Chapter 14 : Passing of the Good and Ghost of the Past

Baelon Targaryen (100 A.C., Seventh Moon)

Sky above Dragonstone

Baelon's silver hair swept back in the wind as he held his youngest daughter tightly against his chest. Arya squealed in delight, her laughter ringing through the sky as Vhagar soared upward before dipping low once more. The toddler loved being outside, and she had a particular fondness for Aemon, something that reminded Baelon of his own bond with Alyssa. Yet, unlike him and his sister, Aemon had already found companionship in Laena. Even if they did not yet looked at each other with love, the way a man looks at a woman, there was affection.

"Great, isn't it, Arya?" Baelon asked, his voice light.

"Yeah! More flying!" Arya exclaimed happily, clapping her little hands.

Baelon smiled. Arya was different from his eldest daughter. Visenya was willful and strong, and she enjoyed the swordplay of her namesake, yet she also embraced the grace of a lady, much like her mother. Arya, however, was a wild thing even for a child of three, like Alyssa had been, yet also like Lyanna. A true wild dragon. Baelon wondered what kind of man would one day be able to capture her fierce little heart.

As Vhagar swept through the sky, sudden roars cracked through the air, and a deep, mournful sound sent a chill down Baelon's spine. A second roar followed, one he recognized instantly. "Balerion"

The first had been filled with pain and grief. The second echoed it. Then came another. "Silverwing," he mouthed.

Baelon's frown deepened.

"Vhagar, return to Dragonmont," he commanded in High Valyrian.

Vhagar rumbled in response and turned, her wings beating powerfully as she carried them back toward the dragon platform. The roars continued, growing louder, a sorrowful chorus in dragonmont.

As soon as they landed, Baelon dismounted, running a soothing hand along Vhagar's great snout. "Thank you, girl," he murmured before stepping away.

On the platform, Lyanna stood waiting for him. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed with unshed tears. She had been crying.

Baelon's heart clenched. "Lyanna, what is it?"

She took a shuddering breath, stepping forward to embrace him. "It's your mother, Baelon," she whispered, her voice thick with sorrow. "I'm so sorry. She's gone."

Baelon froze, his breath catching in his throat. He held her tighter as if anchoring himself to reality. Nearby, Vhagar let out a mournful cry, the sound reverberating through Dragonmont.

"She… what?" he asked, though deep down, he already knew the answer.

Lyanna only held him closer. "It's true," she said softly. "She passed away. Aemon was reading to her when it happened. She just… slipped away in her chair."

Baelon's breath hitched. "Balerion and Silverwing," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I heard them from the sky… their cries were filled with grief." His chest tightened, and he struggled to breathe. His vision blurred as the weight of the loss settled over him. 'His mother was gone.'

His breaths became shallow and uneven. Panic clawed at his chest, his body trembling as he began to hyperventilate. "Take her… please," he gasped, forcing the words out.

Lyanna gently took Arya from his arms, cradling their daughter against her chest. As soon as Baelon felt the absence of her warmth, a raw, anguished cry tore from his throat, echoing through Dragonmont. The dragons answered, their sorrowful wails filling the dragonmont, a chorus of mourning that carried across the winds.

A few days later, the Dragonmont.

His face was still darkened in grief. Lyanna held his hand tightly, and their children stood beside them. The rest of the Targaryen family. Even his second born had come, Daemon, even if he had disliked his grandmother ever since the marriage to Rhea Royce. Yet here, he was giving respect to a great member of their House and doing his duty.

Viserys stood together with Aemma, still weak from her latest miscarriage. How many times would gods take a child from them? Baelon thought as he looked at the sky.

His father stood beside Aemon. The boy looked hardened, his face edged with grief but solemn determination. He acts always older than he should be. His father wasn't much better. The rift between him and his mother had been heald, and his mother still preferred the quit of Dragonstone. They loved each other. Now, his father's other half was gone, and he remembered his father's first words when they embraced. After he arrived on Vermithor. "Now, I know your loss, son, I'm sorry for pushing you to move on."

Looking at the gathered crowd, taking a deep breath. He stepped forward. It was time to say goodbye.

"We gather here beneath the shadow of the Dragonmont, under the watchful eyes of our ancestors, to bid farewell to the heart of House Targaryen. The Queen who was more than a Queen, the mother who was more than a mother. Alysanne Targaryen, the Jewel of the Realm, the light of our House, is no more."

"She was my mother, and too my siblings, and grandmother. But more than that, she was a mother to the realm. To the smallfolk, whom she fought for, think about the fountains in Kingslanding. To the women of Westeros, whose voices she sought to raise. To my brothers and sisters who are no longer here, may she greet them again. May she embrace them, as my mother hadn't grief more than the loss of her children."

"My mother was wise, yet kind. Stern when she must be, but always with love in her heart for those closest to her. The world may remember her as the Good Queen, the matchmaker, the dragonrider of Silverwing. But I will remember her as the woman who placed a gentle hand on my shoulder when I doubted, whispered words of courage when I faltered, and taught me that strength is not found in steel alone but in wisdom, mercy, and love."

"Let us not mourn as though all is lost. Let us honor her as she lived, with love, justice, and courage to stand up for what is right. That is her legacy. And so long as Targaryens remain, so long as this realm endures, Queen Alysanne shall never be forgotten."

"Fly high, Mother. And may the gods grant you the peace you more than deserve." He stated, his voice faltering at the end. "Well done, Baelon, you made her proud," Lyanna said as she kissed his cheek.

Then, his father and Aemon stepped forward, both looking at their dragons. "Dracarys." His father and son said in unison.

Soon, the black and bronze flames lit the pyre of his mother. Carrying the ashes to the gods above.

Arya Targaryen/Stark (100 A.C., Seventh Moon)

Dragonstone, Aegon's Garden

Arya sat quietly on the grass, a wooden direwolf clutched in her hand. She wore black, as did the other younger children seated near her, sons and daughters of lords and ladies who had come to pay their respects. To Alysanne Targaryen, the Good Queen. Some Arya had come to care for and admire.

Across from her sat baby Clemaerys Celtigar, her cousin, the firstborn of Gael and Bartimos Celtigar. His wide, excited eyes followed the toy in her hand.

"Direwolf," Arya said softly, waving it in front of him. Clemaerys giggled, delighted, and the sound tugged at her heart. When they were small, she remembered doing the same with Rickon and Bran. But they were both gone now, taken before their time.

"Puppy," said Clarissa Darkelyn, pointing at the toy. She was the eldest daughter of Marick Darkelyn, heir to Duskendale.

"Wolf," Arya corrected gently. "Wol," Clarissa tried, her brows furrowing.

"Wolf," Arya said again, smiling. "Wolf!" Clarissa repeated triumphantly, and Arya pulled her into a warm hug before handing her the toy.

As Clarissa hugged the direwolf close, Arya's thoughts drifted. She hoped Jon would come find her and take her away. She wanted to do something else. Sitting still was boring. She still called him Jon in her mind, even though his true name was Aemon. It still stung, knowing her father had lied. Jon had been sent to the Watch not only for protection but so her father wouldn't have to fight Robert for him.

If Robb had known the truth… if Jon had stood beside him as a true Targaryen-Stark, perhaps the North would have had a true claimant to rally behind to oust the Lannisters. As she knew, the South would never allow the Riverlands and the North to break off the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps more of their family would still be alive in the end.

Jon had been loving in the beginning when he found out the truth. Yet, there was anger inside him toward her and Sansa, as well as a few others of the past. Arya knew why he was angry. Yet even now, three years since she was reborn into this life. They hadn't spoken about it, only about Bran and what had taken him over.

Her thoughts were broken when her aunt spoke up. "Ah, Aemon, how are you, nephew?"

"As well, I can be. Grandmother was a kind woman. She taught me much. May she be at peace wherever she is and be embraced by her past kin. I'm sure she will be happy to see them. How are you?" Jon replied kindly. He gave his aunt a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm feeling the pain of her loss. I will love until I die. It saddens me that she will not see my children grow. As for mother, one of the things she always felt the most pain is the loss of her children and family. So hopefully, she will see them in what comes after." Gael sighed as she gave Jon a kind smile.

"Yes, the great losses of the Queen." Falia Tarth added.

"Prince Aemon, I must say, it was quite the side seeing you. Commanding the Black Dread and lighting the pyre with King. It showed the true strength of the crown, especially in times like this." Ella Massey added.

"My lady, I do not command him. It's a bond that one can only understand when one is bonded to a dragon. He a friend, not a thing." Jon replied firmly.

"Interesting, indeed, my prince. It's a true wonderment, the dragons. I suppose those bonds between dragon and rider are only truly to be understood by them." Lady Ella noted.

"Indeed, my lady." Jon nodded, and he gave her a know glace. She felt the same with Nymeria, and she was sure Jon felt the same with Ghost.

"Oh, how are Arya and Clem? I know grandmother loved them both very much," Jon asked sadly, looking at her and Clemaerys.

"They are fine. They are just too young to know truly. I remember mother's face when she saw Clemaerys, she was so happy. Yet I also remember her fear when I carried Clemaerys, Daella, and Alyssa always played on her mind." Gael replied.

"Yes, she was the same when Arya and Visenya were born. I remember those moments." Jon noted with a sad smile. "That's the sadness of time. Sometimes, we want more but can't have more. Life will not allow it." Jon added.

Seeing the look of the ladies, Jon quickly added. "Grandfather told me that the day he arrived."

"Ah, okay. A wise saying for a wise man." Ella added.

"If you excuse me, my father requested I get my sister. He wished for us to be together for a moment." Jon stated. "Of course, my prince, it was a welcome talk." Lady Ella proclaimed, and Lady Falia nodded. "Go, nephew, give my brother my love."

"Come, Arya," he said, his voice softer now. "Let's go see Mother. Father will be waiting… and so will Visenya."

Arya nodded, slipping her hand into his. "

So, how was the time with Clem? And the other children," Jon asked after they walked to Baelon and Lyanna. "Boring, yet joyful, Clem is lovely, as was Clarissa. She loved the Direwolf toy, as did Clem." She replied.

"Thought as much, l loved being near Laena, Rhaenyra, Laenor, and Nya. Yet I was still a grown man in a babes body. It can entertain only for so long." Jon added quietly.

"Yes, child play can only be done for so long." She finished. I will talk with him soon. It's damn time we clear the air.

A Day after the funeral

She found Jon in his chambers, sitting on a chair on his balcony, looking out over Blackwater Bay. As he walked over, his head turned, and he gave her a frown. "Arya, why are you here? I said I wanted to be alone."

"I persuaded Harold." She added with a mischievous grin. "It's time we talked. We never have talked about the past. Expect for Bran and our deaths."

"Arya, it a past that has brought me naught but pain and betrayal." Jon rebutted with a hint of anger.

"I don't care. You weren't the only one who lost people and has been in pain. It happened to me, too," She sobbed. "I lost my brothers. All of them, including you. You died, and not a few moments after, I thought my brother had killed me."

"I know, you told me. I thought you died too, for sometime before that, I thought you died in Kingslanding or somewhere on the road. Then Sansa told me that Brienne told her she saw you, and I hoped you still lived. Then I got a message on Dragonstone, where I was to gain us allies for the upcoming war. I remember being so happy that you and Bran were alive.

Then I returned home, hoping to see my family and be happy. If for a time until the dead came. Yet all three of you were cold and distant. Sansa had no interest in listening to me. I should have known that after she got most of my men killed during a battle, Bran, I didn't see the boy I saw climbing before, but husk someone else entirely. Then there was you, the one sibling I thought I could count on, yet even you were skeptical of me and my choices.

Ultimately, Daenerys snapped after everything. I will never forgive that act. Yet then, she was still helping us. I loved her then. She was kind of excited to meet you all. She brought me back from the dead, even though I was already breathing. I didn't live after I died, Sansa helped some when she arrived at Castle Black, but then she stabbed me in the back when she didn't tell me about the knights of the Vale. I would have made a very different plan if I knew they were there, and maybe even a plan on how to save Rickon, even if it was unlikely. Knowing now what Ramsey had planned for Rickon.

I tried to do what was right. To save us all and brought us men and dragons to fight with us. Yet all of the North were ungrateful cunts, as were you and Sansa. Your reaction was especially surprising, considering you have always loved the tales of Aegon's two wives." Jon stated with anger.

"I was afraid. I thought there was someone who held my brother's heart. Someone to take him away when the dead were gone. I saw your eyes, too. You were happy with her, at least in the beginning. That was why I was so cold and jealous. I just knew you would leave again like you did before." She said as small tears rolled down her cheek.

"Leave before? Jon snapped. "I never left. I was forced to. Your Lady mother did not give me much choice. She wouldn't let me stay and gave me the notion that the South was worse for a bastard. The Watch was the only place for me to go. So don't go tell I left." Jon retorted in anger. 

His voice rose, trembling with anger.

"And after the war, you left. After everything, you just rode South with the Hound. Trying to kill Cersei. Do you think you should tell us first? We might've avoided the siege if you had. But no. Arya Stark left without a word. Just a note: 'I still have a list.' Right after I told you the biggest secret of my life."

Arya opened her mouth but couldn't find the words. Her throat burned.

"I will always love you, Arya," Jon said, his voice softer now but heavy with disappointment. "For how you treated me when we were children. I didn't care if you were a lady or a warrior. But after we were reunited… after you knew who I truly was… you still left. You were one of the last Starks, and you walked away. I've always done what was right. I've executed a boy Bran's age. I've gone beyond the Wall. I fought the woman I loved. I killed a woman I loved for the realm. And I died for it, too, for doing what is right. And yet you thought a vengeance quest was more important than standing beside us… or standing for the North."

Arya's heart pounded in her chest. Everything he said was true. She felt the weight of his words press down on her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. " You are right, turned away from responsibility, from my duty as a Stark. I know this isn't an excuse. Yet after Kingslanding, a man named Yoren of the Night Watch told me something. I clung to it as a lifeline. Vengeance was the only thing that kept me going through it all, and Cersei and the Mountain were the last ones left on the list. I lived that way ever since I was there during father's execution." She sobbed.

Jon let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders slowly releasing. "I understand," he said at last. "I know how you felt the same way with the Night King. It was an obsession after seeing what he could do. But what I did was for the world. What you did… was for yourself."

Arya nodded slowly, tears trailing down her cheeks. "I felt shame when I came back to Winterfell. I saw Father everywhere. I knew he'd be disappointed in what I'd become. But I pretended everything was fine. It was easier than facing that shame. That's why too left."

"You gave the Freys justice, although not the way your father thought us. Baking Walder Freys son's in a pie was not justice. It was cruelty and vengeance. Doing that, you were wrong, but the rest surviving and the killing, I have killed too. You should feel shame for some things at the Twins, yet for the rest, I'm still grateful you survived through it all. Neither do I think your father would feel ashamed of you." What he said was a relief, and he was right, yet her sobbing of relief washed over her. Jon then stepped forward and wrapped her in a tight embrace. Arya collapsed into him, crying into his tunic, her fingers clutching the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her standing.

"Now," Jon murmured gently, holding her close, "shall we give peace to the past? I will let my anger go… and so should you. We're here now. I want to live in the now, not the past."

He lifted her face and brushed the tears from her cheeks.

"I wanted that too," Arya said softly.

"Good," Jon said with a small smile. "Then let's leave the bad behind… and share memories of happier times."

He led her gently to the chair, and the two of them sat together. Speaking of a past, they both still loved.

The year 100 A.C.

The year 100 A.C brought to death to my family that had rocked both sides of them. Alyssane's passing is still vivid in my memory. I still can see myself sitting beside her, reading a book of the tales of the North. One moment, she was fine. The other, she let out a heavy breath, and she was gone. I felt much pain then, and I still feel the ache of her loss. She has been a true support for me ever since I was a child.

Yet, not a moon later. After The Good Queen's funeral, a raven arrived. Announcing the passing of Lord Rickard Stark.

I had always hoped to get to know him better from when I went north. Like a saying Jaehaerys told me, 'That's the sadness of time. Sometimes, we want more but can't have more. Life will not allow it.'

It was also the time Arya and I made peace with the past. We both had known. Yet even if there is peace in me, I doubt I will ever truly let it go even if I wanted it.

Page out of the Journal of Aemon Targaryen the White Dragon

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