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Chapter Text

It was supposed to be a simple funeral, too bad nothing is ever simple for Aemond. He never imagined that this night would end with him gaining a dragon, but not just any of them at that, but the mount of Visenya herself. Neither Aegon nor his nephews will be able to make fun of him again! And yet, this victory feels shallow.

A scream threatens to spill out of Aemond's mouth as he feels the needle pierce his eyelid. Aemond is unsure how the event exactly transpired. He knows that Rhaenyra's sons and Daemon's daughters ambushed him after he claimed Vhagar and was walking back to his room. He knows that after throwing insults around they attacked him while he was unarmed and alone, simply because they couldn't accept that Aemond claimed a dragon for himself. They even accused him of stealing her! How dare they?!

Everything loses its clarity after that. One moment, he has Jacaerys pinned to the ground, Aemond's hand holding tightly to the rock he picked up when his cousins started the assault. Next, the dagger in Lucerys's hand slashes across his eye.

The rest of the incident passed in even more of a blur. He heard people screaming and felt somebody carrying him somewhere. He faintly recalls feeling the blood drip down his face and onto his clothes. When they finally reached the maesters, Aemond was close to losing consciousness.

Unfortunately, that was the moment they started sewing his eye shut. After what felt like a never-ending nightmare filled with pain, the maesters finally allowed him to drink the milk of the poppy. And so, Aemond's mind slips into blissful slumber.

A slumber that will change his life forever.

As he sleeps, memories of a boy not unlike himself fill his mind—a prince who is equal parts kind and arrogant. Aemond dreams about the boy's family, which is similar yet different from his own: a weak yet strong mother, a cruel father, and a manipulative liar for a sister.

The boy's country is at war, and Aemond sees him try to join the war council, he watches on as he speaks up against the foolish plan of a general, and a challenge is issued, but it's not the old general that the prince fights. It's his father, he caresses his son's (and Aemond's?) face, and then-

PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN-how can that man light his hand on fire?!?!?!

He is banished and forced to wander, searching for the avatar, a one-way journey meant to humiliate and destroy him mentally and physically.

Fascination fills Aemond's mind when he sees the fire that dances at hi-Zuko's hands, as well as the powers of other warriors. The water, which is destructive, but can also heal wounds he once believed impossible to survive. The air that's docile as well as powerful, capable of splitting the lava of volcanos. The ground that sings and breaks when naked feet stomp on it.

He chases his honor, and his uncle follows him on this journey, advising the boy despite him rarely listening. Aemond grows and learns about foreign lands. Only for him to betray the true family he had and return to his country, yet he finds himself yearning for something more. Zuko (and Aemond) stand up to his father. Zuko (and Aemond) leave to help the Avatar.

In the end, the Avatar wins, and Zuko does too.

He dreams of ruling his nation after the 100 year-war, of bringing back the flourishing culture and wealth of before. He sees himself marrying the love of his life despite their many break ups, sees as they bring up their daughter together as the next Firelord (lawfully, women can inherit before their male relatives here?). He sees her ascension and then the birth of his grandson.

It was such a nice dream. Aemond doesn't want to wake up, doesn't want to come back into the world that has abandoned him, where he was all alone, with no friends, surrounded by uncaring, egoistical and ambitious family members. But something calls to him. The images vanish and Aemond becomes surrounded by darkness.

He doesn't see anything at first. Then, his surroundings become engulfed by the tornado of colorful fire. He recognized it instantly, they were the same flames the dragons had shown Zuko and Aang. From the tornado, a small spark flew towards him.

Instinctively, Aemond reaches out with his hands. The spark ignites and settles over them slowly, almost lazily, only to abruptly fly into his chest. At once, his body becomes surrounded by dragon fire, yet he feels no pain, only warmth. It lightens up his mind and over 70 years of knowledge becomes engraved upon Aemond's soul.

Slowly, the first tendrils of consciousness tug at the edges of Aemond's restless sleep, but the warmth never leaves him, and neither do the memories.

He is Aemond, but he is also Zuko. The Firelord, Avatar Aang's fire-bending teacher, the first dragon rider in a hundred years, the great-grandson of Avatar Roku, the council member of the White Lotus, and the only human to bend the dragon's colorful fire.

At that moment, the future of House Targaryen and that of Westeros was forever altered.

From the dragon fire, the scarred prince rises again.

Chapter Text

Aemond wakes up to the sound of screaming. Not really the best way to start a new chapter, especially after yesterday's incident.

Aemond would like for everyone to quiet down and let him sleep and rest, is it really too much to ask for? He just had his eye sewn shut!

-….-

Now that he thinks about it, shouldn't they have removed his damaged eye out of his eye socket first before sewing his eyelids together? Aemond is no healer, but even he knows that much. This world feels so underdeveloped compared to the world he saw in his new memories.

Aemond allows his thoughts to race for a while longer before he forces himself to pay attention to the ongoing conversation, and wow, the adults are going at it.

What Aemond thought to be some annoying noise turned out to be a heated "debate" between his half-sister Rhaenyra and his mother. Rhaenyra was passionately defending her children's actions by stating they were merely defending themselves against him because of course four children armed with a dagger needed to be defended from a lone unarmed child. So, once again he has a lying, golden child sister. Great, just great.

His mother, on the other hand, accuses those kids of planning an ambush, though Aemond doubts that is the truth. Not to be mean or anything, but his nephews (oh my Agni, Zuko is an uncle!) are smart enough to plan an ambush, he doesn't interject though, only grabs his mother's hand. This scene brings back some unwanted memories from his previous life, or incarnation, or whatever it is called.

Too many times was he a victim of similar situations back when he was Zuko. No matter the evidence, grievances, or even scars, his father never defended him. Instead, he would get told off for his "immature" actions of trying to rival his sister or "disrespecting" the generals.

He doubts this time will be any different. The only thing Aemond can do is hold his mother's hand and convey his gratitude to her for at least trying to defend him and get him justice, no matter how unethically she's trying to do so.

Zuko watches as the adults quarrel like children, their words filled with manipulations. Again, he was born into a family with internal problems. Couldn't he have been reincarnated into a normal family? A nice, peasant or middle-class family would be nice.

But no! Instead he is, once again, stuck in a royal family with some serious entitlement issues and abusive tendencies. Not only that, but from the memories he has of this life, the Targaryens are SOMEHOW even worse than the Firenation royalty! How that is possible, Zuko has no idea.

Aemond's silent musings came to a halt by the next sentence spoken by Rhaenyra. "Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he learned such slander" Princess Rhaenyra spoke with regal superiority radiating from her.

-………-
-?????-

-What were they talking about again? –Aemond was lost, what slander? Is she talking about her children's bastard origins? He can guess why that may be a problem. After all, by trying to pass her sons as legitimate, she is committing treason and could be stripped of her position or even killed for it. Despite how unlikely that is with how favored she is by the King-wait, did she just say "sharply questioned"?

Aemond looks around to see if he understood those words correctly, his head turns just in time to witness his mother's expression change into a horrified one. Aemond's his face slacks. He couldn't believe his ears. Did she seriously just threaten a 10-year-old child with torture? After her kid maimed him?! What kind of entitled behavior is this??

Aemond understands how she may want to protect her out-of-wedlock children from rumors and such, but this is too far! Rhaenyra is lucky that there are only her supporters or neutral people in this room, and that his mother is basically by herself. Aemond can only imagine what kind of rumors would have spread in the court if that wasn't the case. She and her family would have been ripped apart by them!

Fortunately for her, and unfortunately for Aemond, that isn't the case. Unless somebody spills the truth, the people will never find out that Rhaenyra had threatened a child with torture, her supporters and the King will never allow this. The incident will be either swept under the rug in its entirety, or it will be twisted to paint Rhaenyra and her children as victims rather than perpetrators or something of the kind.

Ughh. Zuko hates politics, especially after his ascension as the Firelord. There were so many rumors about him and his family, it was such a pain in the ass for him to address them at the beginning. Every single thing he did and said was scrutinized by the nobles and taken apart to find even the slightest error. It was extremely exhausting.

He got used to it with time and even grew good at politics, but he never enjoyed it. He would rather everyone just be truthful, unfortunately, it's rather unrealistic, even more so in this old-fashioned world.

Aemond looks up once he sees somebody walking towards him. The king looks at Aemond with barely any emotions a normal father might showcase after such an incident. His eyes hold an indifference to his plight as he speaks his next words.

"Well? You heard my daughter, where have you learned of such vile rumors?"- Viserys asks, his facial expression unchanging even when he looks at his hurt eye socket.

-.....-

His daughter? Really? Do none of the people in this room realize how messed up that sounds? He is speaking as if he and his siblings don't exist. How can he be like this, especially when he married his mother specifically to conceive a male heir to the realm?

Even worse is his half-sister's expression, as if Viserys's approval is enough to guarantee her superiority towards them. The King might believe that Rhaenyra is his only "true" child, but it doesn't change the fact that they too carry the Valyrian blood, he and his siblings are as royal as Rhaenyra is. Viserys's dismissal of them and their legal right to the throne is concerning.

Aemond looks at the king, like, really looks at him, and can't help but think that he's not all that impressive. His previous father was much more intimidating, both in stature, intelligence, and power radiating from him. For the small Zuko, his father was the paramount of strength and regality.

Now, he is no longer a terrified child who is all alone, but rather a person with the experiences of a well-seasoned ruler. Zuko has been Firelord for far longer than this King was ever alive. The attempt at intimidation does not affect him. Aemond takes a deep breath to calm down his rising rage and finally speaks.

"So quick to call for torture dear sister? One might mistake you for Maegor with this manner of speech."- Aemond feels some of his anger start to seep into his voice anyway, making him acutely aware of how he isn't in control of his emotions anymore. He expected it a little, he is back to being a kid after all.

Too caught up in his musings, Aemond didn't hear Vhagar's roar in the background. Didn't witness how Rhaenyra's expression changed momentarily from that of indifference to that of discomfort, but she quickly gathered herself and put her mask back on.

"I heard it from Aegon."- Aemond says, and it's not a lie. He did hear about bastardy from Aegon, but the one who spread the real parentage of Jacaerys and Lucaerys was the court itself. However, their mother did nothing to stop those rumors, Aemond fears that if he were to say the truth, their half sister would target her, and he will not have that. As the first son, Aegon has the protection of the realm, and will not be harmed, and he's smart enough to realize what Aemond had in mind.

"Aegon?"- The king asks. His brother looks uncertain for a moment but he replies, Aemond isn't dissapointed.

"Everyone knows father, just look at them."- He gestures towards Rhaenyra's children and-oh. Is that betrayal he sees on Jacaerys's face? If Aemond recalls correctly, Aegon was quite close to his nephews, considering they always tormented the past him together. Ops, sorry Aegon.

Zuko feels a little pity for Jace and Luke too, only a bit though.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

In the end, Aemond stepped up as the adult in this situation (even though he shouldn't have to) before the conflict could truly escalate. 'An eye is a worthy sacrifice for a dragon' he said, and he meant it. If it hadn't been for this incident he might have never regained his memories. For that, he is truly grateful.

Not everyone share his appreciation though. His mother is distressed, and his brother's mood is sour. The members of Rhaenyra's family are equally smug and discontent. In the background, Daemon's eyes are filled with amusement. The only one who doesn't seem to care much is Helaena, though, he soon finds out that presumption to be untrue.

Aemond tunes out the rest of the conversation, he is still tired from the procedure. Soon he falls asleep, still holding his mother's hand.

Everything ends as he had expected, with there being no punishment for his maiming and Rhaenyra's children suffering no consequences. Rheanyra and her family will be living in Dragonstone from now on, in hopes that their absence from the court will help destroy the rumors of her infidelity.

A stupid decision in Zuko's humble opinion, he doubts those rumors will just cease to exist. If anything, they will grow in their intensity, especially with his grandfather restored as the hand of the king again. But who is he to advise the heir?

Aemond was about to ask his mother to take him to maesters for them to take a look at his wound when Helaena talked to him for the first time since he awakened his memories.

"Was it worth it?"- she asked, searching for something in my face. Aemond thinks back to his vision/memories. What would have happened if he hadn't claimed Vhagar, would he have remained dragon-less, would Rhanyra and her family still live in King's Landing? Aemond doesn't know, but Iroh taught him not to wonder about what-ifs.

Aemond then reaches out with his mind to his dragon, his old lady Vhagar, and feels nothing but love, protectiveness, and righteous anger from her.

"Yes"- he replies -"it was."

Helaena smiled and took his hand into hers. She squeezes it firmly and doesn't let go. "Very well then, I'm curious what your choices will be, and how they will change what is to come, Firelord Zuko."

Aemond startles, but then remembers her words from before Driftmark. "He will have to close an eye," she said, and Zuko understood. His sister was a dreamer, he read about them in the books before. The dreamers are people capable of predicting and seeing the future, they are inarguably the biggest asset of the Targaryen royal family. It does not explain how she knows about his past life though, he will need to research this and talk to her after they are back to Kingslanding.

He's happy that there is at least one person that he can talk to about his past life and experiences.

Chapter Text

It's been a week since the disaster that was Lady Leana's funeral.

When they boarded the ship, Aemond asked his mother if the Redkeep's maesters could examine his eye socket again. And surprise, surprise—his wound was showing early signs of infection. The maesters ushered Aemond to his cabin and began removing all the stitches and scooping the infected mess that had been his eye out.

Thankfully, Aemond was allowed to take the milk of poppy before they began the operation, so it didn't hurt as it would have otherwise. The maesters were able to stop the infection from advancing before it reached his eyelids and the important nerves. So thankfully there was no need to permanently remove his eyelids.

How bad were the Driftmark maesters at their jobs that they couldn't properly care for a damaged eye socket? They should have known that the wound must be cleaned before stitching it. It's not like losing an eye is uncommon in this world.

Unless it wasn't that the maesters didn't know how to care for a lost eye, but that they were ordered to treat it wrong, this would mean that Aemond, through pure luck of regaining his memories alone, might have survived an actual assassination attempt.

It makes something inside Aemond both relax at the familiarity and twist his gut with unease. Since his ascension as the Firelord, Zuko was subjected to numerous assassination attempts, most of which came from his father's remaining supporters. However, he is no longer a ruler, and to know that despite his young age he was still almost killed makes Aemond aware of just how dangerous his situation really is.

While Aemond wasn't naive to the ways nobles took care of threats to their power, knowing and possibly experiencing them are two entirely different things. No matter how cruel the inner workings of Ozai's court tended to be, something like assassinating a ten-year-old child never happened, and if it had, the perpetrators would have been punished severely by the other nobles. This serves to make Aemond all the more wary of Rhaenyra and what she would do to him and his siblings to have the throne.

Even though Rhaenyra already has children, they are not legitimate. Aemond doubts that anyone believed her and her father's words. He is sure his half-sister is already aware of this, which may be why she and her allies could have gone after Aemond.

And yet, Aemond still thinks that rather than it being an actual assassination attempt, it is more probable to be incompetence. Ignoring Rhaenyra's obvious lack of care towards politics, she is not stupid enough to try and kill him at the Driftmark, especially not when her relationship with Valeryons is as bad as it is now.

Aemond sighed and stretched in his bed. Even though the restitching of his eyelids was successful, Aemond was ordered to rest as much as possible on their journey back home. Because of this, he has all the time in the world to either worry himself into an early grave or come up with a plan. So, he chose to do the second option.

What should he do in this life? Should he avoid involving himself too much in politics? Unfortunately, Aemond feels it's already too late to not get involved, not when he is the rider of the biggest dragon alive and the second son of the King.

Said position gives Aemond power and prestige, which while undeniably useful, will cause Aemond problems. Once it gets out that he lost his eye and claimed the biggest dragon alive, the nobles see it as a chance to make contact with him using his vulnerable disposition.

Aemond will become a vital point in the schemings of the King's Landing residents, making it impossible for him to fade into the background. Especially now that his eye was lost and the perpetrator wasn't punished, people will see it as a sign that Aemond is easy prey for their ambitions and that no one, including his sire, will protect him from them.

Poor bastards won't know what will hit them if they try anything with him. Still, it doesn't change the fact that building genuine friendships will be even harder than before. Anyone making contact with him in the next few years will probably do so to take advantage of him or to mock and humiliate him for the loss of his eye.

This world has a weird aversion towards scarred people, especially nobles. After Zuko's face was burnt, in the short time he was allowed to spend in the palace before his banishment, nobody could look him in the eye, even though scars weren't such a taboo there. It will be only worse here.

This is why Aemond's utmost priority once he and his family come back to King's Landing is showing that although Aemond lost his eye, he is still capable of doing all the everyday activities young boys of noble lineage partake in. Hopefully this way he will be able to encourage them to spend time with him.

Aemond closes his eyes and leans further into the bed. It's too much, just a week ago, he was nothing more than a child. Back then, what Aemond wanted more than anything was to be acknowledged and respected by his family, specifically his brother and his nephews. He wanted to spend time with them, but it always ended with him humiliated and angry. Angry at everything.

Aemond was ready to do anything to gain a dragon, to make them respect him, like him. Even if it meant he had to disrespect a dead woman on the night of her funeral. Aemond isn't naive, he is aware that his behavior wasn't anything worthy of praise in that situation either.

He too is responsible for what happened, but it doesn't change the fact that he was ganged up on by four people and then brutally maimed.

What did they expect him to do? Just lay down and take everything they threw at him? It wasn't Aemond that started the physical assault, it also wasn't Aemond that drew blood. It makes everything in Aemond chaotic with rage and sadness.

The dragon in him wants to hate them, to try and take revenge for what they did, for maiming him, for stealing the rightful place of trueborn children, for making him feel so miserable. But at the same time, Aemond knows it won't solve anything, obsessively searching for revenge won't give him back his eye, only put him in more danger.

And yet, even if Aemond knew it would all happen, he would still try to claim Vhagar. Because those memories gave him something nobody would ever be able to take away. Faith in himself and his abilities. He doesn't need anybody's approval, not his father's, his brother's, nor his half-sister's and her family's.

He will write his own destiny, regardless of the people around him, as he had done when he was Zuko. Anyway, one last question remained at the front of Aemond's mind. What should he do about his immediate family?

He and Helaena have already established some form of bond. With her being aware of his previous life and him knowing she is a dreamer. She might be a bit weird and not wholly there at times, but Aemond is sure that at her core Helaena cared deeply about their family, even if she doesn't know how or isn't capable of showing it.

Same with Daeron. The boy is just eight and has a great relationship with Aemond. Zuko cannot help but be excited about having a younger brother since he never had one in his previous life.

His relationship with Aegon will need a lot of work, though. They never got along, his elder brother always took Aemond's lack of a dragon as a sign of his superiority. The fact that their mother never punished Aegon for tormenting Aemond certainly didn't help.

Right, his mother. Aemond is ... conflicted about her, so to speak. He loves his mother, she has been the only person ready to fight for him, while also reminding Aemond of his previous mother. But at the same time, she has actively avoided resolving his and Aegon's rivalry, only intervening when it became too visible.

His grandsire ... Aemond doesn't know the man. He knows that Otto is a great politician and that he has been running the whole kingdom in Viserys's place for most of his reign. However, Otto encouraged the union between his daughter and the old King. He literally pimped her out for more power and Zuko is disgusted by it, and yet, Aemond cannot deny that he also loves his daughter in his own way.

All these contradictory facts make Aemond very confused. On one hand, he wants nothing more to do with the man, on the other hand, Otto is his family and could be a powerful ally should they choose to work together. In the end, he should keep an eye on his grandsire and observe him, only then will Aemond decide whether to trust the man.

Now, here comes the subject of most of his ire, his sire. Viserys, he's not a good King, neither is he a good father. His complete ignorance of Aemond and his siblings is stupid, didn't he marry their mother specifically to have children? If so, why ignore them? Doesn't he know that when you show favoritism to one family member, the others will grow jealous of them? It's like he wants them to despise the other side of their family.

Additionally, his overpowering need to accommodate all of Rhaenyra's demands not only hurts them but also harms Rhaenyra. From what he saw, she seems incapable of solving the problems she creates and relies heavily on her father's support to fix them. Instead of punishing her for the rule-breaking and allowing her to make mistakes so that she may learn from them, he helps her hide them instead.

Rhaenyra is completely unprepared for the realities of her future rule. Does she truly believe that people will listen and respect her simply because the King said so? Contrary to popular belief, it's not the King that ultimately chooses the next ruler, but the people she will rule over. Rhaenyra, as she is now, will end up making a huge mistake, or a miscalculation that she will not be able to fix. It will cause people to lose faith in her and destabilize her rule, which in turn may lead to even more inner conflict in court.

Overall, Rhaenyra is even more unprepared for ruling than Zuko was when he became Firelord. And that's saying something considering Zuko spent the last three years before his crowning searching for a bald kid while being both unaware of the political factions within the court and being hopeless at politics. That, and Zuko was 16, almost one and a half decades younger than her.

Taking all this into consideration, Aemond will try to improve his relationship with every single member of his close family aside from his grandsire and father, with Aegon being his biggest priority among them. Still, how will Aemond get the opportunity to talk with his brother without them being at each other's throats the next moment?

As it turns out Aemond didn't have to come up with anything himself. The next morning, Aemond was trying to get used to reading with only one eye when he heard somebody open his door. He turns around, only for Aegon to come into his room.

Chapter Text

The cabin was filled with awkward silence. The two brothers said nothing at first, just stared at one another. Aegon's eyes were shining with conflicting emotions before they settled into his usual mask of cockiness and indifference.

"How's it going one-eye?"- Aegon asks with a tone of superiority and mockery, but if you were to listen closer to it, one would hear how shaky his voice actually was.

Aegon reached out with his right hand as if to poke his finger into Aemond's empty eye socket. The fingers never reach their destination though, as Aemond catches his brother's wrist and firmly holds it suspended.

"Cut it Aegon, why are you really here? You wouldn't have come all the way here just to poke fun at my appearance"- Aemond replied and unlike Aegon, his voice didn't shake at all.

Momentarily, Aegon's mask breaks and Aemond can see the guilt and worry that haunt his brother. Aemond's face softens, maybe improving their bond will be easier than he first thought.

"Sit beside me, will you?"- Aemond asks as he scoots over to make space for Aegon next to him on his bed. His brother looks like he wants to run away. Unfortunately for him, Aemond is still holding onto his hand and isn't planning on letting go anytime soon. Reluctantly, Aegon sits right next to Aemond.

The next few minutes were spent in complete silence, neither of them knew what they wanted to say to the other. Aemond is unsure how to start the conversation, he has always been awkward with his sentences, and his memories as Zuko did not help him in this department.

Aegon, meanwhile, is both shaken and conflicted. Aegon knows he isn't the best brother, no good sibling would enjoy tormenting their younger kin, but he couldn't help it. Aegon is the first son, and yet, he cannot help but feel inferior when compared to Aemond and their siblings.

Unlike his younger brother, Aegon wasn't good with numbers, philosophy, or languages, even in the physical department Aemond was making progress so much faster than Aegon was ever able to. And although their father didn't pay attention to either of them, he always got the feeling that their mother preferred Aemond to him.

He ... was jealous, that is the truth, of both Rhaenyra and Aemond. Their half-sister has all their father's favor and is his chosen heir, Aemond is talented and would have probably become either a knight or a maester, but Aegon? Aegon would be no one, he has no qualities that distinguish him from his siblings, and not even his mother loves him.

Other than Sunfyre, that is. His dragon was the one thing he had that Aemond didn't. Their bond was something even their nephews envied, which was why they copied his behavior so readily, giving him immense satisfaction. And now, it's all gone. Aegon should be mad, and he is, but not because he isn't special anymore.

He feels angry at himself. He knows how desperate Aemond was to claim a dragon, he took pleasure in causing said desperation. It is almost a given that Aemond's actions at Driftmark could have been avoided if Aegon hadn't bullied his brother as much as he did.

Aemond isn't stupid, he probably knew how his actions would offend Laena's daughters and Valeryon's as a whole, yet he attempted to bond with Vhagar anyway. Aegon could have lost him, Aemond could have died, either by being burned or thrown off of Vhagar or because of their half-sister. And Aegon would have lived with the guilt of being the one responsible.

Aemond looked so small on that bed, the hunching measters working on his eye only served to make him seem that much more fragile. His younger brother could have died, but he didn't, and now Aegon has no idea what to do.

He wants to weep, to beg for forgiveness, but at the same time, he wants to rage at the injustice of it all, of never being anyone's first choice. He wants to hold his brother in his arms and tell him he won't let anyone harm him again, yet he also wants to laugh at Aemond, if only to mask his worry and insecurity.

Aegon raises his head to sneak a glance at his brother and sees that Aemond is looking at him as well. They both open and then close their mouths at the same time, wanting to restart their conversation only to stop when they see the other party wishes to begin themselves.

"You can start if you wish"-said Aemond. Aegon draws a deep breath and speaks. "I'm sorry for not being there"-he begins. "Mother was right, I should have been there to protect and help you, but I wasn't, and now your eye is gone." Aegon looks down at his hands, a little afraid to see Aemond's expression.

"And I'm sorry, for taking my teasing of you too far-" "You couldn't have known"-Aemond interrupts him. "Whatever mother said to you while I was unconscious, don't listen to it, if guards were unable to stop me, how were you supposed to?" he says, his voice growing agitated.

"As for your 'teasing'? Yeah, it was shitty of you, I looked up to you, only to be rejected and humiliated"-Aemond admits and Aegon's head shoots up in shock. Aemond? Looking up to him, the drunkard and leecher of the family? "I always admired yours and Sunfyre's bond, I wanted to be like you. Out of all of us, you were always the better dragon rider, even though you didn't speak High Varlyrian." Aemond stops to catch his breath.

Aegon laughs abruptly, catching Aemond off guard. His shoulders rose, thinking Aegon was laughing at him, only to stop when he heard his older brother's next words.

"HAHAHAHahahahahaaa... How funny, you say that you look up to me, while I cannot help but be jealous of you"-Aegon admits. "I always believed that if our places were reversed, father would have long since changed the succession and named you heir."

Aemond scoffs. "Rhaenyra could have killed a High Lord and the King still wouldn't have taken the heirship from her. You are not lacking Aegon, you just have different talents than I". "Yeah? Like what?" Aegon asks, partly because he thinks Aemond is lying and party because he is genuinely curious.

"Well to start with, you are extremely good with words, you know what to say to build people up as well as harm their self-confidence."-Aemond says while looking pointedly at Aegon, who winces. "In addition, you can be quite charismatic when you aren't drinking-you need to stop, by the way, you are getting too close to becoming an actual alcoholic-and lastly, you are quite well learned about court rules." he ends, and Aegon can't help but look at him weirdly. Him? Good at the games nobles play in the court?

Aemond sees his disbelieving expression and laughs good-naturedly. "Don't think I didn't notice how you used Rhaenyra's offspring's looks to turn the attention away from me, if you hadn't, I think that the King might have gone along with the heir's suggestion"- Aemond admits.

The silence fell upon the boys again, but it's not awkward anymore. It's more easy now. Aemond is happy that they haven't tried to strangle each other yet and Aegon is deep in his thoughts. They're still not perfectly fine, one conversation won't automatically fix all their grudges and mistakes, but it's a start.

Said silence was broken when the door to their cabin opened, they turned around to the intruder, only for their faces to soften when Helaena walked into the room. "I see that it is over, good"- she says and joins the boys on the bed and hugs them sideways. Both brothers return the hug, Aegon a little bit more hesitantly.

"We need to stay together, for that's the only way to our happiness and protection"-Helaena's hug tightens. "We cannot allow for the spool of green to break apart into smaller ones".

Aemond listens to her words closely. Green, it's the color of house Hightower when they are at war. The spools breaking apart may mean that there is a possibility of them becoming estranged from one another while a conflict rages, Aemond grows slightly worried.

Helaena catches his gaze as if she already knew what he was thinking.
"Nothing is ever set in stone, there is time and place for everything, all we have to do is follow the flow and prepare accordingly." She looks both of them in the eyes and she smiles knowingly, and Aemond slowly lets his worries fade into the background for now. Right, they still have time. Aemond hugs his siblings tighter.

None of them let go of each other, they stayed together until they all fell asleep. Hours later, when Alicent comes by to check on her children, she finds them curled up in a cuddle pile. She stares for a while but smiles and closes the door. The checkup can wait for later, for now, she allows her children to sleep like this.

The green color has united once more, but stronger and ready for whatever this world will throw at them.

Chapter Text

The sun was just rising over the tree line, bathing the training grounds in soft, golden light. The air was crisp, saturated with the scent of dew and hot metal. The only sounds in the mostly empty square were the rustling of leaves and uneven breathing.

Sweat is dripping down Aemond's forehead as he's lying on the ground, his chest rising and falling with rapid expansion of his lungs. It has been nearly a month since he was allowed to restart his fighting lessons, and although the maesters have noted that his less-than-ideal physical condition is mostly due to his still ongoing recovery, Aemond knows that it's only partially true.

While his low stamina and lack of hand-eye coordination are indeed caused by the strain of multiple operations he underwent, his urge to make moves suited for a taller body is not. He keeps taking too big steps, overreaches his attacks, and, most embarrassing of all, Aemond stumbles over his own feet all the time.

'If either Sokka or Toph saw me now, they would certainly laugh their asses's off.' Aemond thought to himself.

This complication might be the only thing Aemond dislikes about his new memories. The fact that after so much time, almost one and a half months, he still isn't used to the body he was freaking born in, is making him extremely frustrated.

"You good? You look like you are about to barf today's breakfast."-Aegon called out from above him, an easy grin on his face. Aemond wants to punch his mug, but alas, he's too tired to even get up into a sitting position, so he remains on the ground.

"Prince Aegon, it's not the time to start slacking off. Prince Aemond, the break's over. It's time to get up and continue the warm-up."-Criston Cole calls out from somewhere to Aemond's right.

With a resigned sigh, Aemond slowly gets up with Aegon's help. Both princes began to follow Criston's instructions as they stretched their limbs. Aemond hissed as his unused muscles began to shake. 'Damn, I still can't finish the warm up. My stamina is even worse than I expected.' Aemond muses as he continues to repeat Cole's motions.

To his left, Aegon doesn't even sweat, copying Cole's movements with no extra attention paid. Aemond feels jealous. It's going to be a long way before he's back to his previous body's physical condition. Thankfully, both Zuko's old body and his current one have similar bone and muscle structures, so even though it will take a while for his body to grow stronger, it will be quite easy to fall back into his routine from his life as Zuko once it does.

"Now, Prince Aemond, since your body is still too weak from all the stress it underwent, that's all you will do for today. We will continue to increase the length and change the exercises as your body becomes stronger." Criston said while looking at Aemond, gesturing for him to sit on the nearby bench.

It's far enough for whoever was sitting there to be safe, yet still close enough to the training grounds for Aemond to be able to hear and see Criston's instructions. Aemond nodded and obediently sat on the bench.

"Prince Aegon, please come and take up the fighting stance we practiced yesterday. We will be going through new motions today."-Aegon groans, but takes the wooden sword and gets ready for the exercise. Criston begins the demonstration, and Aegon follows his movements. The knight would sometimes stop and ask Aegon to repeat the motions, pointing out his mistakes and correcting them. All in all, Aegon isn't doing badly; he's actually quite good, at least in Aemond's humble opinion.

Aemond makes sure to watch the movements closely, searching for differences between them and the forms Master Piandao had taught him. Master Piandao's form is more loose, allowing him to easily change the direction of his strikes with minimal movement while almost gliding across the battlefield, clearly meant for a lighter kind of weaponry than what is common here.

On the other hand, Criston is putting more weight into the proper handling of the long sword and good posture rather than teaching unnecessary, elaborate movements. It's obvious Criston knows what he's doing, as expected of the alleged best swordsman in all the Seven Kingdoms.

Suddenly, Aemond's focus is broken by the whispers that erupt behind his back.

"Did you see it? The empty eye socket, I mean"
"I did, and let me tell you, it's disgusting. Seriously, how can a 10-year-old lose an eye to a 6-year-old while practicing?"

"Well, I heard that they weren't practicing at all, and that Prince Aemond was protecting himself against four children there, including Princess Rhaenya's eldest son. Not only that, but they were also armed with a dagger!"
"They had an actual weapon? I thought that the second prince got himself hurt or something. Are you sure it's the truth? It's hard to imagine that a good mother like Princess Rhaenyra would allow her untrained child to carry a weapon."-speaks the younger knight behind them.

"Well, apparently, Her Highness did."
"But how were they not punished for this if that was the case? I get that they're children, but to allow such a thing like losing an eye to go unpunished?"-another speaks up.

"It is known that the King has always favored Her Highness, and the Princess herself was known for being quite jealous of the attention Prince Aegon was getting once he was born. She's probably threatened by their existence, especially once THOSE rumors started going around."
"Oh, you mean that her children are bastards? Don't they have dragons? Surely that means they're Targaryen?"

"They might be Targaryen, but they certainly aren't Valeryons. They look nothing like their supposed father, and too much like the previous Lord Commander of the City-"

Aemond stops paying attention to the knights' conversation and turns back to watch Criston Cole and Aegon again.

'The rumors have already spread. Thankfully, it seems that while the changed version of the events was spread, the majority know that something doesn't quite add up and search for the alternate version of the incident. One that they can easily find in most bars and social events. The work of my grandsire for sure.' Although Aemond is thankful for it, he doesn't really like his grandpa too much. He's way too power hungry for Aemond's taste, but he at least knows the court of public opinion.

It seems that Rhaenyra's plan to quell the rumors of her children's dubious parentage has failed. It was an obvious outcome for Aemond. How did she expect to quell the rumors if she's not there to monitor the process?

'She's really bad at the political stuff, huh?' If she wasn't supposed to one day rule Westeros, Aemond would have ignored it; not everyone is made for scheming after all. However, as it stands, it is a fatal flaw of Rhaenyra's, alongside her arrogance.

Unlike him and Aegon, Rhaenyra is not a child; she's a 27-year-old woman. At this moment in time, she should be stepping up as the heir and taking part in court as the substitute for her ill father, instead of retreating to Dragonstone and allowing his grandsire to run things.

It's a novice mistake, leaving power in the hands of a man who's clearly after it. Not even Zuko has made such mistakes back when he was still new to the Firelord position. Sure, Rhaenyra still has time to learn such things, but the question is, will she?

She has proved herself unable to see her own flaws, or maybe she just doesn't care about them and thinks everything will work out regardless. Just like her father.

Viserys the peaceful? More like Viserys the ignorant. The whole tension about the succession is mostly his fault. If it was truly important for him to allow Rhaenyra a peaceful ascension, he wouldn't have sired more children with Alicent, or he would have stopped Rhaenyra's sexual activities with Harwin Strong before her second child was born, and the rumors got sprea-. Aemond's musing came to a halt by Criston's voice, signalling the end of training.

The training lasted for about two hours. Finally, both of them were allowed to go to their next activities. Aegon goes to Sunfyre to the dragonpit, and Aemond, who wasn't allowed to fly on his dragon yet, returns to his chamber to wash up and get some rest. As per the measter's instructions.

While on his journey there, Aemond pays attention to the servants of the castle. They are walking as if the floors were made from eggshells; they are sheepish and easily scared away. It's very different from how the servants behaved when he was the Firelord.

The people of Fire Nation Capital City were used to Zuko, while he was still their ruler, to whom they showed an appropriate amount of respect; he was also friendly with the servants and guards. His continued kindness as Firelord only further endeared him to them. To see all these people being treated as if they were nothing more than dirt disgusts Aemond and makes him feel guilty.

Aemond knows that the servants' fear was caused by the long-lasting superiority complex of the higher class, which includes him and his siblings. Especially Aegon, with his love for wine and fooling around, was known for making things harder for the servants. Thankfully, his bounds of 'mischief' weren't as harmful as Azula's yet, at least the ones Aemond knows of.

And that cannot stand.

The easy way to change that is to give Aegon something to do; that way, he won't be bored and will not have time to bother the servants. The problem is, Aegon believes himself bad at any form of passive activities like reading or studying, as well as in any physical training, so he avoids them.

Well, "bad" is the word those around them would call it, but Aemond knows that's not the case; today's training has proved it. To him, it feels like Aegon has simply given up. It's especially visible when he takes into account his constant comparison with Aemond, who was much more booksmart. Aemond cannot help but relate to Aegon's problems of growing up with a prodigal younger sibling.

It's no wonder Aegon treated Aemond as he did. The bullying was steeped in deep jealousy and insecurities developed through their parents' neglect and unfair comparison. The only thing Aegon had that Aemond didn't was a dragon, but even that was taken from Aegon.

Not to mention, Aemond himself wasn't the best brother. He, too, has fallen victim to seeing his brother as less valuable than him, simply because their interests differ. However, it should have been their parents' job to correct them, but as everybody can see, they both failed at that.

The toxicity of the RedKeep's residents and their relatives won't allow Aegon to heal and grow. In other words, a change of environment is needed. Being banished was the best thing Zuko's father had ever done for him; it allowed Zuko to experience what life was like for people different from him while giving him the chance to make his own decisions uninfluenced by those around him. Aegon needs to experience something similar.

Of course, just like Zuko had Iroh to subtly guide him in the right direction, Aegon will have Aemond and Helaena to do the same for him.

However, it needs to happen soon. Especially since their grandsire and mother plan to marry Helaena and Aegon to each other. Aemond can't help but feel disgusted by that decision. Omitting the fact that it's inbreeding, something that unfortunately seems very common for Targaryens and somehow mostly harmless to them, the biggest ick for Aemond is their age.

Aegon and Helaena are respectively 14 and 13 for fucks sake. It's no wonder that incidences of difficult pregnancies and children being stillborn are so common if THAT'S the normal age to get married and have kids. Not to mention the barbaric practice of getting women pregnant before their bodies had the time to recover from their previous pregnancies.

There is no way in Seven Hells that Aemond will allow it. While he's aware he cannot prevent this marriage because of its political and cultural significance, he will not allow any of his siblings into the marriage bed until Helaena is AT LEAST 16. It would be ideal if they could wait even longer, but considering this world's standards and their grandsire's motivations, it won't be possible.

Back to planning the 'life-changing field trip with Zuko, now Aemond edition'.

How should he go about this? Should he ask their mother for permission? It might work; they could also use this as a way to get to know the noble families and help familiarise Aegon and Aemond with the issues of their society. Their grandsire will certainly approve, if only to further his own ambitions.

Aemond will ask Helaena for help; he's still too unused to the political sphere in King's Landing. Helaena's a dreamer, so she might already know how his request might be answered. Together, they will definitely come up with a good plan.

Soon, he and his siblings will be allowed some time to breathe and relax.

Chapter Text

Three months had passed since the night everything changed.
Since the fight. Since the eye.

Now, Aemond sat alone in his chambers in King’s Landing, wrapped in thick silence and the scent of salves. His left eye-or what remained of it-no longer throbbed beneath the bandages. It was mostly healed now, which meant it was finally time for Aemond to mount Vhagar for a second time.

It struck him when he was coming up with a way to propose the field trip to the court that if they wanted to travel to the places Aemond chose, they would all need to travel with their dragons. It made Aemond that much more eager to improve his physical condition to be able to fly with Vhagar again.

His dragon-riding leathers, freshly made by the best craftsmen in King’s Landing, personally selected by Aemond, hung before him, ready to be worn for his return to the skies.

The trip to the leatherworker had been an adventure Aemond would remember quite fondly in the years to come. It began with Aegon barging into his room, half-drunk—a state that was becoming less frequent—complaining about tearing his favorite dragon-riding gear. That conversation reminded Aemond that he too, lacked proper equipment for himself and Vhagar.

So the two of them ventured to the Dragonpit to commission new riding leathers and a new saddle for Vhagar, tailored to Aemond’s growing frame. But before that, he needed to see her.

His old lady was sunbathing on the cliffs, as she often did. One of her great eyes opened when he approached, and she let out a low, vibrating croon that went straight to Aemond's soul. He stepped closer and placed a hand on her massive snout.

"Hello, my lady. I'm sorry it took me so long, but we can finally fly together again" -he murmured. Through their bond, he felt her impatience, but also understanding, as well as something that felt like joy. "I need to take your measurements for a new saddle. Could you be still and... not attack the workers while they do so?"

Vhagar let out a rumbling growl but settled lower, slowing her breathing in a sign of indulgence.

Taking her compliance as permission, Aemond gestured for the Dragonkeepers to begin. They were nervous-who wouldn't be, faced with such ancient majesty? Still, they worked quickly. Two hours later, it was done, and Aemond could finally commission the saddle.

Normally, the King would have accompanied him to the leatherworkers, as is the Targaryen tradition, but his worsening health prevented it. Even if he had been well, Aemond doubted he would have come; he hadn’t even gone with Helaena when she claimed her dragon. That was fine. Aemond preferred the quiet time with Aegon.

The two brothers had enjoyed themselves more than expected. Aegon teased Aemond for his lanky build and tendency to stumble over his own feet, while Aemond retaliated by calling him "shortie" despite being younger. The banter felt natural, even comforting.

Afterward, Aegon returned to the Red Keep while Aemond continued to the saddle-maker’s forge.

The forge stood on the outskirts of the Dragonpit. The craftsman, Othric, was an older man known not for ornamentation but for strength and simplicity. His saddles were sturdy, well-balanced, and made with a dragon’s comfort in mind.

The place was loud and stifling, filled with the scent of boiled leather and burnt steel. Aemond stood at the edge of the chaos, arms crossed tightly, his gaze sharp enough to unsettle even the seasoned workers. He was still only ten.

"I don’t need it to look regal," he said, voice low but steady. "Just strong. Comfortable. She’s old now."

Master Othric blinked. "She?"

"Vhagar," Aemond answered. Something in his tone made even the hammering pause for a beat. "She shouldn’t have to suffer just because she chose me."

Othric studied him, surprised. "Most boys your age want armor lined with gold. You want padding and grip straps."

Aemond looked down at the rough sketches on the workbench. "She got sores along her shoulders when I flew her last. The old saddle creaks and isn’t suited to my height. If it breaks midair..." He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.

"She’s too big to fall gently," Othric muttered, a hint of respect in his voice.

Aemond returned to the forge every few days after that—not to lecture, but to learn. He asked questions about balance, weight, and materials. He listened when Othric explained how dragonhide could be softened with oil to prevent cracking in cold air.

Once, he brought a parchment with a crooked sketch. "I thought... maybe this curve would make it easier for her to turn mid-flight," he said, uncertain. The sketch was inspired by Appa's saddle design, but tweaked to match Vhagar's lines and mass. Othric didn’t laugh. He nodded. "Not bad, my prince. You’re thinking like a rider." Aemond flushed but gave a curt nod, folding the sketch and tucking it into his sleeve.

When the saddle was complete, it wasn’t grand, but it was beautiful in its own way: dark leather molded to Vhagar’s frame, polished ironwood, wide stirrups, and a curved spine designed to ease her aged joints. A small Targaryen sigil was etched into the side—subtle, for once.

Aemond was pleased.

Now, back in his chambers, he began preparing. First, a soft linen tunic to protect his body against burns from the leather. Then, salve on his empty eye socket to prevent dryness in the wind, followed by his eye patch. Finally, he donned the dragon-riding leathers.

It was dawn when Aemond emerged. As he walked through the halls of the Red Keep, servants paused in their tasks, sensing what was to come. By the time he reached the cliffs, the whole of King’s Landing would know: the second prince was flying again.

The path to the cliffs was slick with morning mist. Behind him, King’s Landing loomed gray and quiet. Aemond moved quickly, boots crunching over gravel and sodden grass, until he saw her.

Vhagar.

She lay like a mountain of bronze and green, wings half-folded, claws embedded in the rocky earth, tail curled lazily behind her. One eye was closed. The other fixed on him.

"Rytsas, Vhagar," he greeted. His change to High Valyrian was deliberate, meant to convey what Aemond is about to do. Her nostrils flared. Smoke drifted skyward. He stepped closer, cautiously. The bond was still young. Dragons were not pets. They were proud, ancient, and dangerous. Even if she had let him ride her once and take measurements.

Would she allow it again?

He approached her shoulder. The massive new saddle, strapped tight with Valyrian leather, awaited. He grasped the rope, pulled himself up with effort, and swung into the seat.

For a moment, nothing. Then her wings shivered. She rose.

Takeoff was slower this time, heavy but deliberate. Gravel scattered. Wind howled. Aemond gritted his teeth and held the reins as the world dropped beneath them.

They climbed.

He leaned forward instinctively, the harness biting into his shoulders. She flapped twice, then caught a thermal off the cliffs. Aemond shifted his weight, testing his balance. His studies of Valyrian flight, of Laenor and Rhaenys' techniques, came to mind.

He adjusted the reins. Nudged her neck. She responded. A slow, banking turn to the right. Not perfect, not clean. But she had listened. Or perhaps... acknowledged.

They flew inland, over the misty forests ringing the capital. Ravens scattered before them. Vhagar flew with the weight of time—not fast or nimble, but powerful, inevitable.

She was a queen. Each beat of her wings reminded the world.

Aemond practiced turns, glides, gentle shifts in altitude. He felt her rhythm, her breath, the muscle beneath him. She tolerated his errors. Once, she growled when he pulled too sharply, her neck twisting in protest.

"Sŵz, sŵz," Aemond muttered. (Good, good.)

They flew toward the coast. A jagged line of rocks jutted from the sea like fangs, mist curling around them. A perfect place to attempt a landing.

"Lanta," he whispered. (Land.)

Vhagar rumbled but obeyed. Her wings angled down, talons reaching. The rocks rose too quickly.

"Naejot lendissagon," he urged. (More gently.)

She adjusted. Slower now. Controlled. She touched down with a thud that echoed over the waves, but no bones jarred, no balance lost. Aemond exhaled, dismounted, and stumbled slightly. He stood on the stone outcrop, the sea churning below.

Vhagar watched him.

He stepped forward, placing a hand on her warm, scaled neck. "You listened," he whispered. "You listened, didn’t you?" She blinked once. Slow. Ancient. Then, she roared. Not with rage, but something deeper—a resonance that trembled through the cliffside.

A declaration.

Aemond was her rider. Fully acknowledged. Fully hers. Now, nothing in this world will ever be able to break their bond; their souls are now irreversibly connected.

Chapter Text

The room was quiet, lit by the soft orange of the setting sun slipping past heavy velvet drapes. Aemond sat near the window, back straight despite the fatigue still clinging to his limbs. His scarred eye throbbed dully, the remaining one strained from overuse.

The book on his lap was open, but the words swam together, blurred shapes refusing to settle into meaning.

“You’re squinting again,” Daeron’s voice chimed gently.

Aemond didn’t look up. “The eye hasn’t adjusted yet.”

Daeron crossed the room, settling into the chair opposite him. “Then stop pretending. You’ll make yourself worse.”

Aemond exhaled — not quite a sigh, not quite a laugh. He closed the book and handed it across. “Fine,” he said. “Read it to me.”

Daeron’s eyes lit up with boyish eagerness. He turned the book in his hands, reading the title aloud with a slight lilt: The Song of Nymeria and the Ten Thousand Ships.

“Of course,” he said, grinning. “You would pick a story with blood, fire, and maritime conquest.”

“Better than another dreary septon sermon.”

“I like the septon’s sermons.”

“You would,” Aemond muttered, though there was no heat in it.

Daeron flipped to the first chapter and began to read. His voice was steady, clear- still high-pitched with youth, but strong. Aemond closed his eye and listened, the familiar cadence washing over him like cool water. After a few minutes, Daeron’s voice softened.

“Do you remember,” he said, not looking up from the page, “when I had the fever? That winter I wouldn’t stop coughing?”

Aemond opened his eye.

“You read to me every night,” Daeron continued. “Even when the maesters said to rest your throat. You kept reading.”

“I was trying to bore the sickness out of you.”

Daeron laughed. “Didn’t work. I just liked hearing your voice.”

Aemond looked away, jaw tight. “I needed you to live. I… needed to know something I loved wouldn’t break.”

The words slipped out quieter than intended, and Daeron faltered. But then he said, very simply: “You didn’t let me break. So I won’t let you.” He kept reading.

Aemond leaned back, letting the sound of his brother’s voice carry him back through time- to softer winters, to simpler moments. To nights lit by candlelight and the rustle of turned pages. To a boy in bed, burning with fever. To a brother by his side, refusing to leave.

Now the roles were reversed.

And yet, nothing had really changed.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Golden light danced through the trees as the Targaryen children rode across the hills, the wind teasing silver-blond hair and tugging at cloaks like playful spirits.

Aegon shouted from the front, reckless and flushed. “Come on, Daeron! Try to keep up, you little bastard!”

“Just wait ‘til I pass you!” Daeron yelled back, cheeks red with the thrill of the chase. “You’ll be eating horse dung!”

The two shot over the crest of the hill, their laughter echoing. Helaena giggled softly, watching them go, though she made no effort to follow. Aemond rode beside her at a slower, more thoughtful pace, one hand loosely on the reins, the other resting against his thigh. His gaze followed Daeron’s figure as it disappeared over the next rise.

“He rides better than you did at his age,” Helaena mused, brushing windblown hair from her face.

“He rides better than Aegon now,” Aemond said without looking at her. “He’s focused. Disciplined. He actually wants to be better.”

“He wants,” Helaena repeated with a knowing nod. “That matters more than talent.” They rode in silence for a while, the clatter of hooves softer on the forest path.

Then Aemond spoke again. “They’re sending him to Oldtown.”

Helaena’s expression didn’t change. “Yes.”

“A fostering,” Aemond said, as if testing the word’s weight.

“A peace offering,” she corrected. “To Hobert. And the Faith. And all the Lords who still hesitate when they hear our names.”

He grunted. “It’s not Mother’s idea. Or not entirely. It’s Grandfather’s. Or rather-his brother’s.”

“Lord Hobert speaks softly,” she said. “But even Grandfather listens when he does.”

“They want Daeron shaped in the Seven’s image,” Aemond muttered. “Faithful. Dutiful. Polished. Tamed.”

“Not like you,” she added, gently.

Aemond turned his head toward her. “They want a sword they can wield. Not one they fear will turn in their hand.”

Helaena’s eyes were calm. “And you think Grandfather resents it?”

“I think,” Aemond said, “he plays obedient because Hobert could pull the ground out from under him if he wished. His power doesn’t come from blood- it comes from favor. Favor can sour.”

They rode past a stream. A few birds scattered into the air. Ahead, Aegon was now trying to stand on his saddle while Daeron shouted at him to stop being an idiot.

“Daeron doesn’t understand any of this,” Aemond said. “He thinks he’s being honored.”

“He is,” Helaena said. “But not for who he is. For what he represents.”

“He’s a boy, not a banner,” Aemond snapped- then caught himself. He lowered his voice. “He’s the only one of us who still believes in goodness without calculation.”

“And he won’t forever,” Helaena said, not unkindly. “Oldtown will polish that out of him. He’ll be taught to smile just enough, pray just enough, fight just enough - but never ask too much.”

“I won’t let them mold him,” Aemond said quietly.

Helaena tilted her head. “How will you stop them? You’ll be here. He’ll be there.”

“I’ll write to him. Books. Letters. Stories that tell more truth than they seem to. Reminders.” Aemond replies with certainty, Old Town wouldn't dare disrupt their letter exchange because of their royal status. Not to mention, they cannot forbid them from visiting him. 'If anything happens to him, I won't hesitate to fly there the moment I find out, consequences be damned.'

Helaena smiled faintly. “He’ll know who they’re really from.”

Aemond looked at her, then nodded. “Even if the day comes when he doubts us… I’ll give him enough to find his way back.”

From the hill above, Daeron’s voice called out: “Are you two coming or just plotting something creepy again?”

Aegon followed with a dramatic sigh. “Gods, you’re like ghosts! Come live, will you?”

Helaena gave her brother a rare full smile. “They think we’re the strange ones.”

“They’re not wrong,” Aemond said, and for a moment, allowed himself a chuckle- rare, dry, but real.

Then they kicked their horses into motion and rode to catch up, the four of them together, for now. Before the winds changed.

Chapter Text

There had once been a rhythm to Prince Aegon’s fall from grace. Loud laughter near the Maidenvault. Coin passed hand to hand. Girls with smudged rouge and boys with quick feet. Mornings always began the same: vomiting into the flower pots, a sharp word to a stable boy, then silence until he surfaced again by supper.

Handmaiden Talya was well accustomed to this routine, she was the one who had to clean up the vomit afterwards. The one doing her best to keep the supply of fresh clothes running, even though most of them are worn by Prince Aegon once or twice before they stink too much to keep them.

Now?

Now he still drank—but he did not stumble. The boy who once couldn’t keep hold of his own shirt now kept his belt fastened and his insults barbed, not slurred.

The change was slow, but it became undeniable.

It began when he stopped inviting the others—the trio of minor lords who thought cruelty was wit, the smug peasants who used Aegon to pay for their drinks and kept on dragging him half-drunk to brothels. They’d come knocking once or twice more, half-laughing, expecting to be welcomed.

“Not tonight,” Aegon had said once, voice level. “Or any night, really.”
“Oh come now- what are you, chaste?”
“No,” Aegon had replied, bored. “Just tired of being boring in your company.”

They had not returned.

Talya had heard from the under-scullion that Lord Jasper’s younger son had tried to bait Aegon in public- said something about “missing the old Prince.” Aegon had stared at him for a long moment, then said, flatly: “The old prince is sleeping off a head wound. You’ll meet him if you keep talking.”

No shouting. No violence. Just... teeth beneath silk.

Even the other lords noticed. Fewer glances of disgust. Some even began nodding toward him when meeting in castle corridors.

And yet, the strangest change was this: Aegon was present.

He attended meals. He spoke to Daeron- asked him questions. He laughed at Helaena’s strange jokes and teased Aemond with less venom, more memory. As though they were boys again, only now with sharper minds and quieter wounds.

Talya had seen him walking with Ser Arryk once at dusk, listening. Listening. When was the last time Aegon had listened to anyone?

One afternoon, as Talya brought linens to the Queen’s chamber, she passed an open door and paused.

Inside, Aegon sat alone, reading. Not asleep. Not passed out. Reading. He looked up once. Saw her. Didn’t sneer. Just nodded.

She walked away more shaken than if he’d shouted.

In the servant corridors, the whispers grew louder:
“Something’s changed in him.”
“Didn’t see him drink past second cup last night.”
“He paid the steward for his time—tipped, even.”
“Maybe he’s hiding something.”
“Maybe he’s becoming someone.”

Aegon, late at night, stood alone in the godswood. A half-full cup of wine forgotten on the bench beside him. He looks at the trees, at the stars above.

His fingers twitch, as if unsure what to hold.

Then he simply clasps his hands behind his back—shoulders square—and walks on.

But Aegon was not the only one who changed after the Driftmark.

And no one saw it more clearly than Maester Alfryn.

Princess Rhaenyra had left King's Landing near the end of autumn. Since then, the corridors had gone quieter. Fewer guards were posted near the library. No more whispered arguments echoing up the stone stairwells.

The Queen had sighed, as if exhaling for the first time in years. And her children…

Well. They changed.

All of them.

Aegon still drank—but only in the evenings now. Never to excess. He came to the solar in the morning with clear eyes, and once even brought Alfryn a small stack of correspondence, frowning at the ink like it owed him money.

“No one told me being a Prince involved reading,” he grumbled, but he read them anyway.

He still whispered scandalous things. Still gossiped like a kitchen maid with a flagon of Arbor gold. But there was less acid in it now. More amusement.

More… care.

Helaena had always floated through the halls like a half-forgotten dream-murmuring oddities to beetles, humming to herself in window alcoves. Sweet, yes, but distant. Untouchable in the way only those lost in their own world could be.

But after Rhaenyra’s departure… she changed too.

Not all at once. Not loudly. But the difference was felt. She no longer whispered only to her creatures, but to her brothers. She sat beside Queen Alicent more often, not just in the solar, but during courtly duties-silent, but present. Watching.

She began to respond when spoken to.

To speak first, sometimes.

And her riddles-those strange, fragmented truths-still drifted from her lips like mist, but now they came with purpose. Directed, as if some part of her was anchoring back to the world.

Alfryn once overheard her say, gently, to a handmaid nervously picking at her stitching:

“Worms don’t know when they’re butterflies. But we do.”

He hadn’t known what it meant.

But the girl had smiled—and finished her work.

Prince Daeron, too, changed—but in a way more visible to the heart than the mind.

Always polite, always smiling, he had once seemed like a child trying to shrink himself to fit the mold left behind by his siblings—too loud, too strange, too scarred. But in the weeks after Princess Rhaenyra's departure, Daeron stopped trying to shrink.

He grew.

Not in stature-though he had gained some height-but in presence. He laughed more easily, embraced his siblings without hesitation. He patted Aegon’s back when his jokes landed flat, squeezed Aemond’s shoulder before training, brought Helaena fresh bundles of flowers "for the bugs."

He started giving people nicknames. He sang off-key in the halls. He teased the septa until she forgot to frown.

When Alfryn passed him in the corridors, Daeron would grin and say, “Maester Alfryn, your quill is crooked,” as if it were a great crime to be walking with a bent feather.

He hugged without asking. He sat too close.

And no one pushed him away anymore.

But Aemond-Aemond-was the true puzzle.

Aemond Targaryen had lost his eye four months, two weeks, and three days ago. Maester Alfryn knew, because he had counted each morning, watching the boy return to him without fail.

At first, it had been for treatment. Then, for balance testing. Then- though no words passed between them, for measuring progress. “You’ve healed well, my prince,” Alfryn had said once, bandages long gone.

“I might be healed,” Aemond replied. “but my body is not in it's prime physical condition, not yet.”

Alfryn was the one who cleared Prince Aemond for training after weeks of recovery, he was the one who made him go through many humbling tests before he allowed him to attempt his second flight with Vhagar.

Alfryn had tended many noble children: fractures, fevers, stubborn coughs and sword nicks. Most recoiled from pain, or asked for milk of the poppy. Some, like Prince Aegon from before Driftmark, avoided him entirely- out of shame or sheer forgetfulness.

But not Aemond.

Prince Aemond sought discomfort like it owed him something.

He did not weep during the initial restitching. He did not flinch when Alfryn changed the wrappings, even as tissue tore and fluid leaked. The lad had bitten through a wooden bit rather than cry out.

Now, Alfryn still saw him daily- but not as a patient. Aemond visited the rookery, read in the library, and asked for old texts on Braavosi dueling and blindfolded combat exercises practiced by the Summer Isles. He borrowed anatomy charts. Books on equilibrium, horse-footing, and eagle hunting.

He absorbed them.

It was not recovery. It was evolution.

Alfryn once watched him in the yard from the terrace above. Aemond moved like a thing forged, not born. His footwork was unnatural-not sloppy, but precise in a way no boy of ten years should manage. Every motion was learned. Compensated. Controlled.

He sparred with his left eye closed half the time now, even though he still had it.

“Why hinder yourself?” Alfryn had asked afterward.
“Because they’ll try,” Aemond said. “And I’d rather fail here than in battle.”
“There may not be another war for a long time.”
“Then let them wonder why I trained for it.”

The scar was clean, if deep. A wide slash from brow to cheekbone. An eye patch now covered the socket when the Prince practiced or flew on his dragon, custom fitted, bone-rimmed.

Aegon had once made some crude joke about pirates. And just like for some time now, it wasn't an insult. Aemond laughed more confidently than what was expected of him, like it was some hidden joke only he understood.

But beneath it all, Prince Aemond wasn't just some prodigy that awakened after he lost something of himself. For the first time, Aemond was openly kind.

He was always kinder to the attendants than Aegon, he and Daeron shared this trait, but back then, he acted like if someone saw him being kind, it would reveal some great weakness in him.

This isn't the case anymore.

He nodded when thanked. Said “please” when asking for texts. When a small scribe dropped a heavy codex one afternoon, Aemond silently knelt, helped him lift it, and offered a stiff, quiet:

“Be careful. That’s from Old Valyria.”

Then, as if embarrassed by the effort, he turned on his heel and left.

In the maester’s records, Alfryn noted:

Motor function: Improved beyond the original baseline
Depth perception: Compensated through instinctive movement
Mood: Controlled
Prognosis: Physically functional. Psychologically... unclear. But better than what is expected after what happened

But beneath that, in his personal ledger, he wrote something else:

He is not just recovering. He is- becoming.
Still awkward. Still quiet. But warmer now. Less brittle. He asks about others. He thanks me without prompting. He speaks more often to his siblings, and sometimes even to the pages.
It is as if the tension that bound him so tightly has eased. As if something that haunted them all has finally… left.
Perhaps it is her. Rhaenyra. Her presence divided this family. Her absence unites them. Peace in absence. Relief in exile.
They are children again. They are healing.

It was a lovely assumption. Neat. Reassuring.

Wrong.

The truth, Alfryn could not see- because it did not belong to him. He did not see the long conversations behind closed doors. The way Aegon leaned in when Aemond spoke softly. The way Helaena’s gaze sometimes drifted to the window before saying:

“Even in winter, seeds sleep. That’s not the same as peace.”

He did not know the rumors Aegon fed to his brother at night, the ones he picked up in brothels, cellars, and drunken lordlings' mouths.

He did not know that Aemond had already begun picking names in his head.

He only saw a scarred boy, awkward and quiet, becoming something steadier.

Something gentler.

Something safe.

But the eye that remained missed little. And what Aemond saw, he remembered.

Even if no one else was watching.

Chapter Text

By the time the fifth week since his second flight with Vhagar had passed, Aemond could feel her rhythm in his bones.

They trained at dawn and dusk, avoiding the hottest hours of the day. He learned when she would obey a soft pull on the reins and when she would demand a firmer hand.

He learned that she hated turning west into the wind, and that if he braced his left foot too tightly, she’d snap her wings open wider in protest. He counted the number of breaths she took before a dive.

He memorized the way her shoulder blades shifted when she banked sharply left.

Flying with her was nothing like flying with Druk. Druk had been nimble, swift -more firebird than beast. Vhagar was thunder, weight, and ancient will. With Druk, flight had felt like freedom. With Vhagar, it felt like command.

But today, today was different.

The air above the bay was knife-sharp and salted, the wind tugging hard at Aemond’s cloak as Vhagar banked wide over the water. She had been restless all morning, shifting her weight on the cliffside before dawn, tail twitching in a rhythm he’d learned meant fly.

They soared above the Blackwater, over mist-wrapped ruins, through the smoke of distant hearthfires. She roared once over a village by the shore.

Aemond decided he wanted to test flying high with her, where the air is thinner and breathing harder.

He leaned forward, the movement slight, his voice half-formed on his tongue- but before the word could leave his lips, her great wings were beating harder, the horizon dropping away beneath them.

Aemond’s fingers tightened on the reins, though he hadn’t pulled them. The thought had been enough.

When they reached the clouds, the air turned cold and thin. He called for a deep dive. A long, steep fall to shatter the calm. Vhagar’s answering rumble was felt more than heard, a deep vibration through saddle and bone.

And then they fell.

The bay spun upward to meet them, the white churn of waves growing sharper with each heartbeat. At the last possible breath before the water, Aemond had her open her wings like storm gates, the air booming around them as they surged upward.

Aemond laughed- short, startled, entirely unplanned.

Vhagar’s answering growl rolled up through her throat and out into the wind, not quite a roar. Not quite language. But the sound carried something that sank straight into him- the same exhilaration he felt, the same sharp edge of shared intent.

Only when Aemond decided to go back towards the city did he realize his lips had never moved.

At first, he thought that the adrenaline in his body simply made him hyper-focused on his task, so he didn't realize he had given Vhagar a command.

He thought of turning left- not the word itself, but the shape of it. The weight of his body leaning that way, the shift in wind across his face, the slight pull in his stomach as a turn began.

He was about to give command in High Valyrian, when Vhagar tilted into it without hesitation, banking so smoothly it felt almost lazy.

Aemond’s pulse quickened.

Next time, his imagination and visualization of the maneuver were deliberate; he imagined a slower pace. No command. No “steady” or “hold.” Just the sensation of the air easing, the beat of her wings stretching further apart.

She matched it. Perfectly.

He frowned against the wind. This could be a coincidence- she was an ancient beast, clever and stubborn enough to act on her own whims. But his heart refused that answer. This was not coincidence.

He pushed further, shaping the idea of climbing again, but sharply this time, like an arrow loosed toward the sun. Her great chest swelled, wings pumping with sudden power, the horizon tipping beneath them.

The world below shrank to a scatter of toy houses and tiny ships.

'So you do hear me', he thought. The moment the words formed in his mind, he realized he wasn’t sure if they were his or if they had been brushed into place by something older, vaster.

When the sea reappeared far below, he pictured skimming it- just enough to feel the spray. Vhagar dropped in a smooth arc, the wind screaming louder until the water was close enough that its salt touched his lips.

Aemond’s breath came quick, but not from fear. There was no sense of being carried or obeyed. This was something else- a mutual leaning into the same choice, as if the thought was already shared before he’d even shaped it.

When they landed, her head lowered, one amber eye turning toward him. The look was unblinking, assessing- the kind of stare that did not mistake itself for deference.

He reached forward, pressing his palm against the warm, scarred skin above her jaw.

“We’ll see how far this goes,” he murmured. But he wasn’t sure if the words were for her, or if the answering flick of her tail was for him.

Still in shock, Aemond made his way back to the Dragonpit to clean and organise his equipment. He was so deep inside his mind that a sudden sound of something falling startled him back into partial awareness.

A young boy, no more than nine, struggled to carry a heavy basket across the yard. The wicker handle snapped. The metal parts he carried were scattered on the ground.

Aemond, still dazed, knelt and quickly scooped up the parts and put them back into the basket. “Don’t carry them all at once next time,” he said, tying the broken handle together with a leather strap from his own belt pouch.

The boy mumbled thanks.

Aemond only nodded, turned, and kept walking.

'Is it normal for dragons of this universe to read their rider's intent?' Aemond thought to himself. He knew that Druk, as an animal connected to the fire element and the spirits, was capable of understanding Zuko without him having to say anything, but that was mostly thanks to the fact that Zuko made contact with him while he was still in his egg.

Could Vhagar be the same? But then, how was he able to connect so well with her? Is it because of his reincarnated soul, or is something deeper at play?

Aemond wasn't sure, but what he did know was that this ability must be nurtured. His steps became more energetic, almost skipping in his excitement. 'Who would have thought, I learn something new about this world every day.' Aemond thought to himself, imagining all the new possibilities.

He was so absorbed with his thoughts that he didn't realize that the boy he had helped was still looking at his back. "Big brother was right," the boy said to himself, "Queen Alicent's children are kinder than the rest of their family".

He turned around and returned to his work, but his eyes were a little brighter.

Chapter Text

The day was drawing to a close, and the Red Keep seemed to exhale with it. Torches flickered to life along the stone corridors, their flames painting the walls in gold and shadow. Beyond the windows, the last blush of sunset bled across the sky, the city below sinking into the quiet hum of night.

In Queen Alicent’s solar, where the fire crackled warmly against the cool evening air, her sons gathered, not for supper, nor idle chatter, but with a purpose that carried weight.

Queen Alicent Hightower sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap as she listened- half-patient, half-weary- to the voices of her elder sons.

Aegon paced in front of the hearth, his tone brash and insistent, while Aemond stood straighter by the window, his words chosen with care. Little Daeron stood beside him, his eyes filled with hope.

“Mother, he’s leaving for Oldtown soon,” Aegon pressed, throwing up his hands. “What kind of brother would I be if Daeron went away, never knowing what it is to ride with us?"

"He has Tessarion, yes-" Aemond backed Aegon with his own argument "-but the dragon is still too small to carry Daeron's weight. You send him off, and he’ll be gone before he ever learns.”

Alicent’s lips thinned. “Daeron is not a child to be passed between you like a toy.”

Daeron, who remained quiet throughout the conversation, finally spoke up, as if summoned by that sentence.

“Mother, please. I’ve waited for so long. I don’t want to be the only rider in the family who’s never flown with the rest.”

Alicent’s expression softened at his plea- the earnestness in his voice was not something she could dismiss as easily as Aegon’s swagger and Aemond's arguments.

“It is not play,” Aemond chimed in, face showing clear dislike of how their mother talked about their relationship with Daeron.

His single eye gleamed as he turned from the window. “It is a duty. He must learn to ride not only alone, but as part of a wing." Unity, after all, was the most valuable thing in this luckluster society.

"To fly in formation, to trust his kin in the skies. Oldtown is no place for dragons- he will need the memory of it, Mother. Otherwise he will be less than he could be.” Aemond continues.

Aegon grinned, pleased by his brother’s words.

“Besides, what is the harm in a single flight? You know Vhagar is like a grumpy reptilian grandma whenever Aemond is near." Aegon teasingly said while smirking at his brother, who scoffed good-naturedly at his antics.

"He will be safer with Aemond, whom he trusts the most of us to share his first flight with, than to learn by himself in Oldtown with no one to support him."

"And-" Aemond continues, "-if you fear he will not keep his seat, then he has both of us to guard him. I swear it- I would not let him fall.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her fingers twisting in the fabric of her gown. She looks at the way her youngest son's eyes are filled with stars at the prospect of flying with his siblings.

Daeron stood straighter, his voice low but firm. “Let me ride with them, Mother. Give me this one memory before the Old Town separated me from them.”

A long silence stretched, broken only by the crackle of the fire. At last, Alicent exhaled, the weight of inevitability heavy on her shoulders.

“Very well,” she said softly. “But you will be cautious. No reckless dives, no racing. Do you understand me?”

Aegon beamed, triumphant. “Of course, Mother.”

Aemond only inclined his head, solemn, yet his eyes were undoubtedly filled with warmth.

Daeron's face filled with joy at her agreement. In the end, Alicent could not bring herself to regret the choice- even as fear coiled in her heart, as it always did when her children took to the skies.

The next day, she watched as all her children made way to the Dragonpit. Her shaking hands were picking at the skin around her nails, showing her anxiety.

The bells of King’s Landing tolled the hour as smoke curled above the Dragonpit, thick with the scent of straw, blood, and ash. Within its towering walls, two dragons stirred restlessly, their roars shaking the stone as if eager to be free of their prison.

The servants' heads turned when they saw the four white haired children make their way to the storage where their dragon-riding equipment resided.

It was the first time the four of them would fly together. Before, Aemond was too wary of accidentally hurting his siblings and their dragons with Vhagar, so he never agreed to flying together with them.

However, now that Aemond discovered his newfound bond with Vhagar, he became confident enough to fly alongside Aegon and Helaena. The fact that Daeron is leaving for Old Town just two days later only made him that much more sure of his decision.

Aemond knew their remaining time together had to be spent doing something special, and what could be more special than them being the ones to introduce Daeron to the dragon-riding tradition of the House Targaryen?

Of course, as the son of the King, Daeron should have been taken on his first ride by his father, but Viserys is dragonless and old, and so, this responsibility falls to his older siblings instead.

In the Dragonpit, chains clinked, keepers barked orders, and the smell of brimstone hung in the air. Aemond looked around, his heart becoming heavy at how the dragons were kept there. Chained on their neck with heavy metal, their resting places small.

He was glad Vhagar’s roost lay beyond the city walls, free of such confinement. Aemond's thoughts nudged their bond, which prompted a roar from outside the city walls.

Vhagar’s deep, thunderous breathing rolled from the outside, clearly impatient at having their morning flight delayed to a late afternoon.

Looking back at the downed dragons of Dragonpit, Aemond vowed to find a way to allow them freedom without putting normal people's lives in danger.

In the background, Dreamfyre shifted and hissed, her pale wings catching the light. Sunfyre- all gold and majestic- snapped his jaws at a passing handler, forcing the man to retreat with a muttered curse.

It seems even spending the majority of their time in chains did not dampen dragons' spirits and will for freedom.

Aemond went to grab his equipment with Daeron by his side. "Take this" Aemond said, giving Daeron the special safety straps he and Master Orthic made together.

They were made of sturdy material, meant to keep the additional passenger connected to the leather seat and, therefore, safe beside the intended rider. Daeron took the invention, clearly fascinated by the unusual craftsmanship.

Together, they made their way outside to Vhagar, who was waiting for them at the cliff nearby.

Daeron's face was filled with awe as Vhagar's enormous eyelids opened, revealing her eyes. He instinctively stepped behind Aemond a bit, fixing his small hands into Aemond's tunic as he shyly watched Vhagar observe him in turn.

Aemond smiled. Such a blatant display of trust made his limbs feel like they were about to transform into goo and glue themself onto this small, brilliant boy.

Daeron peeked out from behind Aemond’s shoulder, biting his lip. “She’s… gods, she’s bigger than I imagined.”

“Do you trust me?” Aemond asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Of course I do,” Daeron said at once. He lifted his chin, voice shaking but resolute. “If you say she won’t eat me, then I believe it.”

Aemond chuckled, then took Daeron's hand and guided it to Vhagar's jaw, showing him that one spot where Vhagar loves being scratched at. Daeron's eyes filled with wonder as he marveled at how warm she was.

Seeing them getting along, Aemond placed his own hand beside Daeron's. Soon enough, his and Vhagar's bond grew in intensity, falling into this zone he recently discovered.

Aemond’s bond with her had deepened so far that he rarely needed to use words anymore- she read his intent as if it were her own.

He then took the safety lines he had asked Daeron to bring and fastened them onto his saddle.

Daeron, feeling the time coming closer, began dressing in his new dragonriding leathers, the ones he commissioned with Helaena. Seeing his growing excitement, Aemond started donning his own leathers, not willing to prolong the wait.

Their remaining siblings joined them outside on their dragons, right after Daeron and Aemond got ready. Aegon and Helaena landed nearby, waiting for them to climb on Vhagar's back.

“Never flown together before, have we?!” Aegon yelled, his voice filled with unusual excitement. “Seems wrong, doesn’t it? Three riders under one roof and we’ve been circling the skies like strangers.”

Before Driftmark, Aegon had kept to himself in the air- solitary, reckless loops over the bay or drunken dives toward the city roofs. Helaena never asked to join him, and Aemond didn't even have a dragon he could join him on. Daeron was, of course, too young.

But now?

Aemond stood beside Vhagar’s massive foreleg, hand on the warm, scarred hide. He watched Aegon grin like a little boy as Sunfyre’s wings flickered, clearly as excited at the prospect of flying with other dragons as Aegon. In the background, Helaena whispered something private to Dreamfyre’s ear.

“You’re eager!” Daeron yelled back to Aegon, raising an eyebrow, even though his siblings were too far away to see his change of expression.

“First time for everything,” Aegon replied. “Besides, Sunfyre’s been dying to show off in front of Aemond's old girl.” He glanced up at Vhagar’s towering shape. “Not that he stands a chance, of course.”

Aemond smiled, then turned his attention back to Daeron. Keeping a steady hand, he helped him climb onto Vhagar's back. They snapped the safety lines ready, securing them both comfortably to Aemond's saddle.

They waited for Helaena and Aegon to take to the skies before doing so themselves.

Aegon rose first; he and Sunfyre flew up with grace no one would expect from him, the dragon and his rider more in tune with each other than even the most seasoned riders like Rhaenys.

Aemond watched his ascent closely and noticed how Aegon never used Valyrian to communicate with Sunfyre like he did. 'Huh, I never paid much attention to it, but isn't it weird how the he-dragon seemed to have learnt the Westerosi dialect?'

Aemond was curious. Are dragons in this world capable of learning different dialects? Or are Aegon and Sunfyre simply so connected spiritually that they were always capable of understanding each other's intent from the very beginning?

Aemond was once again in awe of how beautiful their bond is.

Once Aegon disappeared among the clouds, Aemond turned his gaze to Helaena and Dreamfyre.

They ascended lazily, the she-dragon roared, and rose in a spiral, her wings catching the sun like blue glass. Those two, while not as in tune as Aemond and Aegon are with their dragons, also communicate more with gestures than they do with words.

Helaena, ever since she started telling Aemond and Aegon about her dreams without being afraid of rejection, became more present. She started to fly on Dreamfyre more, embracing her dragon-riding heritage.

Aemond is one hundred percent sure their bond will grow as splendidly as his and Aegon's did.

Aemond, Daeron and Vhagar went last.

Unlike the other dragons, Vhagar shifted her massive bulk toward the cliff’s edge, claws grinding stone. The wind from the bay rose to meet them, tugging at Aemond’s hair, whipping his cloak against his legs.

There was no leap- only the slow, inevitable forward lurch of a creature too heavy for hesitation.

Then they were falling.

The rock face rushed past, grey and jagged, the sea roaring louder with every heartbeat. Aemond’s body filled with adrenaline, the air clawing at his face as they plunged. Daeron gasped, moved backwards to fit his back against Aemond's chest.

His face was filled with both fear and ecstasy.

Vhagar did not roar. She waited. Waited until the wind screamed against her wings, until the muscles beneath Aemond’s legs coiled like drawn bowstrings- and then she snapped her wings wide.

The world jolted. The plunge became an upward surge, the sea falling away below as they cut through the air. Aemond leaned into the motion, the sudden, powerful lift that only Vhagar could command, and they climbed into the sun.

As Vhagar leveled out, Daeron let out a cry that was half-laugh, half-yelp. “Seven hells, the whole city looks like a toy chest from up here!”

Aegon laughed back. “Careful, or Mother will have you on your knees for blasphemy.”

“Let her! It’s worth it!” Daeron shouted, cheeks red from the wind and thrill.

Aemond felt the air tear past his face, cold and clean. The bay shimmered like a spilled sheet of silver.

Aegon whooped and wheeled back around them. “Gods, why didn’t we do this sooner?”

Helaena’s laughter, rare and bright, carried over the wind. “Because you never asked,” she called back, guiding Dreamfyre into a graceful dive.

They played in the air like children rediscovering a game- Vhagar sweeping low enough to send fishing boats rocking, Sunfyre cutting dangerously close to her wingtip before rolling away, Dreamfyre drifting between them with calm, deliberate ease.

They didn't know how long they were flying; time didn't matter up here, only them, their dragons and the roaring wind that blew past them.

Their styles were all so different. Sunfyre and Aegon, with reckless, showy loops. Dreamfyrea nd Helaena with their elegant spirals and flowing dives. Vhagar, her heavy, thunderous inevitability- slow to move, but unstoppable.

And yet despite it, they were a unit. Perfectly balanced through their varied personalities and abilities.

When they finally landed, boots crunching on the stone, the keepers stared at them as if at a vision.

“First time I’ve seen all four in the air,” one murmured. “Didn’t think it’d ever happen.”

Aegon clapped Aemond on the shoulder, breathless and grinning. “Not bad, brother. You make a decent wingman.” “You make a decent distraction,” Aemond returned, voice dry but not unkind.

Helaena only smiled, brushing windblown hair from her face. “The sky remembers its riders,” she said softly.

Neither brother asked what she meant.

Daeron, still in awe, burst out, “I’ll remember this for the rest of my life. No maester’s book or Oldtown lesson could ever compare to this day.”

Aegon, Helaena and Aemond all looked at him with eyes filled with love, so very different than before.

That night, they all ate supper together. They prepared their food by themselves, which allowed the kitchen staff a small break. The cooks were grateful, if slightly confused and embarrassed.

Even their mother and grandsire joined them. Alicent made sure to check all of them for injuries while allowing herself to listen to Daeron's happy exclamations.

Her eyes are soft as she listens to Daeron's words. Her hand slowly brushing his short hair back. Alicent turns her gaze to her other children and sees them laughing. The tension fully leaves her body, and the Queen allows herself to hope.

Hope that her children will not only survive this complex family and political war, but that they will also thrive and live, while remaining a united front.

Their grandsire sat nearby, looking at Aegon, Helaena and Daeron considerately. He finally turned his head to look at Aemond, only for their eyes to meet.

In this game, where Otto had been the sole mastermind, he finally met another player; in most cases, he would have seen it as a threat and a challenge.

But who knows, maybe the elder man is much happier about it than anybody might have expected, least of all himself.

Chapter Text

Hi everyone!

I have a question concerning the plot of the story. Would you rather I focus on the plot of the show, meaning political quests/family drama/war arc. Or maybe you would like to find out how Zuko's soul got here in the first place?

If you choose the first one, I will focus more on the war and make a timeskip. If you choose the second one however, there will be no timeskip and I will use the few years that were left out in the "House of the Dragon" to show what happened and why Zuko was brought here. In this case the war will be a little shorter but still detailed and the story as a whole will be much longer.

I hope you have a great September!
(also, anyone a Silksong fan? I know for a fact that I'm going to go no contact with the outside world once it comes out.)

Chapter Text

The morning wind tugged at the cloaks of people gathered in the courtyard, sharp and clean like a blade left out in snow. The sun had not yet cleared the towers, and the mist was still covering their highest points. The space, however, was already filled with noise.

No horns. No fanfare. Just the sound of hooves shifting in the crisp morning air and the creak of leather as retainers tightened saddle straps. It was not a royal procession, just a boy and his escort heading to Oldtown for duty and education. But for the royal family, it felt like something more.

Prince Daeron stood by the carriage in a deep green cloak that looked a size too big, but he wore it proudly. His hair was freshly combed, his satchel buckled twice, though he had already checked it thrice himself. Despite it all, Daeron was smiling through tears.

“Don’t you dare go back to excessive drinking once I’m gone,” he said, jabbing a finger at Aegon, who stood with arms crossed, eyes dry, mouth taut.

Aegon scoffed. “Come on, I'm not so weak-minded to revert to those habits so soon after ending them.” Daeron grinned. Then hugged him. Aegon's arms wrapped tightly around the youngest, a hand briefly tousling his hair.

Next came Helaena.

Daeron didn’t speak. He took both her hands in his and leaned forward until their foreheads touched. “You’ll miss me,” he whispered.

“I’ll dream of you,” she replied. “In the green places.”

“Then I’ll send letters from the garden.” He smiled through his tears.

And then there was Aemond.

The two of them made eye contact. Sudenly, Daeron came running toward Aemond. The youngest prince’s grin was bright, reckless as ever, and Aemond didn’t hesitate- he swept him into a hug that lifted Daeron off the ground, his arms holding tight like a shield.

“You’re going to crush me,” Daeron laughed, breathless.

“Good,” Aemond said, voice filled with emotion, and for a moment, the morning felt warmer with Daeron in his arms. “Then you’ll remember to write.”

"Then you must remember to visit if you're nearby," replied Daeron, his cheeky grin lighting his face.

They stayed like that for a moment longer before Aemond set him down, pressing a quick kiss to the crown of his brother’s hair. “Be good, but not blindly. Remember to observe before taking any action,” he warned, voice tinged with affection.

Daeron nodded, his eyes serious. His brain quickly imprinted that warning, as he did with all the advice Aemond had ever given him. He turned his back and made his way to the carriage.

Metal wheels crunched on the gravel as Daeron climbed in, looking back at his siblings once more, he gave them a bright smile. Daeron kept waving until the carriage vanished and the last echo of hooves was gone.

Aegon stared after the carriage a moment longer, jaw working as if chewing on words he wouldn’t speak. “Seven hells,” he muttered at last, “I already miss the little fool.”

Helaena nodded absently, watching a spider crawl across the flagstones. “Threads are cut,” she whispered. “But they do not fall apart. They tie themselves in new knots, somewhere further down.”

Aemond glanced at her. “Then we will make sure they knot in the right place.”

He looked back toward the gates where the carriage had vanished, the faintest curve to his mouth. Daeron will be safe. For all the dissatisfaction Aemond had with Daeron being separated from them, Oldtown will be good for him. The boy is brilliant; he will charm everyone there. Daeron reminds Aemond of Aang in that department, how kind and open towards others they were.

Aemond's heart filled with warmth at the thought of his best friend.

As the courtyard slowly emptied, Aegon remained where he was, arms crossed, staring at the gate. Aemond lingered at his shoulder. “You should go inside,” Aemond said.

“Feels wrong,” Aegon muttered. “Like we should be doing something. Not just… standing here.” “We are not doing nothing,” Aemond replied evenly. “We are letting him go. That is harder.”

Aegon huffed out a laugh. “You make it sound noble.” “It is,” Aemond said, his tone sharpening slightly. “Do not let anyone make you think otherwise. Daeron will do well in Oldtown- but only if we do well here.”

Aegon glanced at him, brow furrowed. “Meaning?”

“Meaning we keep the court calm, keep our mother from worrying herself into an early grave, and keep our family from tearing itself apart while he is gone,” Aemond said simply. “And when the time is right, we leave this cage for a while ourselves.”

Aegon’s lips twitched into a grin. “You mean run off and terrify the court?”

“Not run,” Aemond said, a glint of amusement in his eye. “Travel. With purpose.”

“Hells,” Aegon muttered, but the grin remained.

Finally, Aegon too turned back to the Keep, slowly walking there, his chin held high, but without the overwhelming arrogance that used to accompany him. Aemond watched him go, then turned his gaze to the woman standing beside him.

Alicent's face was pale, her lips pressed thin as a blade. She started walking back, too, but before she was too far away to hear him, Aemond spoke. “You did not cry,” he observed quietly.

Queen Alicent looked at her son. “I did not dare”- she said, almost too softly to hear. “If I started, I would not stop.”

For a moment, Aemond saw not the Queen Dowager, not the Hand’s daughter, but just a woman who had watched her youngest son ride away. “He will come back stronger,” Aemond said. “He will come back knowing more than any of us did at his age.”

Alicent glanced at him then, and though she said nothing, some of the tension in her face eased. She touched Aemond’s arm briefly before continuing on. Aemond watched her retreating figure. His chest ached- not with anger, but with something softer, heavier. Pity, yes, but also respect. His mother’s restraint was its own kind of strength, and he would not let her bear this grief alone.

Aemond turned his gaze to his sister, and Helaena looked back. A wordless understanding passed between them, one that only the two of them understood. Helaena nods at him, then joins Aegon and their mother on their walk back, easily sliding into place at Aegon's side.

Aemond remained, still standing in the cooling morning. The emptiness in the courtyard seemed to echo inside him- a reminder that they were all growing, changing, being pulled toward their separate destinies.

Around the edges of the yard, courtiers lingered like crows on a fence. Their silks and jewels glimmered pale in the weak dawn light as they whispered behind gloved hands.

“The youngest, sent to Oldtown. A clever move- keeps the hand's birth family satisfied.”

“Or a dangerous one,” murmured another. “Imagine what he might learn under the Hightowers’ roof. A boy that bright might become... inconvenient.”

“If he does not turn soft first,” a third voice snickered. “The Arbor makes poets out of soldiers. Perhaps Oldtown will make a maester out of a prince.”

Aemond’s eye flicked toward them. No one dared meet his gaze. Zuko truly doesn't understand the stigma against measters, they are the most educated social order of this time. There is nothing wrong with choosing to heal, build, or teach over fighting and killing for power.

Yet the gossip buzzed on, low and poisonous, unaware of Aemond's thoughts.

“And what of the others?”

“They’ll keep them close now. Too much risk to let more Targaryen children wander when the court is already on edge. Especially the disabled one.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened. The birds fell quiet all at once. The breeze stilled. For a moment, it was as though the whole castle was holding its breath. The words curled like embers in his chest. “Disabled one.” They had no idea- no idea what he was, what he was capable of. Heat flared behind his ribs, sharp and bright, then it was gone, snuffed out before it could consume him.

He would not give them the satisfaction of seeing him lose control. Not now, not ever. He will show them, just as he had shown everyone when he was Zuko. Being in any way impaired does not lower that person's value, only makes them more cautious, and should they learn from it, smarter.

Somewhere behind them, Lord Merryweather cleared his throat nervously and changed the subject when he saw Ser Lorian approaching. By the next hour, those same words- about “keeping the children close”- were whispered in the Tower of the Hand, where Otto Hightower listened without comment, his fingers steepled.

Aemond didn’t know it yet, but the first piece towards his goal had already been moved across the board.

When the birds began to sing again, Aemond turned on his heel, walking back to his chamber. Ser Lorian fell into step behind him, silent as always. The knight’s armor gleamed, but his face was unreadable- the sort of man who listened more than he spoke, and never forgot what he heard.

'It seems'- Aemond thought- 'that now is the time to start planning the field trip in earnest. But, it's not the perfect time yet.' The courtiers were right. He, Aegon, and Helaena cannot leave right after Daeron himself departs. The court needs to get used to this new situation first.

Also, Aemond still has a lot to improve in his physical condition. For some reason, his firebending still hadn’t awakened. At first, Aemond thought that he simply didn't have his firebending, but after noticing how his body temperature rises whenever he feels strong emotions, Aemond concluded that his firebending did indeed come with him to this world.

'I know you’re there'- he thought. 'You’re waiting for me to be ready.'
It didn’t frighten him; if anything, it made him focus harder on his training. One day, when he was balanced enough, the fire would come.