won.

"What a joke that turned out to be." he said, his words carrying in the silence of the night "What a fool I was."

He waited until Rhaegal returned before he lay his head down to get some rest. A few hours sleep was all he could afford himself before it was time for him to take the watch and for the Green Dragon to get his own rest. Looking to Rhaegal's bronze eyes he could see that just like his own purple ones, they bore the sadness of loss. His brothers and his mother had been taken so very early on in the War for the Dawn and like Aemon himself, the Green Dragon was left to watch on helplessly when it happened. As his eyes closed he knew the dreams would come and he welcomed the beginning of them as he always did. The happiness of them would soon fade he knew, but there was so little happiness in his world that he took it wherever he could find it.

"You're doing it again."

"Am I?" he said smirking.

"Not now, but you were brooding as you always do."

"I find brooding relaxes me, my love." he said turning to look at his wife as she lay on their bed.

"And what need have you to relax, Aemon Targaryen?" Margaery said as she smiled up at him.

"A coronation and sitting on a throne, oaths of fealty and the swearing of them. Becoming a king." he said and she laughed.

"And you think I need not relax too, it's not only you to be crowned on the morrow." she said and he leaned closer to kiss her lips, the kisses soon growing more passionate and the relaxing truly beginning.

He watched the young girl as she raced across the grass, her jet black hair flowing and loose as she was chased by the white wolf. The sound of her laughter ringing out around Aegon's Garden. Lyanna was his pride and joy, his second child and only daughter, and the one person that he never brooded with. She'd not allow him to, where his son Rhaegar would. He'd share in his father's brooding and mimic it while Lyanna would do her utmost to remove any frown from his face.

"Ghost can't catch her, papa." his son said and Aemon turned to see Rhaegar had moved to stand by his side, Margaery looking at them all from her place on the blanket that she sat on.

"And can he catch you, my son?" he asked as Lyanna stopped to take a breath, the white wolf doing likewise, though he needed it not.

"No, I'm a dragon, papa and dragons can fly." Rhaegar said as Aemon lifted him up and spun with him in his arms, proving his son's words to be true.

"Me too, papa, me too." Lyanna said running towards him and just like with her mother, he could refuse her nothing.

Far too soon the images began to change, the green dragon flying faster than he had ever done before, the panic on Aemon's face one that fuelled his hurried approach. The flames of the city burned high and the green fire held back the worst of the attack, yet the city was falling anyway. In the air, both the black and the golden dragons waited for them and the fight soon began. Rhaegal doing his best to fight off both his brothers and to fly to the Red Keep at the same time. Something he somehow managed and which Aemon had spent every day since wishing he had not.

The White Dragon was between them and the Red Keep, the full extent of the carnage below them clear for Aemon to see. Gold cloaks, white ones, and those of green and gold, all littered the ground and as the thing that rode the white dragon looked at him and raised his hands, Aemon saw them rise again. Even high in the sky, he could hear the screams as the living and the dead came face to face. The sounds of more meat being added to the Night King's army were ones that he'd heard more than once in the last year or so.

With Longclaw in hand, he and Rhaegal attempted to end this war as they had done so many times before. Once again finding that they were outmatched and yet not defeated. What made him look to the tower he knew not, be it a second sense, a feeling of some sort, or simply the way he was facing, but he saw them as they stood in the window, the fear on their faces something he could see even though he was far from them. It gave him more resolve, more strength, and more will and so he bid Rhaegal fly to them, to save them, to rescue them. Yet it was not to be, as he and the Green Dragon began to fall from the sky and crashed to the ground. The White Dragon roared and the world was lit up in even more green flames as the Red Keep and those within it were no more.

He awoke with tears in his eyes, the sobbing going on for some time and when he bid Rhaegal rest and then sat watch, he still hadn't truly stopped. The Night King had played him and outmaneuvered him. He'd taken them from him and there had been nothing that Aemon could do to stop him. When he'd woken from his fall it was to find the city was no more, the people no more, he'd walked to the remnants of the Red Keep and saw just how completely it had been destroyed. The Wildfire had been the last resort, something to be used against the dead while his family and those inside had made their escape But escape had not been possible and so instead they'd used it to stop the Night King from making them his. It was little comfort but it was all he had.

Had that been the beginning of the end?

Was it from then on that he'd lost the war?

Or was it when he'd been unable to stop the Night King from killing his aunt and taking her dragons for his own?

Was it when Winterfell and the North fell?

When the Riverlands had been attacked by what he'd believed to be the entire force of the Night King's Army, but had only turned out to be a distraction so that the evil fucker could take what he was fighting for from him?

They were questions that he'd asked himself many times in the years that had passed since that fateful day. Among many other questions that he'd asked himself as he suffered loss after loss, defeat after defeat. When he'd mourned those closest to him and looked at others who were soon to follow, he'd asked himself those questions. His life it seemed was a never-ending search to answers that were not his to find. As he climbed onto Rhaegal's back though he asked himself the one question that he did more than any other.

"Why me?"

They flew from Valyria to Essos and he looked at the dead beneath them, the sheer mass of them and the number of their masters was mind-blowing. How many the Night King had started off with and whether or not he'd have been able to stop him then, he knew not. All too soon though it had become clear that the living were outmatched and the king who led the dead had him beat both in numbers and in tactics.

Aemon had tried to save too many at the beginning, he'd fought too many battles and by the time he'd decided to save their energy for the war itself, he was done. Westeros had lost too many in the War of Five Kings, his own family was proof enough of that and he wondered as he had then, whether things could have been different. Had he known the truth before going to the Wall could it have been different? If it had have been his uncle and not Howland Reed who had come to him and told him who he truly was, could it have been different? Or was his true destiny to end up exactly where he was, alone and mayhaps the last living person in all the known world? As they flew to the City of Shadows he feared that to be the case.

He heard the roars in the sky behind him and turned to see a sight that he'd one day prayed to see. The sky was filled with dragons once more, their roars louder than thunder on a stormy night and the sight of them was as majestic as it was terrifying. It had been his aunt who had woken dragons from stone. Dany who'd brought three into the world and then the Night King who'd brought the rest. Ten, twenty, maybe more, dragons who never tired, never ate or slept and who haunted his and Rhaegal's movements like specters. They'd not seen them for days and the sight of them now awakened something in him. A purpose he had thought long since past soon resurfacing and an urgency he'd not known in years began to rise up in him once again.

"Sōvegon adere Rhaīgal, istiti pyghagon zirȳ konīr." (Fly fast Rhaegal, we must beat them there.) he said and the Green Dragon needed no more words than those.

The chase was on, the feeling of being the prey and being hunted was something he'd not felt in some time. Truth be told he was and had not been hunted for many a year. He and Rhaegal were no threat to the Night King or his plans. They'd been unable to stop or even slow him any for the longest time and yet for some reason the Dragon Wraiths had seen fit to come for him once more. Looking back over his shoulder he could see that their pace had increased to match his own and even that brought a smile to his face. The first one he'd worn since King's Landing on that fateful day.

They wanted him, they wished to stop him, which meant that whatever he was flying to Asshai for was important. If the last act he took on this earth was to cause the Night King even one moment of discomfort, he'd welcome it. It was nowhere near what he owed him, but beggars can't be choosers and long ago he'd become the true Beggar King. Begging the gods to take him and to let him see his family once more, to end his life and not force him to live alone in this world. He'd begged to be given one chance to end the thing that had taken so much from him. One moment where he'd feel alive. As he had for a forgiveness that he knew would never come. Aemon had begged more than once for the answer to that question, the answer to why he'd been let live while so many had not, and not once had the gods answered his pleas.

Would they do so now?

Was the time finally upon him?

Was there a place for him in the seven heavens after all?

Seeing the White Dragon waiting for him as they reached the outskirts of Asshai, he felt there was not. Yet for once the Night King didn't simply move from him, he didn't let him chase him until Rhaegal could fly no more. Instead, the White Dragon roared out a warning that both he and Rhaegal ignored and Aemon pulled out Longclaw and readied for the fight he'd waited for so long for to finally begin. He didn't have to wait for long and as he saw the white icy blade form in the Night King's hand, he felt something he'd never felt before. He felt the heat begin to rise from the blade he held in his own, the light begin to shine and for the briefest moment, he felt the fear that came off the White Dragon and its rider.

"Nābēmagon, Rhaīgal! Mōris zirȳ. Syt mirre īlon ojūdan. Syt lī īlon jorrāelagon!" (Attack, Rhaegal! End them. For all we lost. For Those we love!).

The two dragons fought with claws and teeth, while on their backs he and the Night King crossed blades and Aemon saw the ice begin to chip off where Longclaw struck home. Beneath them the river turned to one of fire, the heat and smoke from it rising as the Dragon Wraiths closed in. He could hear the pained cries of Rhaegal beneath him and he asked the Green Dragon more than once if he should end this fight. He asked if he wished to fly to safety only to be told in no uncertain terms that it ended today, one way or another.

It pained him somewhat to hear the weakness in Rhaegal's answer. The White Dragon proving stronger than the Green One who'd not truly eaten or slept properly in maybe a year or more. When the white icy blade of the Night King broke, as he lined up Longclaw to end the monster he truly was, all was forgotten and he pulled the sword back and struck the blow. It never landed, the White Dragon had bitten down hard on Rhaegal's neck and as Aemon swung his sword, the Green Dragon began to fall. Above them, he could see the look of relief on the Night King's face, the look of triumph, and yet as he turned and saw where they were falling to, he too wore the same look.

"Kesā ūndegon zirȳ arlī, Drōgon se Visērion se aōha muña, pōnta umbagon syt ao. Kirimvose ñuha raqiros, syt ziry mirre." (You will see them again, Drogon and Viserion and your mother, they wait for you. Thank you, my friend, for it all.) he said the words knowing them to be true. There may not be a place in heaven for him but surely Rhaegal deserved to know such joy once more.

As they crashed into the hot fiery river and he felt it envelop them both, he saw the blood that dripped from an open wound on his head and looked as the fire seemed to reach out to it. Time seemed to slow and he found himself fascinated as a drop of blood looked to be suspended in mid-air. The flames moved ever closer to it and then in the blink of an eye they connected and he had to cover himself from the explosion of light.

Dragonstone 3 BC.

Aemon.

Aemon almost choked as the water reached his lungs and he looked to see the blue sky some distance off. Beneath him, he felt Rhaegal's urge to be free from the water and it was this thought more than any that forced them both to the surface. Despite the fact he was wet and it was not a warm morning, to him and to Rhaegal they emerged to a very different world than the one they'd known. There was no snow or ice to be seen, no dark skies either and it took a few moments for both sets of eyes to adjust.

When they did, it then took a few more moments for Aemon to actually believe they were where they seemed to be. The Dragomont loomed high in the distance and he swore he could see the shapes of dragons flying in the skies above them. He had no need to tell Rhaegal to fly to the dragons or the Dragonmont, the Green Dragon doing what he wished him to do without him asking. It was as they flew that he noticed it, the scars that Rhaegal had borne for so many years were no longer there, his scales were as pristine as they had been the first time Dany had allowed him to ride him.

"Īlon're kesīr, Rhaīgal, pōnta're kesīr." (We're here, Rhaegal, They're here.) he said, his voice as joyful in a way it had not been in years.

Death had been good to them both, the gods had seen fit to reward them and Dragonstone had always felt like the most peaceful place in the Realm to him as well as to the dragons. It was a fitting place to be a heaven and the thoughts that he'd see those he'd lost filled his heart with joy. Would they be as he remembered them? Would they have grown in the time since he'd seen them last? Would they be as pleased to see him as he would them? Would they forgive him?

If it took him an eternity to earn their forgiveness then it was a small price to pay to see them once more. To hold Lyanna in his arms and to practice swordplay with Rhaegar. To hear their laughter, see their smiles, to listen to them speak his name. As for Margaery, to simply see her face once more, to feel her lips on his own, it had been all he'd ever truly wanted and he thanked the gods and anyone else he could think of for making it so. Yet his joy was short-lived, his hackles were soon raised as he looked to see the dragons that flew his way were not the two he had expected, and that in fact there were three of them.

The black one was as large as Rhaegal while the other two weren't much smaller in size. The silver scales of one reflected the rays from the sun while the other was a bronze tinged with green and while two looked at him and Rhaegal warily, the bronze seemed more curious than threatening. When the roars began he took them for what they were, a warning, and Rhaegal roared back one of his own. Aemon feared an attack and yet none was forthcoming. Instead, the three dragons seemed to surround them and guide them to the cliffs and away from the keep.

No sooner had they landed than they were joined by a man and two women on horseback. Two of them looked at him as warily as the dragons themselves had been while the third did not. All three of those who stared at him and Rhaegal had silver hair, two were armed and as he looked at the swords they bore and then back at the dragons, he began to recognize them from the tales and stories that he'd read. The first woman who looked at him warily wore a silken dress and her hair was worn loose, her purple eyes looked from him to Rhaegal and then to the man who stood beside her. He was tall and muscular and his silver hair was cut short, and the sword he wore on his hip was one that Aemon knew all about. As was the one worn on the hip of the third woman. Her own silver hair was braided and tied and she looked at him with a curiosity that the others didn't seem to share.

"Who are you, stranger?" the man called out, Aegon the Conqueror in the flesh, and Aemon took a moment to answer, a moment to think what his answer should be.

"My husband asked you a question." the first woman, Rhaenys, said when he'd taken too long to reply.

"Perhaps he's a mute." the second woman, Visenya, the warrior queen said, and she stood ready with Dark Sister close to hand.

"My name is Aemon Targaryen, son of Rhaegar, grandson of Aerys, and a descendant of Aegon the first King of Westeros." he said and Aegon looked to Rhaenys first and then to Visenya, only the latter of those seeming to believe the words he'd just said.

As he waited for one of them to reply, Aemon tried to make sense of what had happened and where he was. It wasn't heaven, he knew that now. For why would this be the heaven they'd send him to. Which meant only one thing and as impossible as it was to believe, looking to those standing in front of him, he was beginning to. Somehow he'd been sent back in time, sent to another place for a reason he knew not. Then as The Conqueror and his Sister Wives stared at him, he heard the voice in his head. A voice he'd longed to hear for so very long, the voice of his wife.

"A second chance, my love, be sure you don't waste it." Margaery said and Aemon resolved not to.