"aemond as a son of ares", "aemond as a son of hades" hear me out, aemond as son of zeus. because why not, dark leather doesn't make you child of hades, and the only one he beat in sword fight was old man who can't yield sword. not exactly war type.
aemond targaryen as the son of the king of skies - both glorious and ruinous. powerful, dangerous, commanding. there is always something charged in his presence, bristles with desire to strike like lightning. he carries the aloof, self-aggrandizing arrogance of zeus himself. zeus's pride makes him quick to anger and impossible to reason with. he is dramatic and edgy, but beneath that pride he is severely traumatized, he is genuinely weird, there are unsettling sexual undertones, mommy daddy whatever issues. children of zeus/jupiter always in some ass. zeus uses fear to control, uphold his position, but he is also canonically paranoid patriarch who feels threatened. in aemond there is a charged hunger of basically everything, with the need to own, to consume, to prove that he is the one who takes and is never taken from.
he belonged in the sky, while earthbound, he had languished in misery. on vhagar he found his truest joy, he was happy as child finally. he laughed like a madman through a tempest, drunk on power, euphoric and unhinged, the wind was whipping his silver hair and he happily exposed his face to the massive drops that probably hurts.
children of zeus are prideful no matter of personality, they have fatal flaw - ambition, it twists in various ways, depending on persinality. and zeus himself famously holds deep, long-lasting grudges. pride and ambition is a powerful drive or desire for authority and power, mirroring their father's dominant rule.
his flaw screamed "prove them wrong now," regardless of the danger or how insulting and inappropriate in time it was. this compulsion drove him to vhagar. his fatal flaw shaped him as a person, making him believe he is so superior. his fatal flaw ignited at the mere sight of lucerys smiling at that cooked pig. the storm's end was fatal flaw's peak - he chased lucerys down on vhagar, intending to terrify him, he loses control of vhagar and murders him. then fatal flaw fueled a belief that he was more worthy of the throne - so much so that he resented his brother, burned him, deliberately hurt him while he lay bedridden, and mocked his pain with cruel, soothing shushes. he usurped him and wanted to take all male lead roles.
but strip him of the sky, take away vhagar, deny him the storm and the height and the terrible speed of a dragon's descent and he becomes ordinary, not weak, exactly, though show made his useless, but exposed. his confidence curdles into something brittle, his arrogance no longer protects him, it isolates him. on solid earth, he is outmaneuvered, outmatched, reduced to a boy with one eye and too much pride. he got his ass whooped on ground in show and daemon outsmarted him in book because he took away his advantage of vhagar and sky.
Summary: Aeyla and Aethan return to Kings Landing and Silverwing is finally claimed.
Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Swearing, Arguements, Child Loss (Past), Still Birth (Past), Uncle/Niece Incest, Sister/Brother Incest.
AEMOND x O.C. AEGON x O.C. & PAST RELATIONSHIPS
Word Count: 9000
A.N - Yes Oscar Tulley is alive in this!!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.
Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.
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Aemond stood upon the outer wall of the Red Keep, his hands clasped behind his back as he looked out across Blackwater Bay.
Far out over the glittering water, a familiar bronze shape appeared against the morning sky.
Archonei.
The great dragon's wings beat steadily as he approached the city, sunlight glinting from his scales.
Aemond let out a slow breath.
So, they had decided to come home after days of hiding themselves away on Dragonstone whilst the realm whispered, and House Stark waited for answers.
For all his anger at what Aeyla and Aethan had done, a small part of him was a little relieved that they were coming home.
His thoughts, however, quickly drifted elsewhere.
To Visella and to their daughter they’d named Laela.
Despite the initial scare, the babe had been born healthy—thank the gods—but the birth had taken far more from Visella than any of them had realised.
The labour had been long and difficult. Afterward, Grand Maester Orwyle had been forced to stitch the tears left by the birth, and even now, days later, every movement caused her discomfort.
She hated being confined to bed.
Twice already Aemond had found her trying to rise on her own, insisting she was perfectly capable of lifting their daughter from cradle, or using the privy unaided.
Twice he had gently—but firmly—placed her back beneath the blankets and insisted that one of her ladies in waiting remain with her when his attention was called to other matters.
Orwyle had prescribed small doses of milk of the poppy to ease her discomfort and ordered strict bed rest until she had healed.
Visella had grumbled ceaselessly about it. But even she had finally accepted there was little choice.
And together. They had made another decision.
Laela would be their last child. Visella had given him so much.
Aeyla. Rhaegar. Aerion. Daenys. Helaena. Laela.
She had endured pain beyond measure to bring each of them safely into the world.
She had fought every battle the birthing bed demanded of her and now she had earned her rest.
Her war was over.
The thought should have brought him peace, but instead his heart ached.
Because one victory would forever remain incomplete.
Rhaenerys.
Their tiny daughter who had never truly had the chance to live.
A single tear escaped down his cheek and before anyone might notice, Aemond lifted a hand and brushed it away.
No. It would not do for the King Consort to be seen weeping in public.
Straightening his shoulders, he descended the steps and made his way towards the great gates of the Red Keep.
By the time he arrived, the guards were already hauling the immense oak gates open.
A carriage rolled slowly through the entrance.
It came to a halt. The door opened and Aethan stepped down first. He turned immediately and offered his hand inside.
Aeyla emerged from the carriage and accepted it. She descended carefully, dressed in her riding leathers for travel on dragon back, yet still every inch the Crown Princess.
Their hands remained entwined as they approached.
They stopped several paces before Aemond.
Aeyla swallowed. "Father, I—"
Aemond raised a hand. "Just what in the Seven Hells did you think you were doing?"
Aeyla blushed. "I know you're angry, Father, but—"
"Angry?" Aemond repeated “Angry doesn't even begin to cover what I'm feeling."
His gaze shifted to Aethan.
"And you, boy."
Aethan visibly jumped before lowering his head. "Y-yes, Father."
Aemond took one slow step forward. "Count yourself fortunate that you are my son. Because if you were anyone else, you would no longer be breathing."
"You have insulted House Stark. You have disregarded your duty to your family, the realm, and the crown you are one day meant to wear."
Aeyla looked close to tears. "But Mother, she—"
"Yes."
Aemond sighed heavily. "I am well aware of your mother's involvement. But she has suffered enough these past few days, and I will not hinder her recovery by arguing with her over this."
Aeyla frowned. "Recovery?" Her expression changed instantly. "Why, what's wrong with Mother?"
Aemond's jaw tightened. "She entered her labours early."
Aeyla gasped. “What of the babe? Is-is mother well?"
"The babe is healthy."
Relief flickered across Aeyla's face but disappeared just as quickly when Aemond continued.
"As for your mother, the birth was difficult."
He thought of Visella's screams. Her tears, the blood and the terrifying silence before Laela had cried.
"But the Grand Maester says she will recover, though she is confined to bed."
Aeyla's eyes immediately filled with tears. "Oh gods. This is my fault."
"Aeyla—"
But she was already crying and without another word, she gathered up her skirts and ran towards the castle.
"Aeyla!"
Aethan called after her before looking apologetically at Aemond.
"I'll go after her."
Then he turned and ran after his wife.
Aemond remained standing in the gateway long after they had disappeared inside.
The doors to the royal chambers flew open with such force they rebounded against the stone walls.
"Princess—" Ser Quinn began from somewhere behind her, but she was already inside.
Aethan hurried after her, breathing heavily from chasing her all the way through the Red Keep.
Aeyla came to an abrupt halt and her heart clenched.
Visella was propped comfortably against a mountain of pillows upon their great bed, her long dark hair hanging in a loose braid over her shoulder. She looked paler than usual, her face still bearing the exhaustion of childbirth, but she smiled all the same.
Nestled against her breast was a tiny infant, nursing contentedly.
Visella looked up and her tired smile immediately brightened.
"Tala" she said warmly. "You're home."
Aeyla's eyes filled with tears as she crossed the room, stopping beside the bed. "Mama”
Visella smiled reassuringly. "I'll be fine, sweet girl. Come meet your new sister."
"A sister?"
Visella nodded before carefully adjusting the infant, supporting her tiny head so Aeyla could see her properly without disturbing her feeding.
"There she is."
Aeyla gasped softly. "Oh. She's so beautiful. Look at all that hair."
Visella laughed quietly as her fingers lovingly stroked the baby's thick dark curls. "I know."
There was unmistakable pride in her voice.
Aeyla smiled. "She looks like she has enough hair for three babies."
"I thought exactly the same."
For a few moments, neither of them spoke. They simply admired the newest member of their family.
Then Aeyla looked back at her mother. "Are you truly well, Mama?"
Visella smiled gently. "Nothing a few days' rest won't cure."
Aeyla folded her arms. "I think that's wishful thinking on your part, Mother."
Visella rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, don't you start. I have enough with your father's fussing."
Aeyla couldn't help smiling. "That sounds like Father."
Visella studied her daughter's face for a moment. "What's wrong?"
Aeyla immediately shook her head. "Nothing."
Aethan stepped forward then, resting a reassuring hand upon his wife's shoulder. "Father was quite angry upon our return."
Visella wasn't surprised.
She shifted Laela onto her shoulder, gently patting the tiny girl's back until a soft little burp escaped her.
"There now."
Only then did she look back at them.
"He worries about the realm and how House Stark will receive the news of your marriage. But more than that, he's hurt that he wasn't consulted."
Aethan lowered his head. "We didn't mean for Father to feel that way."
Visella's voice was gentle. "I know and I regret the part that I played. But mayhaps it would help if you both went and spoke to him."
Aeyla shifted awkwardly. "Do you think that will help?"
Visella smiled. "If you don't try tala, then you'll never know."
Aethan nodded. "Mother's right."
Aeyla let out a long breath. "All right. But first, may I hold my sister?"
Visella's smile returned in full. "Of course."
Very carefully, she transferred the tiny bundle into Aeyla's waiting arms.
Aeyla held her tiny sister as though she were made of spun glass. "I forgot to ask-what's her name?"
"Laela."
Aeyla beamed. "The most wonderful name in all the Seven Kingdoms. Welcome to our family, little princess."
As though recognising her sister's voice, Laela's sleepy violet eyes slowly fluttered open.
She blinked up at Aeyla with solemn curiosity.
Aeyla whispered. “Oh, she's looking at me."
Visella smiled fondly. "She certainly is."
Aethan stepped closer to the bed.
Without a word, he reached down and gently took Visella's hand between both of his.
His voice was quiet. "I'm glad you're well, Mother."
Visella looked at him for a long moment. Then she frowned. "Oh, you."
Before he could react, she gave his hand a sharp tug.
Caught completely off guard, Aethan stumbled forward until Visella wrapped one arm around him in an awkward but determined hug.
"Don't you start fussing now."
Aethan laughed despite himself. "I wouldn't dream of it."
He bent down and kissed her gently on the cheek before straightening once more.
Visella smiled contentedly as she looked at Aeyla cradling Laela, with Aethan standing faithfully beside her, and she felt something warm settle in her heart.
Aemond stood silently beneath the great weirwood tree in the godswood, his arms clasped behind his back as the pale branches stretched overhead like ancient hands reaching towards the heavens.
Its carved face watched him with unblinking eyes.
A cool breeze stirred the crimson leaves, sending them whispering through the air.
His thoughts drifted, unbidden, far from King's Landing. To Harrenhal. To another weirwood.
He remembered standing beneath its branches as rain fell upon the cursed castle, and Alys was speaking in riddles that somehow only seemed to make sense once the moment had passed.
He had not thought of her as often in recent years.
Life with Visella and their children had filled the spaces grief had once occupied.
Yet every so often, something would awaken an old memory.
A scent. A place. A dream and there she was again.
Not as the woman he had loved in the fevered madness of war, but simply as someone who had once shared a piece of his soul.
And with her, Aelarr.
Aemond lowered his gaze and bent to retrieve a single crimson leaf that had drifted onto the grass.
He held it in the palm of his hand for a moment.
Then smiled faintly as he opened his fingers. The breeze caught the leaf at once, carrying it skyward until it disappeared.
Then the sound of footsteps.
Aemond turned to see Aeyla and Aethan walking towards him together.
Aemond studied them both for a long moment.
Then his voice softened. "Is your mother well?"
Aeyla nodded immediately. "As well as expected, but Father, I—"
Aemond held up a hand. "I do not wish to hear it."
Aeyla swallowed before stepping closer anyway. "Please, Father, try to understand."
Aemond looked at her steadily. "Oh. I understand perfectly, tala."
She took another tentative step. "We didn't do this to hurt you. We did it because we love each other."
Aemond gave a quiet scoff. "You're scarcely six-and-ten. You have no idea what love is."
Aeyla's chin lifted defiantly. "Yes, I do. Love is wanting to be with Aethan every waking moment of the day."
She looked lovingly towards her husband.
"It's feeling as though his heart is beating right alongside mine own. It's knowing I cannot bear to be parted from him for even a moment and it's knowing that he hates quickly plucked blackberries because he prefers them left upon the vine to ripen a little longer."
Aethan looked both embarrassed and delighted. "You remembered."
"Of course I did."
Aemond folded his arms. "And you think that's love?"
Aeyla met his gaze without hesitation. "I know it's love. Because I've spent my entire life watching you love Mother and watching her love you in return."
For just a moment, Aemond's stern expression faltered. "What your mother and I have. We had to fight for."
Aeyla stepped close enough to gently take his hand. "I know and because you fought for one another, you showed me what it means to love and what it means to be loved in return."
Aemond slowly turned her hand over. His eye settled upon the fresh red line crossing her palm. His thumb brushed gently over it. "You spoke the words."
Aeyla nodded. "We did."
Silence lingered between them.
Then Aemond exhaled slowly. "I remember the day you were born. I feared I would never be able to love another child after losing Aelarr."
Aeyla whispered “Oh, father”
Aemond’s gaze drifted somewhere far away. "I thought my heart had no room left. But then you were placed you in my arms and every fear I carried simply vanished. Ñuha riñītsos" (My little girl).
Aeyla's own eyes glistened. "Were you never disappointed, that I wasn't a boy?"
Aemond looked almost offended by the question. "Never."
The answer came without even a heartbeat's hesitation.
Aeyla smiled through fresh tears. "I'm sorry, I should have come to you."
Aemond squeezed her hand. "I understand why you didn't. But do you realise the political headache you've caused your mother?"
Aethan finally stepped forward.
"No matter the consequences. I'll bear them myself. So she doesn't have to."
Aemond released Aeyla's hand. "It will not be that simple. House Stark has been insulted. We must find a way for your union to be accepted without inviting quarrel."
Aeyla frowned thoughtfully. "What if Mother legitimised Aethan? Named him a Targaryen?"
Aemond rubbed thoughtfully at his jaw. "Your mother caused quite enough scandal by introducing equal primogeniture throughout the realm. If he were legitimised, he is older than you. Some would argue that he possesses a stronger claim to the Iron Throne."
Aethan immediately shook his head. "I don't want it and I'll declare it before the whole realm if I have to. I have no wish to be king."
Aeyla frowned. "But surely he doesn't have to. Mother is the ruling Queen. The line of succession flows through her. Aethan isn't Mother's son by blood. So why should it matter?"
Aemond considered the thought for several moments. "It is an interesting argument. But regardless, the insult to House Stark still requires remedy."
Aethan suddenly brightened. "Doesn't Lord Stark rather like Mother? Maybe she could—"
Aemond's head snapped towards him. "Finish that sentence, boy and I'll have you flogged."
Aethan visibly paled. “Understood."
Aeyla rolled her eyes. "There must be a way, Father."
Aemond nodded. "There is, I simply haven't found it yet and with your mother still recovering from birthing Laela. I will not place unnecessary burdens upon her shoulders."
Aeyla nodded immediately. "Neither will I, but whether you care to admit it or not, Aethan is right. Mother could perhaps intercede with Lord Stark. They do seem to have an affinity with one another."
Aemond's eye narrowed again. "Never say that again."
Aeyla laughed. "Oh, Father. Grow up."
Aemond folded his arms across his chest. "I will not."
Aethan glanced between the two of them before letting out a quiet, involuntary chuckle.
For the first time since their return, the tension eased.
Not completely but for today it was enough.
Later that afternoon, Aemond stood beside the bed in their chambers, his arms folded loosely as he looked upon the delightful chaos before him.
Visella reclined comfortably against a mound of pillows, whilst Laela again nursed contentedly at her breast.
Pressed close around her were their other children.
Rhaegar sat nearest to his mother, one hand absentmindedly stroking the baby's tiny foot.
Aerion and Daenys had somehow managed to wedge themselves between the pillows despite there clearly not being enough room for the pair of them.
And Helaena was practically draped across the bed, her wild curls sticking out in every direction as she peered intently at her newest sister.
Visella looked up at Aemond over the babe's head. "Where are Aeyla and Aethan?"
Aemond's expression flattened almost immediately. "Aeyla is with the Grand Maester."
Visella frowned. "Why?"
Aemond released an exaggerated sigh. "You know why."
Realisation dawned across Visella's face. "Oh. Aemond, it is far too early to know if she is with child”
“No harm in checking”
Visella couldn't help laughing. "You’re impossible."
"I am just being practical."
Visella smiled warmly. "They're married now, valzȳrys"
"I am painfully aware"
Visella sighed "And as much as you don’t like it- a child will come sooner than late”
Aemond muttered under his breath. "I much preferred it when she was still small enough to hold in my arms”
Visella laughed. “Oh, Aemond she couldn’t stay that little girl forever”
Before Aemond could respond, Rhaegar looked up with a bright smile. "Mother?"
Visella glanced down at him. "Yes, my love?"
"When you're well again, can we fly together?"
Visella returned the smile without hesitation. "Of course we can."
No sooner had the words left her lips than two smaller voices erupted together.
"I want to come too!"
"So do I!"
"No, I said it first!"
"No, I did!"
Aerion pointed accusingly at Daenys. "You always copy me!"
"I do not!"
"You do!"
"I don't!"
Visella let out an amused little huff. Before she could intervene—
Aemond cleared his throat. The sound alone was enough. "Both of you, cease your squabbling this instant."
Aerion and Daenys both jumped. Their little shoulders straightened immediately.
"Yes, Father."
"Yes, Father."
Aemond gave a single satisfied nod. "Much better."
While everyone's attention had been elsewhere, Helaena quietly shuffled further up the bed until she was tucked into the crook of Visella's arm.
She rested her cheek there thoughtfully.
"Mama?"
Visella looked down fondly. "Yes, sweetling?"
Helaena blinked innocently. "Where do babes come from?"
Silence.
Visella slowly looked up.
Her eyes met Aemond's and he immediately became utterly fascinated by the sleeve of his leather tunic.
Visella smiled gently at Helaena. "That is something you'll learn when you're older."
Helaena frowned. "Why?"
Visella brushed a curl from her daughter's forehead. “Because you're only six years old and far too young to know such things."
Aerion snorted. "I know where babes come from”
Aemond's head snapped up. "You do?"
Aerion nodded proudly. "Father put the babe in there."
Helaena's eyes grew enormous. "How?"
Before Aerion could answer, Aemond moved faster than either Visella or the children expected.
In one smooth motion he leaned forward, scooped Helaena into his arms and stood upright.
"My, such a curious little dragon today."
Helaena giggled.
"Why don't we go to the gardens instead? You can look for more ladybirds."
Her entire face lit up.
"Yes please, Daddy!"
Aemond quietly released the breath he'd been holding.
He lowered Helaena to the floor before turning his attention to Aerion. "I will have no more of that sort of talk around your sisters, and who told you anyway?”
Aerion answered without the slightest hesitation. "Uncle Egg."
Visella covered her mouth, already trying not to laugh.
Aerion continued happily. "He said that men have seeds inside them and they plant them inside the women when they go to bed together- but he didn’t tell me how they put the seeds in”
Visella gave an entirely unhelpful shrug. "I mean, it could be worse."
Aemond slowly turned to look at her. "Oh. It will be, for your brother when I get hold of him"
Visella laughed openly now. "Oh, Aemond. Stop being so dramatic and take our little bug hunter to the gardens before she disappears on her own, again"
Aemond looked genuinely offended. "She gave me the slip once and you still hold it against me."
Visella nodded firmly. "Yes. Because she found a nest of spiders and let them loose throughout the Red Keep."
Helaena looked utterly delighted by the memory. "They were making friends. Are you scared of spiders, Mama?"
Visella paused thoughtfully. "They have their place in the world. Just not anywhere near me."
Helaena burst into laughter. "Mama. You're funny."
Aemond bent down and lifted her back into his arms. "Right then. Daenys, Aerion-you'll both be joining us."
The pair groaned in perfect unison.
"But Father."
Aemond was already walking towards the door. "No buts. Now. The both of you."
Aerion dramatically sighed as though burdened by the greatest injustice imaginable.
Daenys copied him. The siblings shuffled reluctantly from the bed before hurrying after their father.
Helaena waved enthusiastically from Aemond's shoulder. "Bye, Mama!"
"Don't let the ladybirds escape!" Visella called after her.
"I won't!"
The chamber door closed behind them and the room became wonderfully quiet.
Only the soft crackle of the fire remained.
Rhaegar was now the only child left beside the bed. He leaned gently against his mother's side, careful not to jostle Laela as she continued nursing peacefully.
Visella smiled as she reached out, her fingers combing gently through Rhaegar's silver hair before ruffling it affectionately.
"Is everything alright, sweet boy?" she asked softly. "You've been rather quiet."
Rhaegar let out a small sigh, his shoulders rising and falling. "I'm worried about Aeyla and Aethan."
Visella adjusted Laela against her breast as the babe suckled contentedly, her free hand resting lightly beneath her daughter's back.
"What worries you?"
Rhaegar lowered his gaze. "What if Lord Stark is insulted? What if he says their marriage isn't lawful and forces Aeyla to marry Rickon anyway?"
Visella shifted Laela onto her shoulder, gently rubbing the baby's back until a tiny burp escaped her.
"You are such a thoughtful boy," she said warmly. "But do not carry burdens that belong to your father and me. We will find a way through this."
Rhaegar remained unconvinced. "If need be, I will offer my own hand in marriage to Sarra Stark."
Visella froze. "You what?"
Rhaegar met her eyes earnestly. "If it helps Aeyla, then I will do what I must."
A flicker of heartbreak crossed Visella's face. "No."
Rhaegar frowned. "But Mother—"
Visella’s voice cracked with unexpected emotion. "-You are not to offer yourself as payment for someone else's happiness. Do you hear me?"
"I only wanted to help"
Visella’s eyes shimmered with tears as she steadied Laela with one arm and reached out with the other to cup her son's cheek.
"I know you did. But you are my son. I carried you beneath my heart and I brought you into this world. I will never ask you to sacrifice your own happiness to mend a problem that belongs to me."
Rhaegar's own eyes softened. "But mother-”
"Please, promise me that you’ll never say such a thing again."
Rhaegar nodded immediately. "I promise, Mother."
Visella leaned forward and kissed his brow. "Thank you."
Rhaegar took her hand gently between both of his. "I just hate seeing you worried."
Visella laughed quietly. "And I hate seeing you trying to solve the realm's problems before you've even become a man grown."
That finally earned a grin.
As he held her hand, his eyes suddenly dropped to her little finger. "Mother-"
"What is it?"
Rhaegar lifted her hand slightly. "Your little finger. It's crooked, just like mine”
Visella laughed. "Inherited from your grandmother."
"Queen Rhaenyra?"
Visella nodded. "Your Uncle Lucerys also had a crooked finger”
Rhaegar studied his hand for a long moment before smiling faintly. "I wish I could have met him, and Uncle Jace”
A shadow crossed Visella's face. "So, do I. They would have adored you."
Rhaegar smiled sadly before carefully taking Laela from Visella's arms. "I've got her."
He cradled the sleeping infant with remarkable confidence before laying her carefully into the cradle beside the bed, tucking the blanket around her tiny body.
As he watched his baby sister sleep, another thought surfaced. "Is it true"
Visella immediately recognised the seriousness in his voice. "What is it?"
"That my father killed Uncle Luke?"
The question struck like an arrow.
She remained silent for several moments before nodding. “Yes”
Rhaegar continued softly "It is true that Luke died above Storm's End. They say Father chased him through the storm on the back of Vhagar."
Visella closed her eyes briefly. "Yes."
Rhaegar frowned. "Then Father is a kinslayer?"
Visella drew a slow breath. "Your father never intended for Luke to die. It was a tragedy born from fear and pride”
Rhaegar looked unconvinced. "But Luke still died and it was Father's fault. How could you forgive him?"
"It wasn't easy," she admitted softly.
"No?"
Visella shook her head. "There were days when I hated him and couldn't bear to look at him. But with time came understanding."
She looked towards the open balcony doors, where the afternoon breeze stirred the curtains.
"Your father did not wake that morning intending to kill Lucerys."
Rhaegar nodded solemnly.
Visella sighed. "He wanted to frighten Luke. To make him answer for taking his eye all those years before. But dragons are not horses and no matter how strong the bond, there are moments when even a dragon rider cannot command them."
Rhaegar frowned thoughtfully. "So, it was Vhagar who killed Luke."
Visella nodded “Yes”
Rhaegar continued quietly. “Is that what started the Dance of the Dragons"
Visella was silent for several minutes. Then she slowly shook her head. "No. The Dance didn’t begin with Luke's death. It had begun long before that, we were simply too blind to see it."
Rhaegar listened intently.
"The seeds of that war were planted long before the dragons danced. Some would argue that it began the day Luke took your father's eye. Others would say it began the day your great-grandsire, King Viserys, fathered a son."
Rhaegar thought about that. "Because people wanted Aegon to inherit instead of my grandmother?"
"Yes. Even after Viserys repeatedly named my mother his heir, there were those who refused to accept that a woman should sit the Iron Throne, but there are others who would say it began even earlier still."
"When?"
"The Great Council of Harrenhal."
Rhaegar frowned. "When Princess Rhaenys was passed over?"
Visella smiled. "You have been paying attention in your lessons."
Rhaegar grinned sheepishly “I like to learn”
Visella continued, "That council planted a seed. A dangerous one. The belief that a woman's claim could be set aside in favour of a man. Luke's death did not begin the Dance. It merely ensured there was no turning back."
Rhaegar absorbed her words in silence. "So, there wasn't just one moment."
Visella smiled sadly. “No. Wars are seldom born from a single act. They are born from countless grievances, pride, fear, ambition and old wounds left to fester. That is why peace must be tended every day."
Rhaegar nodded slowly as he listened to every word his mother spoke.
"Because once hatred takes root, it can consume generations."
Rhaegar sighed "I think, I understand now."
Visella smiled. "I pray you never understand it completely."
Rhaegar looked at her curiously. "Why?"
"Because that would mean you had lived through a war of your own and I'll do everything I can to make sure that never happens."
Aemond sat at the head of the council table, his fingers tapping a slow, impatient rhythm against the polished wood.
Around him sat Cregan Stark, his wife Alysanne and Rickon, along with Alyn Velaryon, Thaddeus Rowan, Unwin Peake, Oscar Tully and Grand Maester Orwyle.
Aeyla and Aethan hovered awkwardly beside Aemond's chair, neither daring to sit.
Rhaegar had been given the unenviable task of pouring wine for the council members, moving quietly around the table.
At last, Lord Unwin Peake cleared his throat.
"The Crown Princess has forsaken her duty, Your Grace, and it cannot go unanswered."
Aemond's fingers stopped tapping. "And what do you suggest, Lord Unwin? That I forcibly marry my daughter against her will to a man she does not desire?"
Unwin sighed "Be that as it may, Your Grace, your daughter is the Crown Princess. She was betrothed to Rickon Stark, and yet she now stands before this council having wed another."
Aemond pursed his lips. "I confess myself less than pleased with what my daughter has done."
Aeyla lowered her head.
"But," Aemond continued, "it is not something I can change."
Unwin leaned forward. "The marriage was not blessed by the High Septon, nor was it conducted under the Faith of the Seven. Surely there can be no validity in—"
The great doors to the council chamber suddenly opened.
A Queens guard stepped forward "-Visella of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm"
The entire council rose.
Visella entered slowly, her crown resting upon her silver-gold hair, one hand braced upon the arm of Ser Quinn.
She was still recovering from the difficult birth of Laela, and every step was measured carefully.
Aemond's expression immediately darkened.
As she approached her seat, he leaned toward her and lowered his voice. "What are you doing here? You should be resting."
Visella gave him a sideways look. "I'm here to oversee my council."
Aemond's jaw tightened. He knew that tone. There was no point arguing.
With a resigned sigh, he slipped an arm around her back to steady her. "Fetch a cushion for the Queen"
Aethan moved immediately.
Within moments, Aethan hurried forward with a cushion, and Aemond carefully guided Visella into her chair.
Only once she was comfortably seated did the rest of the council follow suit.
Visella drew a slow breath and looked directly toward Unwin Peake.
"Now, Lord Unwin, may I remind you that Valyrian marriage customs are considered a sacred bond, practised for generations in Old Valyria before the Doom?"
Unwin inclined his head. "But this is Westeros, Your Grace. Not Old Valyria."
Visella's eyes narrowed. "I'm not some witless fool, Lord Unwin. I am merely stating the importance of our Valyrian traditions."
Unwin lowered his gaze. "My apologies, Your Grace."
Visella nodded once before turning her attention toward Cregan. "If there is one voice I wish to hear in this matter, it is Lord Stark's."
Cregan remained composed. "The betrothal between my son and your daughter was brought before me by your own hand, Your Grace."
Visella exchanged a brief look with Aemond. "And you were gracious enough to accept my reasoning."
Cregan opened his mouth to answer, but Alysanne spoke first. "House Stark has been greatly insulted by your daughter's actions."
Aeyla shifted awkwardly.
Aethan immediately reached for her hand, threading his fingers through hers.
Visella noticed but she rubbed her temples. "An insult I wish to reconcile."
Alysanne's expression hardened. "The only way to do so is to annul your daughter's marriage to that boy and proceed with a legitimate marriage to Rickon, as was originally intended."
Visella's eyes narrowed. "And force my daughter into a union she does not wish for?"
Alysanne's chin lifted. "A union you were all too happy to agree to when it suited you."
The temperature in the room seemed to drop.
Aemond's head snapped toward her. "Lord Stark."
Cregan looked toward him.
Aemond's voice was dangerously calm. "You might wish to remind your lady wife that the betrothal was agreed upon before the two of you were wed and that she should hold her fucking tongue."
Silence descended over the chamber.
Alysanne's face flushed with anger, but before she could respond, Cregan took her hand and he gave his wife a firm shake of his head.
Alysanne stared at him for a moment before reluctantly falling silent.
Visella released a quiet breath and placed her hands upon the table.
"Now," she said, her voice calm but carrying across the chamber, "perhaps we can discuss the matter without losing our tempers"
Aemond glanced toward her. "That depends entirely upon how reasonable they intend to be."
Visella gave him a pointed look. "Valzȳrys."
Aemond leaned back in his chair. "Fine."
Visella held Cregan's gaze for a long moment before she finally spoke. "Lord Stark, you supported my mother during the war, and you were gracious enough to take care of my brother Aegon at a time when his life would have been forfeit."
Cregan's expression softened considerably. "My Queen—"
Visella lifted a hand gently, asking him to let her finish. "-You have been a constant support these many years and for that, I will always be grateful. I do humbly apologise for my daughter's actions, but I cannot, in good conscience, force her to wed a man she does not desire."
Alysanne's expression hardened. "You think your words of sentiment are enough to convince my husband to acquiesce?"
Visella's head snapped toward her. "MY WORDS OF SENTIMENT? HOW DARE YOU!”
Alysanne visibly flinched back in her seat as did several of the other council members.
But Visella was no longer willing to contain the anger that had been building within her.
"I was forced to wed the man who murdered my mother—in front of me!"
Her voice shook, but she continued.
"He was unable to sire children, so I was given to another. My wants and needs never mattered when it came to securing Aegon's legacy."
The chamber had fallen completely silent.
Visella's breathing had quickened. "I know what it is like to be forced into something I did not wish for. And I will not subject my daughter to the same thing."
Aemond stared at his wife. Something in her words had struck him and he suddenly understood.
This was why Visella had allowed Aeyla to follow her heart. Why she had refused to demand that her daughter return to Rickon.
It wasn't merely because Aeyla was her beloved child, it was because Visella knew what it meant to have her life decided by others.
Aemond's expression softened and without a word, he reached across and took Visella's hand.
He raised it gently to his lips and pressed a kiss against her knuckles.
Visella glanced at him, her anger momentarily giving way to affection.
Aemond gave her hand a reassuring squeeze before lowering it.
At last, Lord Oscar Tully cleared his throat. "The betrothal of the Princess was made when the realm was still recovering from the scars of war, and peace remained precarious. But in the years since, the realm has prospered under the rule of Queen Visella. Such a betrothal may no longer be necessary."
Oscar looked toward Cregan.
"Perhaps the Princess can simply be given leave to marry whom she chooses."
Thaddeus Rowan leaned back in his chair. "But the Princess has already married whom she chooses. And no doubt it has already been consummated."
Aeyla's cheeks turned bright red. Aethan suddenly found the floor extremely interesting.
Grand Maester Orwyle, apparently oblivious to their embarrassment, added matter-of-factly, "I examined the Princess upon her return from Dragonstone, at His Grace the King Consort's request. The marriage has indeed been consummated."
Aemond pulled a face.
Visella scowled. "As much as I appreciate the input of my other council members, I would prefer to discuss this matter with Lord Stark without further interruption."
Oscar immediately lowered his gaze.
Thaddeus cleared his throat. "Of course, Your Grace."
Cregan sighed heavily. "As the marriage has already been consummated, there is little left to argue against."
Cregan looked toward Visella and for several moments before speaking "My Queen. I will not pretend that I am pleased by what has happened."
Visella nodded solemnly. "I understand."
"My son was promised your daughter and for years, House Stark has regarded that betrothal as a solemn pact between our houses. My son was raised knowing that one day he would stand beside the Crown Princess as her husband and consort."
Aeyla lowered her eyes.
Cregan's expression softened for the briefest moment before hardening again. "And then, without warning, your daughter disappears to Dragonstone and marries another man."
"I accept that you are angry, Lord Stark."
"Angry?" Cregan repeated.
Aemond's eye narrowed, but Visella placed a calming hand upon his arm.
Cregan exhaled through his nose. "Yes. I am angry. And I have every right to be."
Visella nodded. "You do."
That answer seemed to disarm him slightly.
Cregan had expected an argument.
Instead, he found himself looking at the woman who had once been a frightened young princess in need of protection.
He remembered the war. Remembered the first time she had asked for his help.
Remembered Aegon, a frightened boy whose life had depended upon the North's protection, and he remembered Visella's gratitude afterward.
She had never forgotten what he had done for her family. And despite himself, neither had he.
Cregan sighed heavily and rubbed a hand over his beard. "Seven hells, Visella."
It was the first time he had used her name rather than her title.
"You make it exceedingly difficult to remain angry with you."
A faint, almost apologetic smile touched Visella's lips. "I have been told I have that effect."
Cregan gave a reluctant huff that was almost a laugh. "Do not mistake that for forgiveness."
"I would never."
Cregan’s eyes moved toward Aeyla and Aethan. "But neither will I demand that your daughter be forced into a marriage she does not want."
Aeyla looked up hopefully.
Cregan raised a finger. "That does not mean I approve of how she went about it."
Aeyla immediately nodded. "I understand, Lord Stark."
"And you," Cregan said, turning toward Aethan.
Aethan straightened.
"You have caused my son considerable humiliation."
Aethan lowered his head. "I am sorry."
Cregan studied him for several seconds. "But you are also the son of the King Consort."
Aemond's expression tightened slightly.
Cregan continued. "And whether I like it or not, you are now married to the Crown Princess."
Aethan nodded. "Yes, my lord."
Cregan sighed. "Then I suppose we must find a way to make the best of an unpleasant situation."
Visella's shoulders relaxed slightly. "I am grateful and if you are willing, we can discuss what the Crown can offer House Stark to repair the insult”
Cregan studied her. "What offer?"
Visella considered her words. "An exemption from certain Crown taxes. Written permission to build new fortifications where you deem them necessary. Additional funding for the Night's Watch. And expanded trade rights through White Harbor."
Cregan's brows rose slightly. "That is very generous, Your Grace."
He glanced briefly toward Alysanne before returning his attention to the Queen.
"And I am more than happy to accept."
Visella released a quiet breath of relief. "You are most gracious, Lord Stark. And I hope the Crown can maintain its prosperous alliance with the North for many years to come."
Cregan inclined his head. "You have my word, Your Grace."
Visella nodded. "Then perhaps we can finally put this matter to rest."
Unwin Peake cleared his throat. "The North may be appeased, Your Grace, but the boy your daughter has wed is still a bastard."
Visella sighed softly. "Which is why I intend to legitimise Aethan as a Targaryen. An offical ceremony will be arranged for next week"
A sharp intake of breath came from Thaddeus Rowan.
"But Your Grace, the line of succession—"
Visella raised a hand. "The succession is secure, my lord. Aeyla will remain my heir."
Unwin Peake leaned forward. "But the boy is older than your daughter. And by your introduction of equal primogeniture, would he not then have a claim to the Iron Throne?"
Visella smiled faintly. "No, he would not. Because I am the ruling Queen. The line of succession flows through me. Aethan is not my son by blood, and therefore his legitimisation does not supersede my daughter's claim. My daughter remains my heir."
Oscar Tully stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Do you think that will be enough to appease the other lords of Westeros, Your Grace?"
Visella pursed her lips. "A wise ruler takes the advice of her council into consideration. What else would you suggest, my lord?"
Oscar smiled. "Perhaps the High Septon could also bless the marriage between the Princess and the..." He hesitated briefly, glancing toward Aethan. "Er—Prince."
At the word Prince, Aethan visibly flushed.
His shoulders stiffened and his gaze dropped toward the floor, clearly unused to hearing the title being applied to him.
Visella noticed but returned her attention to Oscar. "A wise suggestion, my lord. Do the other members of my council agree?"
One by one, the council members nodded. Even Unwin Peake, though visibly reluctant, eventually gave a stiff inclination of his head.
Visella smiled as she rose to her feet. "Very well. Now that we are all in agreement, today's council meeting can be dismissed."
The other councillors rose with her.
"Unless there are any other matters that warrant discussion?"
Silence.
Visella glanced around the table. "Very well. We shall meet again on the morrow."
Aemond immediately moved to her side, offering his arm.
Visella accepted it gratefully.
Aeyla and Aethan followed behind them, with Rhaegar bringing up the rear.
As they left the council chamber, Aethan glanced down at his hands, still seeming somewhat bewildered by everything that had just been decided.
Aethan stood alone in the training yard, sword drawn, his movements measured and precise as he struck the wooden dummy again and again.
The clang of steel against wood echoed through the yard.
He stepped back, pivoted, and brought the blade down in another sharp strike.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
Aethan paused and he turned to see Visella standing a short distance away.
“I needed to clear my head.”
Visella sighed softly as she approached him. “And hitting a wooden dummy aides in such a thing?”
Aethan nodded as he sheathed his sword. “Immensely.”
Visella reached for his hand, gently taking it between her own. “Have I offended you?”
Aethan frowned immediately. “No. Never. How could you ask such a thing?”
Visella gave him a small smile. “In the council meeting, I saw how uncomfortable you were when you were granted the title of Prince. And then you simply slunk away without so much as a word.”
Aethan bit his lip, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I do not think myself worthy of being titled Prince.”
Visella's brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Aethan slowly withdrew his hand from hers. “I'm a bastard.”
Visella stared at him for a moment before giving a quiet, almost incredulous laugh. “So am I.”
Aethan's head snapped up. “What?”
Visella smiled faintly. “Oh, come now. Surely you've heard the whispers. My years as Queen have not prevented such talk.”
Aethan's expression hardened. “The musings of witless dotards are of no matter to me.”
Visella laughed softly. “You sound remarkably like your father when you speak like that. But in truth, Aethan, I am a bastard. I am not the child of Laenor Velaryon. I was sired by Ser Harwin Strong.”
Aethan cocked his head. “Who?”
Visella blinked before laughing. “He was the commander of the City Watch.”
Aethan considered this for a moment before asking quietly, “What was he like?”
Visella's expression softened. “A good man who loved my mother very much.”
Aethan's eyes lowered. “What happened to him?”
Visella took a slow breath. “There were a great many whispers about his closeness to my mother and eventually, he made the decision to return to Harrenhal for a time. But there was a fire and he perished alongside his father.”
Aethan's expression fell. “I'm sorry to hear of it.”
Visella reached up and gently placed a finger beneath his chin, raising his face until he looked at her.
“So, if you think yourself unworthy of being a prince because of how you came into this world, then tell me—am I worthy to be Queen?”
Aethan looked almost aghast. “You are more than worthy. Mother, you are everything to me. And to the realm.”
Visella smiled warmly. “As you are everything to me. Your birth does not determine your worth, Aethan. What matters is the man you choose to become.”
Aethan swallowed.
Visella's expression became gently stern. “So never doubt your worth again. You are my son, whether the blood in your veins came from me or not. And if the realm calls you Prince, then you will carry that title with your head held high.”
Aethan gave a small, emotional smile. “I promise, Mother.”
Visella smiled and squeezed his hand once more. “Good. Because I will not have my son hiding in the training yard every time someone gives him a title he believes he hasn't earned.”
Aethan laughed softly. “I suppose I shall have to get used to it.”
Visella leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You will, and I know you’ll make me proud.”
Aethan's smile widened. “I'll try.”
The shadow of Vhagar swept across the Red Keep.
Visella looked up instinctively.
High above them, the ancient dragon passed overhead, her enormous wings beating slowly against the sky.
Behind her came a procession of dragons—Archonei, Vhagon, Meraxes, Skysong and Saphiron—all following in loose formation.
The air filled with the trills and roars of dragons and the distant laughter of their riders.
Visella smiled as she glanced towards Aethan. “Let’s join them.”
Aethan mused curiously “What of Laela?”
Visella smiled “She is in the company of Ser Moore, so shall we?”
Aethan's face brightened immediately, and he followed her as they made their way towards a waiting carriage.
He paused as Visella climbed inside.
“You already had this waiting?”
Visella nodded. “I did.”
Aethan climbed in after her, looking at her suspiciously. “How did you know I’d agree to come?”
Visella laughed softly. “A mother knows her son.”
The carriage soon began moving through the gates of the Red Keep, its wheels rumbling over the cobbled streets of King's Landing.
Aethan looked through the window as they passed through the bustling city.
Merchants called out from their stalls, displaying fruits, vegetables, cloth and spices. People crowded the streets, going about their daily business, while children laughed as they chased one another with sticks.
The red-and-black Targaryen banners hanging from various buildings fluttered gently in the breeze.
Aethan smiled as he watched the city pass by.
Eventually, the carriage left the city behind and arrived at the meadow where the dragons nested.
Aethan opened the door and stepped down before turning back to offer his hand to Visella.
She placed hers in his and carefully stepped down from the narrow carriage step.
Together they walked into the tall grass. A deep rumble sounded from ahead.
The enormous bronze form of Vermithor rose from where he had been resting. His great head lowered as Visella approached.
Visella smiled warmly and reached up, running her hand along his enormous snout.
“Gevī Vermitōs” (Good).
Vermithor trilled happily. Then, with surprising affection, he nudged his snout against Visella's chest.
Visella laughed and placed both hands against his muzzle. “Lykirī”
Vermithor huffed, blowing a wave of hot air across her face. Visella laughed again before turning to face Aethan who was standing several paces behind her.
She looked towards Silverwing, who was resting nearby, her enormous silver wings folded against her body.
“Why not give it a try?”
Aethan stared at her. “You cannot expect me to claim her.”
“Why not?”
Aethan sighed. “I just-I've heard the stories about the Dance. And the last time a bastard claimed a dragon, it did not end well.”
Visella's expression hardened. “You are not Hugh Hammer, nor are you Ulf the White. You are Aethan Targaryen, and you are more worthy than either of those two treasonous cunts combined.”
Aethan's eyes widened. “Mother!”
Visella shrugged. “It is true. But if you do not want to, I will not force you.”
For several moments Aethan simply stared at Silverwing. The great she-dragon seemed to be watching him in return.
“What if she rejects me?”
Visella's voice softened. “You'll never know if you don't try.”
Aethan took a deep breath. Then he slowly began walking towards Silverwing.
The dragon's head rose. Her tail lashed against the ground, sending a cloud of dust into the air.
Visella watched carefully. “Don't stop. Show her your worth.”
Silverwing bared her teeth. A low growl rumbled through the meadow.
Aethan's heart hammered against his ribs, but he held his ground.
“Dohaerās Silverwing.” (Serve)
The dragon growled louder.
“Lykirī”
Silverwing suddenly reared.
Her enormous wings spread wide and she released a deafening roar.
Visella instinctively stepped forward.
For one terrifying moment she wondered if she had made a terrible mistake.
Vermithor trilled curiously beside her, watching the encounter.
But Aethan did not retreat. He stood before the silver dragon, his hand still extended.
“Lykirī”
Silverwing lowered herself slightly.
Aethan took another step. “My mother believes in my worth and I want to make her proud.”
Silverwing's golden eyes remained fixed upon him.
Aethan slowly moved closer. Until he was close enough to reach the strap attached to the saddle.
His fingers curled around it.
“Embrot, Silverwing.” (Down)
For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then Silverwing lowered her shoulder.
Aethan stared in disbelief.
Visella's face broke into a proud smile. “Go on.”
Aethan climbed carefully onto the saddle.
Visella called across the meadow. “Don't forget the safety chains! You don't want to fall out!”
The great bronze dragon began lumbering across the meadow. Then his wings unfurled.
With several powerful beats, Vermithor lifted himself from the ground and soared into the sky.
Aethan watched his mother disappear above him.
Silverwing shifted impatiently beneath him.
Aethan tightened his grip. “Easy.”
The dragon gave a low rumble.
Aethan looked towards the open sky.
He had flown before on Vhagar with his father. He had flown upon Vermithor with his mother and even flown upon Archonei alongside Aeyla.
But this was different. This was his dragon. His bond.
Aethan swallowed hard. “Sōvēs, Silverwing.”
Silverwing spread her enormous wings and leapt into the sky, the ground vanished beneath them.
Aethan's stomach lurched as Silverwing climbed sharply into the sky, her wings catching the wind.
Then he laughed. The fear was still there. But beneath it was something else.
Something he had never felt before, the faint echo behind his heart, of a new bond snapping into place.
Silverwing banked gracefully through the clouds, and Aethan laughed again as the wind tore through his hair.
Far ahead, Visella looked back from Vermithor's saddle and she smiled.
For the first time, Aethan was not merely the bastard who had been born from grief and circumstance.
He was a dragonrider. He was a Targaryen and Silverwing had chosen him.
Aemond flew high above the clouds upon Vhagar, her enormous wings beating steadily as they soared across the open sky.
Helaena was securely fastened into the saddle in front of him, her small hands gripping the pommel as she stared wide-eyed at the world below.
Aemond tugged gently on the reins. “Geptot Vhagus” (Left)
Vhagar banked, her immense bulk moving gracefully through the sky despite her age.
Behind them came the others.
Archonei, Vhagon, Meraxes, Skysong and Saphiron followed in loose formation, their younger bodies darting and weaving through the air with an ease Vhagar had long since abandoned.
Helaena squealed delightedly whenever one of the younger dragons swooped close.
Aemond smiled faintly.
She was still too young to command Saphiron alone, which was why she had been bundled securely into the saddle in front of him.
Daenys, meanwhile, had only recently been permitted to fly Skysong without a parent beside her.
Aemond therefore kept a watchful eye on her.
He trusted Daenys and he trusted Skysong to keep her safe.
Then came a tremendous roar. Aemond looked up as Vermithor burst through the clouds.
The great bronze dragon folded his wings tightly against his body and plunged towards the water below.
Helaena gasped. “Look!”
Vermithor continued his dive. Faster and faster.
Then, mere moments before reaching the waves, his enormous wings snapped open.
The bronze fury pulled effortlessly out of the dive, skimming above the water before climbing sharply back towards the others.
Helaena clapped her hands. “Yay mama!”
Aemond laughed. “Your mother is determined to frighten me to death.”
Vermithor climbed until he reached the others, and soon the dragons began falling into formation.
Vhagar took the lead, her enormous wings carrying her steadily through the sky.
Then came another roar. Aemond turned to see Silverwing shoot thorugh the clouds.
Her silver scales flashed brilliantly beneath the sunlight as she darted forward, much faster than Vhagar could hope to match.
Aemond smiled when he spotted the rider.
Aethan.
The young prince sat proudly in Silverwing's saddle, his posture still carrying a trace of nervousness but his face alive with exhilaration.
Aeyla spotted him almost immediately.
She gave a delighted laugh and waved enthusiastically at her husband.
Rhaegar, Aerion and Daenys followed suit, cheering across the sky.
Helaena bounced excitedly in the saddle. “Daddy look! My big brother is flying!”
Aemond smiled. “Yes, he is.”
His gaze shifted towards Vermithor.
Visella was flying level with Vhagar now. For a moment, the two dragons flew side by side.
Aemond looked towards Visella and she looked back.
Without a word, Aemond reached one arm towards her and Visella did the same.
They could not quite reach one another. But they didn't need to. The gesture said everything.
Then Visella's hands tightened around Vermithor's reins.
Vermithor suddenly climbed. Then the great bronze dragon banked sharply to the right.
He rolled over the top of Vhagar, his enormous body turning upside down in a graceful arch before righting himself on the other side.
Aemond stared after them. “Show off!”
Visella's laughter carried across the sky, and Aemond shook his head, though the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.
Helaena giggled. “Mother is silly.”
Aemond agreed “Indeed she is”
Above them, Vermithor roared triumphantly as Visella laughed again, and the dragons continued soaring together beneath the endless blue sky.
For a moment there were no councils, no politics, no old wounds and no burdens of crowns.
You and your partner, Myro Smoak, have secrets you should take to your graves, but you're desperate. However, a war is brewing and you get caught in the middle of it. You discover the truth of Valyrian magic & dragons and try to save both.
Pairing : You (AFAB) x Aemond Targaryen, You x Myro (no smut between you)
Word Count : 2,091
WARNINGS : No use of Y/N, somewhat ooc Aemond (I had to make him more romantic and obsessed with you), smut, violence, alcohol, bonded mates (no smut between you, but it’s implied), slow burn, potential infertility, my fic does not follow the TV or book canon timeline because Aemond is 21 and claimed Vhagar at 12,
Savages Masterlist
Chapter Seven
The days turn into weeks. Council meetings, a visit to Driftmark to see Rhaenys, walks in the gardens, stolen moments in the library with a silver-haired prince who grows less guarded each time you meet. Viserys fades a little more with each day. A fortnight, the maesters say. Perhaps a moon.
This morning, the training ground is empty save for two figures circling each other with familiar ease. You and Myro. Your Xylos-Kala sits heavy in your grip, the curved hardwood warm against your palm.
Across from you, Myro twirls his own weapon once, a cocky grin splitting his face. "Ready to lose, Mel’dari?"
You don't answer. You lunge. The crack of wood against wood echoes across the yard. You're both breathing hard, moving in patterns learned since childhood, the weight of the weapons singing through your arms. Myro is faster, but you're sharper. You know his tells, the way his shoulder dips before a strike.
From the edge of the yard, silver hair catches your eye. Aemond stands in the shadow of the colonnade, arms crossed, watching. The heat of his gaze settles low in your belly.
"Distracted, little river?” Myro's voice cuts through the morning air, laced with mockery. He feints left, then swings right. You catch it on your Xylos-Kala, the impact jarring up your arm. "You're staring.” He presses the advantage, driving you back two steps. "He's just standing there," Myro continues, circling. "Watching. Very intensely. Like a hawk eyeing a mouse.”
You grit your teeth, pivoting to face him. "I'm not distracted.”
"No?" He lunges.
You sidestep, but his club catches your shoulder. You can feel the heat creeping up your neck. Damn him.
Myro grins, wide and insufferable, and drops into a lower stance. "If you want to stare at your prince, stare at your prince. But don't expect me to go easy on you because he's watching.” He attacks again. A flurry of strikes.
You block, dodge, parry. The wood cracks against wood, the sound echoing off the stone walls. From the corner of your eye, you catch Aemond shifting his weight. You misstep.
Myro's club catches your ribs enough to knock the breath from your lungs. You stumble sideways, gasping. "That's what I mean." Myro straightens, resting his weapon on his shoulder. There's no cruelty in his voice, only fond exasperation. "He'll still be there when we're done. One-eyed and brooding. I promise.” He jerks his chin toward the colonnade. "Go. Say hello. Get it out of your system. Then come back and actually fight me."
You step back, rolling your shoulder where his club caught you. The sting fades. You plant your feet, adjust your grip on the Xylos-Kala, and meet Myro's gaze. "I'm fine. Again.”
Myro's grin softens into something more serious. He recognises the shift in your stance. The way you drop your weight, the stillness that settles into your shoulders. He's seen it a thousand times. It means you've stopped thinking and started being.
"There she is," he says. He circles.
You pivot with him, matching his pace.
There's only the space between you and him. The familiar dance. Myro strikes first. You see it in his shoulder a heartbeat before he moves. That same tell you've known since childhood. You slide left, let his club whistle past your ear, and drive the butt of your Xylos-Kala into his ribs.
He grunts, stumbles, then recovers. "Good."He comes at you again, faster now. You meet him blow for blow. Your arms sing with the impact. You feint high, drop low, hook your club behind his knee and pull. He goes down hard. For a moment, on the ground, staring up at the grey sky. Then he laughs. "Alright. You've still got it.” He holds out his hand. You take it, haul him to his feet. He clasps your shoulder, squeezing once. "Better. Much better.”
You're both breathing hard, and from the colonnade, Aemond still watches. You grip your Xylos-Kala in one hand and wipe the sweat from your brow with the other, then cross to the colonnade.
Aemond doesn't move as you approach.He stands with his arms still crossed. He watches you come with that unreadable intensity he wears like a second skin.
You stop a few feet from him. Up close, you catch the faint scent of leather and dragon. "You've been watching.”
"I have.” His gaze drops to the Xylos-Kala in your hand, then rises back to your face. "You fight well. Different from what I'm used to seeing. Where did you learn to fight like that?”
Behind you, you hear Myro drinking from a waterskin, deliberately giving you space.
Aemond is not just making conversation. He genuinely wants to know.
"The Ocotli. My people taught me," you say, hefting the Xylos-Kala in your grip. "These are usually not meant to kill. Only to incapacitate."
Aemond's brow furrows slightly. His gaze drops to the weapon in your hand. The curved hardwood, the heavy stone ball at its end. "Then why carry them at all? You come from a people who carry weapons designed for mercy, and yet you're here, seeking dragons. Weapons designed for conquest.”
Behind you, you hear Myro packing up his gear. Giving you privacy.
"This weapon isn't used much these days. It was to take people for sacrifice." You shift. "To answer your question, I've been both. I'm good at killing. Whether I'm sent to kill someone, or as a form of execution, or on the battlefield. I'm good at it." You don't flinch. You've never seen the point in hiding what you are. The Ocotli don't raise warriors who lie about their hands.
“Good. I'm glad you're good at it.” His hand lifts and brushes a strand of hair from your face. His fingers linger at your temple. "This world doesn't reward soft hands. It rewards capable ones." His thumb traces the line of your cheekbone, something that Alicent would surely hear about. "I'm glad yours are capable." He drops his hand. "Walk with me. There's a view of the bay I want to show you." He leads you through the colonnade. He doesn't speak, and you don't press.
The corridor turns, narrows, opens into a small courtyard you've never seen before. A single, ancient weirwood tree. Its carved face stares out with eyes of dried red sap, watching you pass. You go up some stairs. The stairs open onto a small parapet, high above the keep. The bay spreads before you.
Aemond stands at the edge, one hand resting on the battlements. The wind moves through his silver hair.
"I found this place the year I claimed Vhagar. I needed somewhere no one would look for me. Somewhere I could breathe.” He turns his head, meeting your gaze. "No one else seems to know it exists.”
You move closer to him, closing the distance between you until there's barely a hand's breadth between your shoulders. "Why me?”
Aemond's jaw tightens. He looks back out at the bay. For a long moment, he doesn't answer. "I've been asking myself that since the day you arrived.” His voice is quieter now. Less certain. "I don't know why you. I don't know why it's you. I only know that when I close my eyes, I see your face. When I read, I wonder what you'd think of the passage. When I fly, I wish you were on Vhagar's back in front of me."
He turns to face you fully. His eye is unguarded in a way you've never seen before. "I've spent my entire life being told who I am. The second son. The one-eyed prince. No one has ever looked at me and asked who I wanted to be.” He reaches out, his fingers brushing yours. A request. "You do.” Aemond Targaryen stands before you, stripped of every mask he's ever worn.
You take his hand.
His fingers curl around yours like it's the most natural thing in the world.
"I do.” You lean in, slowly. Your lips meet his.
His hand comes up to cup your jaw, his thumb brushing your cheekbone. The kiss deepens until you break away. "I have a request.”
“Ask."
You lift your free hand, your fingers hovering near the leather strap of his eyepatch. You don't touch it. "I want to see you. All of you." You meet his gaze steadily. "But you don't have to. Showing me this place is enough.”
His jaw works, muscles tensing beneath the pale skin. For a long pause, he's still. Then he lifts his own hand. His fingers find the buckle at the back of his head. He works it loose with deliberate slowness, giving himself time to change his mind. The leather falls away. The sapphire catches the light. Deep blue, faceted, embedded in the hollow of his eye socket. The gem is beautiful. The wound that holds it is brutal.
"You asked to see me." His voice is rough. "This is me."
You lift your hand slowly, giving him every chance to pull away. “May I?”
He gives you a slight nod.
You trace the line where the blade caught him, from brow to cheekbone, following the path of the wound that took his eye. “Gevie." (Valyrian - ‘Beautiful.’) The words leave you without thought.
Aemond's eye searches yours, looking for pity, for revulsion, for the flinch he's spent years training himself to expect. He finds none.
“Beautiful. No one has ever called me that.” His hand comes up, covering yours against his cheek.
"I meant it," you say.
His eye closes. Just for a moment. He leans into your palm, his jaw tight, and you feel the fine tremor running through him, a man unaccustomed to being touched with tenderness. When he opens his eye again, it's wet at the corner.
"I don't know what to do with this," he admits, his voice rough. "With you. With any of this.” He turns his head, pressing a kiss to your palm before lowering your hand. He holds it between both of his. "But I don't want it to stop."
"Me either.” You still hold his hand. "What are you afraid of when it comes to us— If it does?” It comes out as a whisper. ”I'll tell you what I'm afraid of.” You pause to breathe. “I’m afraid this war that's coming will take you from me." You hold his gaze. "Because they will try to build alliances. A prince for a daughter is the quickest route to securing power. Your mother, your grandfather… They’ll want to wed you to some lord's daughter, some highborn lady with a fleet or an army at her back.” You say it without pleading. "And I'm a foreigner from across the Sunset Sea. I have ships. I have warriors. I have the favour of your dying father." You pause. "But I don't have a name they recognize.”
Aemond steps closer, his free hand coming up to cup the back of your neck, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "I don't give a fuck what they want." His voice is low. "I've spent my whole life being a piece in their game. Aemond the backup. Aemond the spare. If war comes, I will fight. I will burn their fleets and break their armies. But I will not let them use me as a bargaining chip to tear me away from the only person who's ever looked at me and seen something worth keeping.” He holds your gaze. Fierce and raw. "Do you understand me?"
"I understand you.” The words are simple, but you mean them with every fiber of your being. You understand the weight of being used as a piece. You understand what it means to be seen as a tool rather than a person.
He leans in, and this time the kiss is different, slower and deeper. His hand slides into your hair, cradling the back of your head. He kisses you like he's afraid he'll forget.
"I should let you go. There are matters I need to attend to before the council meets. Walk with me back to the keep?” The sun is climbing and you both have roles to play.
You slip your hand into his. Neither of you speaks. You emerge into a narrow hall.
Aemond doesn't release your hand.
At the junction where your path splits toward your chambers, he stops. He turns to face you, still holding your hand. The eyepatch is back in place. You hadn't noticed him putting it on, but there it is, the leather strap secured, his mask restored for the world. "I'll find you after the council meeting. If you're not busy being taught a lesson by that brute of yours in the yard again."
He lifts your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles. “Thank you. For today. For all of it." He releases your hand, and for a moment, he lingers. Then he turns and walks away.
You watch him until he disappears around the corner.
In my fic, I’m putting Alys in. Aemond x Reader. Aemond & Reader will be separated at some point when he goes to Harrenhal. Aemond thinks Reader is dead. Also, Reader & Aemond will be reunited & Reader gets her revenge. So keep that in mind.
How should I do this?
Aemond hallucinates Reader, but it’s actually Alys. (DubCon)
Aemond hallucinates Reader, but it’s actually Alys. (“Consensual”)
