Author's Notes: Welcome back, dear readers! Thank you for being so patient and for all of your support! I've got my head on straight once more and I will be back for the biweekly updates.

Catzrko0l continues to be a champion beta and is crucial to these chapters. Thank you, Catz!

Chapter 79

Aemon XXV

"Perhaps tonight, Your Grace, I can show you the Dragon's Tail and where it meets the King's Crown. And in between those two constellations is the East Star called The Mother's Grace. It's the main one that sailors follow to reach Essos. However, depending on the season it can lead you to the north of Essos or the south of Essos. Right now it leads to the south and will put you near Tyrosh," Sarella Sand explained to him as they stared out towards the eastern sky from the rail of the ship. She was beaming as she spoke and her energy was infectious.

"Fascinating. It hadn't occurred to me that the constellations in the South might differ from the ones in the North," Aemon said. "I wonder if this Dragon's Tail is like our Ice Dragon constellation in the North. I would like to see this. I'll rejoin you here when the sun sets."

"I'm looking forward to it, Your Grace," she said and Aemon felt his heart warm.

The journey north back to King's Landing was a welcome change of pace compared to the journey south, and it was mainly due to the Dornish on board. There had been little else to do but read or talk to his uncle and they had not been on the best speaking terms since the halfway point to the south. His uncle continued to remain cold and sulky, making conversation as needed but otherwise staying quiet. Aemon spoke with him only as necessary. He found Sarella's company far more appealing.

She was roughly the same height as him and had the same golden skin and dark hair as her Sand sisters. However, where her sisters' smiles were secretive and vicious, Sarella was open and warm. Her enthusiasm for knowledge outshone any competitive guile to best him in a fight, though Prince Oberyn warned him that Sarella was just as capable as her sisters with the spear.

Prince Oberyn himself accompanied his daughter and was to take the place on the small council that Aemon had offered to Dorne. Aemon could only imagine the sparks that would fly between him and Jaime when they inevitably ended up butting heads. He was almost looking forward to it.

He had promised Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn the opportunity to allow a knight of their choosing to fill the final vacant spot in the Kingsguard. They had barely a night to find him and yet it hadn't taken them even that long; Ser Daemon Sand, the Bastard of Godsgrace, now stood nearby, still dressed in his Dornish armor. He had taken temporary vows upon boarding the ship. The vows would be formalized at court in King's Landing upon their return.

He was a tall young man who had yet to fill out if his gangly limbs were a sign of the growth still yet ahead of him. His hair was light brown and his beard was neatly trimmed. The ghost of a smirk hovered on his face and Aemon thought there was cunning in the young man's eyes. He was unsure how much he trusted the lad with his protection, but upon reciting his vows, he did smile and say it was an honor.

It was times like this that Aemon wished he had Jaime's ability to see sounds and read the undercurrent of the voices he encountered. He should not have been surprised to learn later that Ser Daemon had squired for Prince Oberyn himself. It seemed likely that Ser Daemon would sooner side with Prince Oberyn over him if it ever came down to it. But he also recognized he needed to get his fretting under control before he became as mad and as paranoid as his grandfather.

You've just brokered an alliance with them. You are more valuable to them alive rather than dead, he consoled himself. But with the likes of Lord Tywin Lannister and Petyr Baelish breathing down his neck, it was hard for him to stay settled. He prayed once more that Jaime was managing the kingdom and holding his father at bay. He had to work hard to dismiss the dread that had become an ever present feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he was starting to feel concerned that he would find smoke columns rising out of King's Landing upon his return.

"Your Grace!" Captain Hyle called out to him. Aemon turned and saw him standing by his helmsman with a far-eye to his eye. "Your Grace, look ahead!"

Aemon leaned over the side to look past the bow and frowned. He counted four galleys and two galleons sitting in a horseshoe, blocking their path. His ire rose and he felt his blood surge. This could not be a mere coincidence. He recalled the warning from Jaime that he felt his father would try something against Aemon on the journey back to King's Landing.

Aemon placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and made his way to stand by the captain. "What can you tell me, Captain?"

"Your Grace," the man began with a short bow and then offered him the far-eye. He took it and leveled it to his eye. "Their sails appear to be the color of red. The ship at front is a familiar one, well known amongst sailors. The Valyrian. Salladhor Saan. Pirate. If I do say so, Your Grace, this bodes ill."

"It does," Aemon murmured. He ran the far-eye along the side of the ship in the hopes he might catch evidence of what was afoot, but at that distance, he could only see the blurs of men pacing the deck as if on patrol. That was suspicious. He inspected the other galleon and noticed that the flying flag had two crossed feathers on a brown field. That was not the seal of a Westerland's family.

"Is there a way we can go around them?" Aemon asked.

He turned the far-eye towards the open water to the east and saw several more smaller ships waiting on the wing. Their bows were turned in their direction and they were approaching surreptitiously.

"They're trying to corral us," Aemon said.

"It would seem so, Your Grace. I would say they have an interest in keeping us from the open sea."

"You would be right," Aemon said with a curt nod. "And I don't fancy our chances on the ocean, not against pirates at least." He turned the far-eye towards land and scouted the coast, noticing a myriad number of coves along the shore, separated by jagged cliffs on either side. He studied the land. The closest cove had towering and forbidding islands of rocks on the sand interspersed throughout. The tops of them were mossy green and scraggy trees perched atop like birds. It was difficult to tell, but the path into the cove by land appeared to be a gentle slope up the back.

He frowned. His men would be at a disadvantage trying to climb out and if this attack was by Lord Tywin Lannister, he would already have positioned his soldiers behind the rocks, ready to strike the instant they set foot on land. They would be mere spring lambs surrounded by lions.

The cove next to it, though, had only a few smaller boulders on the beach. He thought the pathway out the back was barely more than a crevice. It would be difficult to get out of and even more difficult to get into.

Aemon stared out at the ships descending on them. "Captain, what is the cove over there? The one with the small boulders."

"That would be Salt Moss Cove, Your Grace," Captain Hyle said. Aemon could not miss the nervous swallow and the way his eyes flicked nervously from him to the ships slowly surrounding them.

"Do you have a map?"

"Yes, Your Grace." After a minute of fumbling, the Captain spread the map across a couple of crates and pointed it out.

There was a small ravine that cut through the back of the cliffs and seemed to be the only way out. Aemon rubbed his chin as he contemplated.

He had survived so many previous battles and yet he had never been besieged at sea. He was unfamiliar with what ships were capable of. He much preferred to be on firmer ground. Sand was not ideal but it would have to do. The map of the cove showed there was a narrow path through the surrounding cliffs with which to reach it. They were apt to be ambushed if they attempted to go through it to reach the other side. Tywin could hide as many men as he wanted on the ground but only on the other side of the ravine if he intended to take them by surprise, but the ships could only hold so many. Was it best to stay on the water? But ships were not particularly maneuverable. There were more than half a dozen hemming them in. A ship each could pull up on either side and unload their men, quickly outnumbering them. Would he be able to sidle the Prince Rhaegar close enough to a cliff to prevent men from coming at their back? But the other ships could deploy smaller boats if necessary and would overrun them in the end.

"Make for Salt Moss cove. Bring us in so that the ship runs parallel to the shore and drop anchor. We need to make it as difficult as possible for the ships to reach us."

The Captain began shouting orders. By this time, the other occupants on the ship were noticing the vessels and had started to crowd around the sides. He could see a myriad of people looking in his direction, namely his uncle, his Kingsguard, and Prince Oberyn. His uncle grew stern as he saw the ships and rushed up to stand beside him.

"Your Grace, what is happening?" He asked.

"The trap is being sprung," Aemon said.

"What trap?"

"Lord Tywin's, Uncle," he said with no small amount of disgruntlement.

His uncle frowned. "Forgive me, Your Grace, but perhaps it is best we stay on the ship."

"I have thought of that, Uncle, but… I am concerned the Prince Rhaegar will be damaged in the fighting. I don't want to risk its integrity. And some of these ships bear pirates. They would cut us to ribbons."

"They may just as easily overwhelm us on the beach."

"I'm sure that's the plan. But the Prince Rhaegar is our only means of transport," Aemon replied.

His uncle gave him a puzzling look. "We will hardly be able to make use of it if we're dead."

"But if we do live, we'll want to leave," Aemon replied.

There were no good moves to make. He cursed Tywin Lannister for his inability to be satisfied. This was likely to be their deaths, but he would be damned if he did not fight to the last man.

"To arms! To arms!" Aemon roared. "These ships appear to have hostile intent. We best be prepared."

There was a scramble as men rushed to either grab their weapons or fully suit up. Aemon couldn't help but notice that Prince Oberyn and Sarella went below deck. She maintained her unrushed and pleasant demeanor. He would admire anyone who could remain so calm in light of the danger.

Aemon looked towards the horizon where the ships were closing in and decided to return below deck as well for his own armor. Ser Arys, Ser Torrhen, and even Ser Daemon fell in behind him. They were already suited up as they were expected to be. For the first time since he left, Aemon wished for Ser Barristan by his side, but he was also glad that his best knight was keeping Daenerys safe. If nothing else, she would make Tywin Lannister rue the day he decided to enact his coup.

Olyvar Frey had been busy tying knots, but he had hopped to his feet and scurried over to him with an overeager smile as he awaited his orders.

"Come, Olyvar, help me put my armor on."

His squire eagerly led the way to the king's quarters and held the door open for them to pass through. He hadn't had much practice to help his king suit up and his fingers slipped on the ties, but Aemon took little heed of his fumbles.

He briefly wondered where Jaime would find himself in the event of Tywin succeeding. If the calculations he'd been told were correct, Daenerys was mere weeks away from making landfall in King's Landing. Would Jaime be able to protect her? Would she allow it? Her dragons, while hatched, would still be small, hardly formidable. If he remembered correctly, she had used them to raze Astapor to the ground at that age. They would be powerful, but vulnerable. She would not risk them in a real battle where the odds were not lopsided. If Aemon couldn't survive, Daenerys and her dragons would have to. The probability of succeeding against the Long Night with the kingdoms in such disarray were low at best. Without the dragons, it would be impossible.

The Gods had stepped in and prevented Jaime's death. Would they step in now to prevent his? He was certain that they had wanted him to rise to the throne despite his reticence. Power was not his desire, but he thought that with a captured wight and all eyes on him, he would be able to galvanize the Seven Kingdoms against certain doom. It would save his family and friends. It would save the world. That was what they wanted...wasn't it? Why else bother bringing them both back? Why else revive Jaime into a time where he could make the decision to not be the instigator of a war? The war had happened anyway, but Jaime's reputation wasn't entirely soiled. Would this move by his father injure his efforts to be honorable in the eyes of the other kingdoms? He hoped not.

Please, the Old and the New Gods. If you cannot spare me, at least spare her, Aemon prayed, his eyes drifting upward to the ceiling of his cabin.

He checked each piece of his armor and reached down to unsheath a small knife strapped to his calf. Satisfied with the blade, he sheathed it again and stood up.

"Ghost, come," Aemon said. His dire wolf had already been on his feet when they entered and he paced the quarters in agitation. Now, he hurried to his side. Even with the six kingsguard, he felt safer with Ghost nearby.

Back out on top, Aemon continued following the approach of the ships coming from the East. They were smaller, lighter, but they could likely hold comparatively few soldiers. If the Captain could maneuver the ship to block the better part of the shore, the galleons at least would not be capable of making landfall.

"Well, Your Grace, I see the forces are aligned against you," Prince Oberyn said with a smug smile. "Are you still so sure about your Lannister allies?"

Aemon graced him with a cool look. "I am under no illusions that Lord Tywin would sit idle. But, yes, I remain steadfast that Lord Jaime Lannister, my Hand, remains my ally."

"He's done a poor job of convincing his father," Prince Oberyn replied, tsking in mock disappointment.

"His chances of convincing his father of standing down were about as likely as you passing up the opportunity to fight the Mountain," Aemon said. He turned back to the task at hand and scouted Salt Moss Cove again. The beach was a soft white sand with towering cliffs on all sides. Apart from a smattering of boulders, there was no place for an army to hide. Without Jaime's warning, Aemon would otherwise have had no idea to expect an attack and he had a feeling that Tywin would keep the element of surprise as long as he could. He hoped aiming for this cover would at least buy them time before Tywin's army made it through.

We have an opportunity to turn the odds, he thought. Aemon took the map and spread it across a stray crate on the ship. "Uncle, Prince Oberyn, here! I have a plan."

The two crowded around him. Olyvar waited respectfully to the side, but Aemon could see him craning to try and see. He slid over a tad to make room for him, which he eagerly filled. "To start, I've asked the Captain to position this ship lengthwise next to the beach. It will make it too difficult for the other galleons to make land. I expect these smaller ships—"

"Caravels," Oberyn supplied.

"Err… yes, these caravels, to come to shore, but they'll have fewer men to deposit. I expect the bulk of the army that Tywin has planned to come through this ravine. Prince Oberyn, position fifty of your spears in this pathway. Have them stacked side-by-side and behind each other. They're to hold their position. Your spearmen should be able to withstand the bulk of the army since only so many can come through at a time. The rest of us will stand our ground and fight the men from the caravels on the beach. Is that understood?"

"A fine plan, Your Grace," Prince Oberyn said.

"We may yet withstand Tywin Lannister after all." His uncle clapped his shoulder.

They broke apart as they waited for the ship to reach close enough to shore. Prince Oberyn organized his spearmen so that they would be ready. Aemon was hopeful that the Captain would be able to get their ship in close enough that dinghies would not be necessary, but all of them were prepared and ready for that side of the ship.

"Drop anchor," the Captain called out and the anchor was released. Aemon frowned that the shore was still one hundred feet out. "I apologize, Your Grace, but we run the risk of breaching the hull if we go in any closer. There don't appear to be any reefs here, but there are rocks and pebbles at the water's edge. We want to be careful."

"Thank you, Captain," Aemon shouted. "Spearmen, move out!"

"You know your place. Block the ravine. Make sure the beach is safe for the king," Prince Oberyn said.

The dinghies had been loaded with the spearmen and then lowered upon the anchor falling. Aemon watched the dinghies hit the shore and everyone piled out and then helpfully shoved the boats back into the water. The cycle repeated. Aemon kept glancing back toward the east to see the caravels creep forward ever closer and if Aemon had to guess, they were nearly at the lip of the cliffs.

This isn't going fast enough, Aemon thought, as he felt the tension in his shoulders tighten like a tuning peg.

"Your Grace, are you going ashore?" Ser Arys asked.

Aemon broke his gaze from the ships. "Yes, I will be fighting too."

"You could stay aboard. Hide in the bowels. They may not find you," Ser Daemon said.

"I will not cower while men die for me," Aemon snarled.

Ser Daemon did not cow before his outburst and Aemon could have sworn he saw him smile, bowing slightly in deference. "As you wish, Your Grace."

Aemon eyed him carefully and then turned to climb aboard the next dinghy as it was raised. His kingsguard joined him, along with his uncle, Olyvar and Sarella Sand. She flashed him an excited smile as if their lives weren't at stake.

"I apologize that you should be caught up in this," he said.

"You are the king, Your Grace. Your life may never be dull," she replied.

More's the pity, he mused. It would make his life far easier if he could refocus everyone's attention away from the throne to the true threat in the North. Jaime had sent him word that the wight had arrived. It was a priority to show it to all of the lords and impress upon them the urgency of acting before the threat became too big. But that required reaching as many lords as possible and Dorne could not be ignored any longer. They had to be included. With the threat of Tywin bearing down on him, he would have to move up the timetable. The Ironborn would just have to learn about the wights secondhand.

And yet that now assumed that they could make their stand and get out of this situation alive. He already itched to remove Tywin's head from his shoulders. He doubted that Jaime would need much convincing to arrest his father as this was a move they had anticipated from him. All he would need is a captured Lannister soldier, captain, or commander and Lord Tywin's fate would be sealed.

As soon as the bottom of the boat scraped the rocks, Aemon leaped overboard and nearly went to his knees in the surf as his boots slid on the rocks in the water. He grabbed the edge of the boat to stabilize himself and said, "Careful! It's slippery." He waded ashore and surveyed the area. At least fifty spearmen had been sent ahead of him. Half of them had fanned the beach and made sure to poke the rocks for a stray spy. The other half formed up ranks, shoulder to shoulder, and began their march into the ravine. Even as he watched them, he saw yet more spearmen join their ranks.

As he stepped out of the waves, his boots sank into the dry sand and he frowned. For a moment, he straddled the dry sand and the wet sand and found that the ground was firmer on the wet side. The fight further up the beach was going to be difficult, but the waves only crept so high, ensuring there was only a narrow strip of stable sand. He now wished they had done some of his training in Dorne in the sand.

Aemon trudged further up the beach and turned to see the positioning of the galleon and the rest of the open beach. The cove was thankfully small and the Captain had done an impressive job of blocking a third of the coast, leaving just enough space for a few of the caravels or one galley and a caravel or two. The incoming ships would have a difficult time seeing around the Prince Rhaegar. They were apt to ride straight up onto the beach so as not to dally with dinghies to off-load their soldiers. It would give them a limited view of their sides.

"Form up," Aemon shouted. "I want Sunspears in front with Winterfell soldiers shoring up the sides. We will come at the enemy in a wedge and take them unawares." His Kingsguard formed up behind him. Ghost squeezed in beside him, panting and tensed, apparently sensing his master's urgency. Aemon pointed his sword to line up the angle of attack.

They waited. Dinghies continued to deposit soldiers and they were pointed either to the ravine or the formation and fell in line behind. Aemon could feel his heart beginning to pound as the minutes drew out. He was becoming agitated from not being able to see the approaching ships and wondered multiple times whether the plans they had made were fruitless.

A crewmember shouted aloud, "To the side! To the side!"

Behind the bulk of Prince Rhaegar, Aemon could just barely see the tops of the caravels as they started to pull into shore. He leveled his sword and willed himself to slow his breathing, tensing as he prepared to lunge forward. The sound of the caravel scraping over the rocks as it nosed up onto the beach sounded impossibly loud to his ears and he hoped there was lasting damage to the ship. Now he could hear splashing and shouts of alarm as soldiers landed in the water and struggled over the rocks. It was tempting to rush then to keep the enemy struggling on the rocks, but it would be far too easy to become overzealous and find themselves imperiled as well. He had to be patient.

Aemon's eyes darted over to where the spearmen were still forming up to block the ravine. He did not hear any untoward shouting but they were far enough up the beach that perhaps he simply could not hear them. He had to trust that they could hold the enemy back.

He fixated once more on the shore and saw that soldiers with round shields and short swords were finding the shore in a haphazard order. From that distance, he could not recognize their sigil, but they wore the colors of brown and white. They themselves were focused entirely on the Dornishmen plugging the ravine as they used their swords to point to it.

"Penrose," his uncle said.

"Hmm?" Aemon asked. He was irritated that his concentration was jarred by his uncle speaking.

"That is the Penrose sigil. Stormlands," his uncle replied.

Aemon ground his teeth. He had been working diligently to learn the houses and all of the sigils in the Seven Kingdoms since he became king. His concentration had been on Dorne and the Reach specifically and hadn't yet begun the Stormlands. Perhaps I should learn my enemies' sigils first. "Charge," he roared and began sprinting forward.

The closest enemy soldier did a double take and opened his mouth to shout alarm, but instead screamed his own death as Aemon ran him through and the men trampled over him.

"Attack! Attack!"

A cacophony of screams, cries, and roars sounded as they clashed. Aemon's nerves fell away and he felt his blood sing as he swung his sword, landing with greater force than he was used to. Men crumpled beneath his might and he smoothly moved onto the next man. After downing him, he took a moment to notice that the soldiers on the first caravel started dropping on the other side to put their ship between him and them so that they could avoid getting entangled before they reached the shore. A second caravel had now pulled up onto the shore and he glimpsed the masts and sails of a third one yet still trying to squeeze in.

"Around the ship, get around the ship," Aemon commanded and he lunged forward once more. He didn't even pay much mind to where his kingsguard were and whether they followed him.

"Aemon!"

He heard his name called but paid little attention to it as he bodily slammed into a soldier who had been fumbling to get his sword out of its sheath. He raised his sword and stabbed down, feeling the slight give of the sand underneath. He swiveled as another man swiped at him and quickly stuck him. There was a bellowing cry as a soldier charged at him with his sword raised, then fell to his knees as a spear dug into his leg. Aemon slit his throat then turned and found Sarella standing at the ready with blood dripping from her spear. She grinned and then moved past him to keep fighting.

He took a few steps back to gain control of himself and survey the battle. The Hound and Ghost followed him, blood streaking his wolf's white fur. He was unable to tell if the blood was the wolf's or another's. Soldiers were still pouring from the other two caravels and the odds were quickly evening out. He took a moment to asses his kingsguard. He had only ever seen the Hound in battle. Ser Preston and Ser Arys were so certain in their movements that they made it look easy. Ser Meryn Trant was less graceful, but just as brutal and quick. He had stopped to look around a moment before a soldier ran up to him again.

Each of the new soldiers were fresh in stamina compared to his company, which was slowly draining away. He looked back toward the pathway. Some of the spearmen were losing focus as they kept glancing back to the battle on the beach. Prince Oberyn had left them to their own devices to join in the fighting. It had been necessary with their low numbers, but he was concerned the spears would break if not brought under control.

"Ser Daemon," Aemon called. His new kingsguard moved like a dancer, the jabs of his spear quick and precise. As soon as he dispatched the two soldiers on him he disentangled himself from the fray, walking over to him as casually as if he were simply doing a round of guard duty.

"Yes, Your Grace?" He said with a quick nod.

"The spears are faltering at the ravine. Take command of them and make sure they hold the line," Aemon shouted in his overzealousness. If Ser Daemon was offended, he didn't show it and simply nodded and raced over to provide guidance.

"Aemon," his uncle joined him, panting from the exertion of fighting. "We can't hold them off. They're overwhelming us."

Of course they are, he wanted to shout at his uncle. We have as much chance as a rabbit against a pack of wolves. This was how Tywin Lannister wanted it. It mattered little to him how many men he lost killing him, the dragon king, but he need only pour a thousand into the effort. He shook his was becoming readily apparent that this was how it was going to end. He rather doubted Jaime was on the other side of that ravine with his own force, ready to provide assistance.

Ghost sidled up next to him and nosed his free hand. Despite his panting, his wolf was otherwise calm and that allowed him to steady himself.

"We mustn't give up, Uncle. Remember my vision! Daenerys was ruling at my side on the throne. That hasn't happened yet! The Gods are on our side. We can make it. We have to."

He thought he saw a spark of fire enter his uncle's eyes and he gave him a small smile then. "The Gods' willing then," he said.

"Now let's get in there and show what Starks are made of!" They rejoined the melee. He almost faltered as he stepped over bodies with familiar grey armor, that were either lying still or gasping in agony. It felt like their eyes were following him, but he shrugged them off and focused on the battle. He could do nothing for them until the enemy was battered down.

Aemon felt another surge of energy as he swatted away a man's sword and whipped his face on the swing back. Then he cut his throat. He turned in time and ducked a sword that cut so closely he thought his beard would be lighter a few hairs. Ser Torrhen skewered the man from behind, his face full of urgency and fright as he stared at his king.

"Well done, Ser Torrhen," Aemon said. He turned away just as the man began to speak. He noticed that Ghost had disappeared from his side once more

"Your Grace, we're being overrun," Prince Oberyn bellowed, stabbing a man through his neck. "Call back our spearmen."

"No! Then the Lannister forces will come through and there will be nothing to stop them," Aemon shouted back.

"We take our chances," Prince Oberyn said. "If we can't defend ourselves here then there's no point in holding the Lannisters back."

Every fiber of his being resisted. The moment he gave the order to pull back from the ravine, it would be the end. We shall die like the heroes of old. He was distracted only for a moment by another man engaging him and he grimaced as it took a few more swings before the man was downed. They were already growing weary. With each successive kill, it would be harder to make the next one.

With great reluctance, he gave the order. "Break it."

"Dorne, to me," Prince Oberyn roared.

Aemon refused to watch as their last line of defense broke. He only kept fighting. Another man down. He could feel himself start to flag. It was taking greater effort to lift his feet from the sand and he felt unsteady as it shifted beneath him.

There was a small moment of reprieve as the new wave of Dornishmen joined the fray and were able to pit their fresh energy against the brown Stormlanders. Aemon found his breath again, raised his sword, and started walking the outskirts to find an opening.

He suddenly felt a sharp pain in his side and he grunted, barely managing to hold onto his sword as he grabbed at his waist. He turned to see who it was and felt a steel clad arm wrap tight around his chest. He grunted again as more pain blossomed in his sword hand and it fell from his fingers. Then a knife dripping in blood was poised at his throat.

"Your Grace," the words were a poisonous hiss, but Aemon recognized the voice all of the same.

"Meryn Trant. Cashing in on Baelish's bounty?" He grumbled. He struggled not to wince at the pain in his side, so he glared at the scene in front of him.

"Trant!" The Hound roared, his face a twisted sneer that stretched his scars. Ser Torrhen and Ser Preston had been hovering near him, but none had suspected that another kingsguard would break his oath. Nearly all of them stopped in their attacks to follow him as Meryn Trant began pulling him up the beach, to where the Lannister company awaited.

His uncle went white to his lips and he called out, "Aemon!"

"You've already stabbed me in the side. I would be bleeding out from a wound like that. Do you think you'll still give Lord Tywin the pleasure of beheading me?" Aemon cursed himself for not having paid closer attention to Trant in the battle. He tried to dig in his heels and forced to be dragged. The arm crushed the breath from his lungs as he tried to reach down his leg to the knife strapped there. Just a little further. He noticed out of the corner of his eye that soldiers in Lannister red and gold and blue and yellow were now rushing from the once stopped ravine to the beach. They would protect Trant if he reached him.

"It matters not. Then they will all know it was I who killed you."

"Do you think you will be honored? Look at what happened to Lord Jaime. He slew a king, too, and he was only ever derided."

"Lord Jaime was just a whelp, far too concern—aaaagh!"

Aemon couldn't see, but he heard the telltale sound of ripping. Trant's grip slipped; he swore viciously. Ghost yelped and whined from the boot to his head. Aemon slipped beneath the arm that had held him. He pulled a knife strapped to his leg and plunged it straight into Trant's throat. Trant's eyes widened and he gurgled, then fell straight to the ground and gasped his last breath.

"Ghost! Are you hurt?" Aemon asked, kneeling down gently stroking his wolf's head. Ghost licked his face in return.

"Your Grace!" He was pulled up to his feet and he winced again as the place Trant stabbed throbbed with pain. "Are you hurt?" Ser Arys asked, his face grave and pale. His kingsguard, his uncle, and even Prince Oberyn formed a circle around him, protecting him from the new forces.

"I'm fine," Aemon said.

"Cut the shit. You should be dead. Why aren't you?" the Hound growled.

"We need to check your wound," his uncle wheedled.

"There's a battle!" Aemon tried to shove his way through, but the Hound and Ser Torrhen served as a solid wall. His heart was in his throat as he heard the agonized sounds of soldiers. His men were dying!

"We're your fucking kingsguard. We'll keep 'em off ya," the Hound said. "But you need to get that wound checked."

"It's not bleeding," Aemon replied. I would know.

Despite his struggles, his armor was unstrapped and removed. Aemon hissed as layers were removed that brushed the top of the wound. His shirt and then the Myrish scale was lifted up. The flesh was red and had already begun to swell, but was otherwise whole and unblemished. There was likely to be one hell of a bruise by the next day.

"Incredible," his uncle said. "Where did you get this scale?"

"It was a gift from Prince Oberyn. Since Lord Jaime warned me of an impending attack, I've been wearing it at all times. As a precaution," Aemon replied, giving his uncle a pointed look. "Where's my sword?"

"Here," the Hound growled and held the hilt out towards him.

Aemon grasped it, wincing yet again at the pull on his wound.

"What do you think you're doing?" His uncle said in a harsh voice.

"We still have a battle to win," Aemon replied.

"You're wounded. You're done," Ned said.

"I will not stand by and—"

"Pardon, Your Grace, but if Tywin's goal is to kill you, fighting while wounded will make you easier to slay," Prince Oberyn said with a surprisingly serious expression.

"I have the rest of my kingsguard," Aemon shot back.

"Assuming they can be trusted."

The Hound growled but said nothing.

"If I am to die, I will die fighting!"

"You made a point to me about not dying foolishly," Prince Oberyn remarked, but there was the hint of a growing smirk on his lips.

"Your Grace!" Ser Torrhen shouted, even as he shoved his sword through the chest of another Stormlander.

They all dropped into a fighting stance. Yet more men were swarming the beach; the green and yellow of the Tyrells. Just as Aemon was about to growl at their betrayal, they started hacking at the enemy soldiers. Aemon eased up from his stance, wincing and felt relief cascade through him. The others Houses were apparently not so bereft of morals to wholly turn against him.

The enemy of Lannister, sky blue and yellow, and brown Penrose soldiers were quickly being overwhelmed as the green and yellow continued to multiply.

"Your Grace," a horse and rider rode up next to them. The Kingsguard collapsed around Aemon and the rider found himself staring down the points of half a dozen swords and two spears. Aemon hadn't even been able to get his sword all the way up and it wavered in his hands.

The man leaped off his horse and pulled off his helm, revealing chestnut brown hair and a handsome face. A yellow rose was splashed across his chest. "Ser Garlan Tyrell, Your Grace. I have come to you with aid."

"You knew where to find us?"

"Lord Tywin thought we were his allies. We misled him."

"Oh?" Aemon asked and felt his guard go up. He sheathed his sword, but then grabbed his knife again. He'd never be able to defend himself otherwise.

"My grandmother, the Lady Olenna, orchestrated a plan to catch Lord Tywin in a most egregious crime. But now you will be able to remove his antagonistic influence forever. The Tyrells remain committed to the Targaryen legacy," Ser Garlan said, dropping into a kneeling stance in front of him.

Aemon frowned at the top of his head. The wheels were turning in his head as he mulled over his words. Lady Olenna meant for it to appear that she was acting in bad faith when she accepted the deal that Lord Tywin had offered her. He rather doubted Lord Tywin would be foolish enough to make a move without a house as powerful as the Tyrells backing him. The loss of his men on this beach were a result of the Tyrell's commitment to set a trap. Yet he would otherwise be looking over his shoulder for the rest of his life if Lord Tywin had not been dealt with quickly.

He wondered where Littlefinger fit into the plan.

"Please send my regards to Lady Olenna. I thank you for your aid. I must have my soldiers tended to."

"As you wish, Your Grace. It shouldn't be too long now before victory is had."

"Spare any soldiers who surrender. Arrest the command. They will bear their lord's treason as sure as he will."