A/N: Well here we are, at the end. Really though, I wouldn't have gotten this far without the constant support of Ramzes, to which this chapter is dedicated!

EPILOGUE

He awoke to darkness. The air was constricting. Invisible hands squeezed about his throat, strangling the breath from his lungs. He tried to lift his arms, only to find them bundled under what felt like layers and layers of sheets. After a struggle he pulled a hand free, in the dim light he could only just make out the thin shape, his fingers blurry. He tilted his head slightly and realised that something was obscuring half his face. He went to touch it, but felt a soft hand grasp his own.

"Best not," Myriah's voice. "The Maester tells me there's still a chance of infection."

Aemon tried to focus his gaze, and made out the shape of her face. "It itches."

"Thank the gods for that improvement," she told him with a shaking voice. "When they brought you here your screams could be heard throughout the Red Keep."

He closed his eyes, and focused for a moment. "Jaehaerys?"

"Alive, along with the children, Rhaella had her babe, a boy named Rhaegar." He heard her blow out a shaky breath. "The others….I am so sorry…"

Aemon tried to sit up but Myriah put her hand upon his chest and slowly eased him back down. His head was spinning, his face throbbing, his shoulder stiff and uncomfortable. "I…I need…I…"

Myriah slowly rubbed circles into the unburnt part of his chest. "You need to rest. They've given you so much Milk of the Poppy that you're lucky to be alive. You've been unconscious for the better part of a week."

"They're truly dead?" he asked hopelessly, as though he had misheard. "They're…dead?"

"I'm sorry."

It was with the image of his father's saddened expression on his mind that Aemon fell back into the blackness of sleep.

He awoke sporadically over the next few days, usually when the Maesters changed his bandages or when the sun's rays were too bright to be fully barred from his dark room. Rhaella and Aerys came in once with their son, though Aemon could scarcely keep his eyes open, let alone hold a conversation with them.

Soon his haze of sleep began to wear off, and what followed were some of the most agonizing days in Aemon's life. He was slowly being weaned off Milk of the Poppy, and as such the pain from his burns came back with vengeance. He soon began to dread the changing of his bandages, watching with revulsion and horror as the dirty materials would be pulled away from his sticky and oozing flesh. Sometimes his face and shoulder would hurt so bad that he would scream himself raw before bubbling into a sobbing mess, his body passing out from sheer exhaustion more than anything.

Myriah had been there, throughout it all, never leaving his side. Even when he wasn't capable of acknowledging her, or when all he did was cry out in pain, cursing everyone and everything for what had befallen him, she never left him. Even when Jaehaerys, now king, came in to see him, she refused to part from his side.

His brother had aged twenty years since the last time Aemon saw him. Thin, faded and less than a shadow of his old self. He walked with a very noticeable limp, and had a tremor in his hands. The new king tried to smile when he saw him. "You seem to be doing….better."

Aemon's twisted and bandaged visage could only just form what could only vaguely be called a frown. "I've lost half my face."

Jaehaerys did not flinch away from his brothers words, but did allow a single tear to roll down his cheek. He looked as though a stiff breeze would knock him over, yet somehow retained an almost regal bearing. "I can't fix this, though…if it was in my power I would give my life so that you would be well," he gave an unsteady intake of breath. "I'd…I'd give my life to bring them all back."

"You can't," he said in his raspy voice. "You can't change any of it."

The king reached out, unsurely, and took hold of Aemon's hand. "I know that so much of this is my fault brother, but please, tell me what I can do….tell me how I can make amends."

It was Father who did this, not you. He did not say that though, too bitter and hurt to even attempt at offering sympathy or comfort when he had little enough for himself. He pulled his hand from his brother's gentle grasp. "You want to make amends? Be a good king, see to it that the realm is secure, and forget your damned prophecies…and for the Seven's sake, be more attentive to Aerys and Rhaella. Don't make the same mistakes our father did."

"And…what of you?" he asked cautiously. "What happened to you will forever be on my head."

Aemon clenched his jaw, as painful as that was, and focused on his brother. "Yes, it will. But I want no apologies from you, not when they cannot undo what has happened. You focus on the future, on your children, your grandson."

Jaehaerys looked at him sadly. "I will devote every waking moment to the kingdoms, and I will ensure Aerys and Rhaella have country at peace to rule over," he released a sigh. "But, I will not forget my family, and that includes you."

"You needn't worry on that score."

Myriah looked at him with a very careful expression, one which he had learnt as the safeguard she wore whenever she listened to something that might crush her hopes. He had grown to find himself very fond of that expression as it meant he had a chance to prevent her disappointment. She pursed her lips and leaned closer to him, eyes intent.

Will I grant her wish? Yes I think so. "I think I'm going to take you up on your offer. I think Dorne is just what I need."

As he had hoped, her expression lit up into a brilliant smile, relief and joy flooding her eyes, her mouth curving into a smile. "Then I shall make all the arrangements with the Princess of Dorne, when do you think we'll leave, a month? Two?"

"I'd like to be on our way tomorrow."

That gave Myriah pause, her face scrunched up in confusion. "But…you're bedridden."

Aemon laughed at that, long and loud. With a grunt of effort he pushed himself up, and unsteadily rose to his feet. The burns near his shoulder and neck made movement stiff, and the scarring near his temple made him somewhat off-balance, yet he found that he could move well enough. He had been practicing little by little ever since he had regained full control over his wits, and whenever Myriah left him he would try walking the length of his bed, and then further. So far he had made it from his bedchambers, across his solar, all the way to the chamber door.

"It's all a matter of perseverance," he told her, reaching down to pull her to his side. "And I am determined enough for us to leave that it will be possible."

Myriah shook her head, smiling slightly. "Even so, the Martells will need time in advance to prepare for us."

"Then send them a raven now." He said casually. "By the time we arrive they'll already have long known about our plans, besides, your mother still has men in the city, they'll provide an excellent guard for us."

"How is it that you can be so lively?" she asked in wonderment. "You nearly died…"

Aemon kissed her; an awkward action given that half of his face was bound in bandages, and smiled. "Maybe it was death that made me so aware of what I have to live for."

Myriah kissed him in turn, several small gestures before finally deepening into one that was full of passion and left them both breathless. "Tomorrow, then."

Aemon looked at his reflection in the mirror. He looked like something from a child's story, covered with bandages, scarred all over. He stood before the mirror for almost a full hour contemplating whether or not he wanted to pull back the blood-stained cloth and peek at the grotesque that lived underneath. Myriah had insisted time after time that her feelings would not change despite his appearance. It was something he did not doubt, yet, at the same time; he wondered how he would be able to stomach his appearance.Perhaps this is my penance for Summerhall, for not doing more to stop my father…

"Father says they are not so bad,"

He started at the voiced, quickly rolling back his bandages over the slightly exposed red flesh and trying his best to compose himself before turning to face his niece. "Your father always knew how to tell the sweetest of lies."

Rhaella watched him closely from the doorway, her expression unreadable. She glanced about for a moment before the slightest of frowns formed on her lips. "You're leaving?"

"I am. Myriah and I going away, there's a place in Dorne."

The girl looked at him with a combination of confusion, hurt and betrayal. "But…we need you here. Father is not strong enough to rule without help!"

"Your father is stronger than you think. He's smarter than me, knows the realm better than I do, and knows the lords better than I do. He doesn't need my help to be a good king."

"Well I need you!" she shouted, tears welling in her eyes. "We've lost everything, and now I have to put up with Aerys….why can't you just stay? I'm stuck here in this prison. Who else will I have?"

Aemon gave a tired sigh. "Rhaella, I can't stay here and become your cellmate. From the king all the way down to the lowest peasant, we are all of us bound and shackled in some way or another. That is what life is," he looked at her, this young woman whom he loved as a daughter and drew her into his arms as she sobbed into his half-bandaged chest. "I was in a prison of my own making for so long, and while that is not as painful as the one inflicted on you, it is one that I had to break free from. Life…life can very easily become stifling and horrible if you let it, but there is always, always something worth living for." He took her face in his hands, wiping away her tears. "Live for your little boy, Rhae, watch him laugh and grow, as I have with you."

"I'll miss you…"

"And I you," he gave her a smile. "But even with the distance between us, you'll never be far from my thoughts or my heart."

Aemon stood there for a time, holding her to him and trying to savour how proud she made him feel.

From the distance, with the morning sun bearing down on the sea water, it seemed as though the castle sat over a bed of sparkling diamonds. It was a solid fortress of black stone and sharp angles, standing out amongst the tropical land that surrounded it. It was said savages and cutthroats lurked in those jungles, whilst pirates and vicious corsairs roamed the waters. Aemon and Myriah had been gifted six hundred men to utilize in providing stability among the region, not an easy task, but one that they were willing to undertake.

"So," drawled Myriah, casually leaning against the rail. "It's not exactly a royal summer home…"

Aemon considered, felt the cool sea breeze brush against his face, bringing cool to the heat that permanently lived within him now. He gazed out across the sea with a feeling of awe, and for the first time in ages, a sense of peace. "Whatever else it may be, it's ours. We can build a life here, a good life."