Once Ned had settled the affairs of his domain, he set out for the Wall with a few of his most trusted household knights.
Along the way, he met up with his brother Benjen, and the two rode on to the Wall together.
This journey had only one purpose.
To see Maester Aemon.
Jon’s unending dreams, together with the white dragon’s recent strangeness, had made Ned realize he had to understand exactly what connection existed between Targaryen blood and dragons.
And in all of Westeros, the only person who might answer that question was likely that old man who had lived nearly a hundred years.
Long before Eddard Stark was born, Aemon Targaryen had already become a maester of the Night’s Watch.
Almost no one across the Seven Kingdoms knew that this blind old man, who had spent so many years shut away in Castle Black in the company of yellowed books and ravens, carried in his veins the purest Targaryen royal blood in all of Westeros.
Half a century before, in the Great Council that had decided the crown’s succession, he had once had the chance to wear that crown and sit upon the Iron Throne countless men dreamed of.
But he refused.
He had cast aside a prince’s honor and a supreme power that had all but been his for the taking, and had resolutely put on the black, giving the rest of his life to this Wall, bound forever in ice and endless winter.
Decades of bitter wind and snow had long since buried all the old stories of those days.
The world had forgotten “Prince Aemon,” and all that remained was a stooped, frail, blind old man.
The top floor of the maester’s tower.
Dry pine logs burned quietly in the hearth, now and then giving off a crisp crackle.
The cramped room was thick with the mingled smell of old parchment, dried medicinal herbs, and dried moss.
Benjen Stark stood in the shadows of the corridor, hand resting on his sword, keeping close watch over the only way in.
Upon arriving, Ned had, in the name of his lordship, ordered the entire maester’s tower sealed off; no one was to approach without leave.
Lord Commander Mormont had not pressed for more.
In the North, a secret grave enough to put the ever-solemn Eddard Stark so plainly on his guard could be no small matter.
Maester Aemon sat by the hearth, warming himself at the fire.
The old man’s eyes were long since clouded over with a pale film, and he could barely see.
The years had taken his sight, but had left his hearing unusually keen in return.
When heavy boots came down on the stone floor, and snow rustled loose from a cloak, Maester Aemon turned his head slightly.
“Mormont, have we a visitor?”
“Yes, Maester Aemon.”
Jeor Mormont rose to his feet and stepped aside from the path behind him.
“The Warden of the North, Lord Eddard Stark.”
A flicker of confusion crossed Aemon’s aged face, as though he had not expected the visitor to be him at all.
“Eddard Stark…”
“What brings you to Castle Black?”
Ned unfastened the heavy cloak from his shoulders and shook the snow from it.
“Maester, there are some things I must ask you myself.”
Ned glanced around to be certain no one else was near, then spoke, each word deliberate: “Four years ago, at the Tower of Joy… I found my sister Lyanna. She left behind a child.”
“A boy.”
Ned’s expression was grave as he slowly spoke a secret that could shake the Seven Kingdoms to their foundations.
“Rhaegar Targaryen’s own blood.”
The room fell silent for a moment.
Standing beside Maester Aemon, the Old Bear Mormont drew in a sharp breath.
Rhaegar’s blood!
Rhaegar Targaryen, once the heir to the Seven Kingdoms, who had died in the war the usurper won — he had a living son after all!
Maester Aemon rose unsteadily, bracing himself on the armrest, his aged body trembling violently.
“You… speak the truth?”
“I swear it on the old gods, and on a thousand years of Stark honor.”
Two tracks of cloudy tears slid from Aemon’s clouded eyes, his voice shaking.
“The child… what is he called?”
Ned said, low and steady: “Jaehaerys Targaryen. He lives at Winterfell now, as my bastard son.”
The old maester nodded heavily, relief in the gesture, as though some long-dead ember, buried deep in his chest, had flickered faintly back to life.
“If this were only to tell me of a Targaryen, you would not have come here now, at this moment,” Aemon said slowly.
“Because born alongside Jon… there was another wonder.”
Ned drew a deep breath, and let out words that could drag all of Westeros back into fire that would burn the sky:
“A dragon.”
“A dragon… that broke from its shell amid the fire and blood of the Tower of Joy.”
The news struck like a thunderclap.
Jeor Mormont’s composure broke completely, though he fought to keep his voice down: “A dragon?! That’s not possible! The last dragon died over a hundred years ago! A new one, born in Westeros?!”
Even Maester Aemon, who had weathered nearly a century of storms, went rigid in that instant as though struck by lightning, his face full of disbelief.
“Where is it… where is it now?!” the old man’s voice cracked, sharp and, for a moment, nearly out of control.
“I’ve hidden it deep within Gorne’s Passage, beneath the Wall, where there’s scalding lava in the earth’s veins and rivers fed by hot springs.”
Ned’s expression turned graver still:
“Now there’s a problem. It seems some connection has formed between it and Jon.”
“The dragon has been restless, calling out to something.”
“And Jon has begun dreaming of it again and again. In his dreams he crosses a thousand miles and sees the dragon, and even feels a closeness to it, an attachment that comes from somewhere deep in his blood!”
“Jon can hide in the North behind the name of a bastard. That dragon cannot.”
“It’s growing at a terrifying rate. If it ever shows itself in the world, if people come to know of it, I don’t dare imagine what would follow.”
Ned stepped forward, his eyes burning as he fixed them on this last, wisest of Targaryens:
“Maester Aemon, I need to know why Targaryen blood forms a bond with dragons at all.”
“And more than that, how we stop this from growing any further. I have to keep that child safe.”
Aemon was silent for a long while.
“By the old records I once read, there truly is some bond of blood between dragons and the blood of the dragon kings.” The old man paused.
“My counsel would be to let them come together as soon as it can be arranged.” The old man’s voice was low and hoarse, and he said no more.
Eddard Stark looked at the old man and said, low and steady: “That was my thought as well. Once Jon is a little older, I’ll bring him here, and leave his teaching in your hands.”
At the door, Benjen’s face was half-hidden between the firelight and the shadows.
Ever since learning what had happened at the Tower of Joy, a weight of guilt had sat on him.
He had known about Rhaegar and Lyanna from the very start, and had once helped keep it secret.
If he had found some way to stop it then, perhaps Lyanna would not have died.
He knew such thoughts served no purpose now, but he could never quite let them go.
Listening to the muffled talk from within, he finally made up his mind.
He pushed open the door.
“Ned. I’m going to join the Night’s Watch.”
“That way I can stay near the Wall. Winterfell is simply too far from here.”
The room went quiet for a moment.
Ned turned to look at his brother, falling into thought.
Everyone in the room turned the idea over in their minds.
Mormont was silent a moment before speaking: “If the Watch’s help is needed, you need only ask. But I must have your word that this dragon poses no threat to the Watch.”
Aemon nodded slightly, his voice hoarse.
“It has not yet come into its full growth. It will need more time.”
Ned spoke then.
“This is the best arrangement we can manage. We cannot hide a dragon forever, and its master is only four years old. There’s no possibility of him mastering it yet.”
Aemon said nothing more.
He only lifted his head and looked quietly toward Ned, his violet eyes glinting faintly in the firelight.
It was a color from long, long ago, like the last spark, still unextinguished, of the Targaryen royal blood.
“The fate of House Targaryen, and perhaps of Westeros itself, may well rest in your hands now, Lord Stark,” the old man said softly.
The room fell silent once more.