The House of Ice and Fire

South of the Wall

Author's Note; 

This chapter is inspired by Jaehaeron Targaryen - The Northern Dragon by MonsieurL.A, another fanfic about Jon Snow being reborn into the Dance of Dragons. Don't forget to vote and comment. I will love your thoughts on how this is going so far.

Red Keep 102 AC

Jon Snow/ Aemon Targaryen

The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground beneath the great oak. The atmosphere in the godswood was serene, and the surrounding trees muffled the distant sounds of the city.

Aemon, engrossed in his playing of the harp as he hummed a song, sat with his back against the ancient oak. The book in his hands seemed to transport him to another world, away from the political intrigues and responsibilities of the Red Keep. The smokeberry vines created a natural canopy above him, providing a cool shade that contrasted with the warmth of the sunlight.

The sounds of the city are muffled by the surrounding trees, providing Aemon with a rare moment of tranquility. As he delves into his book, the rustle of the leaves and the occasional bird's song become his companions.

The boy's thoughts drifted between the strings of the harp as he played the dreams that have haunted him. He recalled, in his life as Jon Snow, Lord Reed, the one time he was able to meet the man, telling him that because Rhaegar could not write a song for Lyanna due to their respective marriage and betrothal being a secret, Rhaegar would sing Jenny of Oldstones to Lyanna. The song of a woman and man of different places and walks of life, falling in love when they should not have, and their eventual death. The song of a man who was promised to another woman falling in love with someone he had no right falling in love with. Eventually both stories ending in tragedy, Aemon thought it was fitting.

Aemon played the tune of Jenny of Oldstones but did not sing the words, the soft hums carrying the depth of sorrows and the soft melody of suffering. The godswood, with its ancient aura, seemed like a sanctuary where he could reflect on the weight of his visions and the destiny that awaited House Targaryen. Ser Harrold, ever vigilant, stood at a respectful distance, allowing Aemon the space to gather his thoughts beneath the branches of the oak. 

As the smokeberry vines swayed in response to the gentle breeze, Aemon's mind wandered to the faces and voices that had once been a part of his life as Jon Snow. Margaery Tyrell and Arianne Martell, his wives in another lifetime, seemed to materialize in the shadows cast by the great oak. The ghosts of his sisters, Arya and Sansa, and his brothers, Robb, Bran, and Rickon, hovered in the periphery of his thoughts.

The harp's mournful tune served as a conduit for Aemon's grief, a way to express the accumulated pain and loss over the years. Each chord resonated with the weight of his experiences, becoming a cathartic release in the quiet sanctuary of the godswood.

The red dragon's breath flowers below the oak seemed to flicker in sympathy with Aemon's emotions, casting a somber hue over the scene. The godswood, usually a place of solace, now bore witness to the bittersweet strains of a song that carried the echoes of lives lived and lost.

As Aemon played, the godswood held its breath, enveloped in the elegy of a melody that bridged the gap between the past and the present, between the realms of the living and the departed.