Chapter 5
Aemond accompanied his brother through the dimly lit streets, winding deeper into the familiar alleys that led to the brothel. He’d lost track of how many times he’d walked this path at Aegon’s side, each visit an echo of the last, save for one distinct, haunting difference. This was his ninth time, and every visit had stirred up only fleeting glimpses, quick flashes of a boy with dark hair and a face that lingered in his mind, elusive but unforgettable.
Thinking back, his younger self would have been horrified at this pursuit. The very idea of following Aegon to such a place, let alone obsessing over someone he’d only briefly seen, would have been unfathomable. But ever since that one night, since he’d picked Aegon up from the brothel and saw the black-haired boy, he couldn’t shake the quiet desperation to see him again.
Aegon, though typically full of careless mockery, had surprised Aemond by agreeing to bring him along. For all his usual teasing, he hadn’t questioned Aemond’s fixation with the boy too deeply. He’d thrown out a few casual remarks, hints that he understood more than he was letting on, but there was something unsaid between them as they walked. As they strolled through the dark, narrow streets, Aegon chuckled softly, glancing over his shoulder at Aemond. He reminisced about the aftermath of Aemond’s first outburst, back when he’d confronted their grandfather, breaking his usual calm.
"Remember how furious he was?" Aegon mused, amusement tinged with sympathy in his tone. "After that little slip-up, he had you locked up for days like some rabid animal. Isolation until you learned to ‘control yourself until you understood your place." His voice took on a bitter edge, as if mocking the very concept. “Gods forbid you react. You're supposed to be a weapon. Quiet until needed. Isn't that right?"
Aemond’s jaw tightened, his gaze fixed straight ahead, but the memories Aegon stirred up were unavoidable. Those long days in house arrest felt like endless stretches of silence, cold and barren, with nothing but the echo of his own footsteps for company. He remembered the heaviness that had settled over him then, a suffocating weight that had pressed down on his chest and left him with a constant, gnawing sense of inadequacy. Over time, he’d learned to suppress the outbursts, the emotion, to stifle every flicker of rebellion. He was trained to be stoic, disciplined, precisely the passive, silent weapon they all expected him to be.
But that night he’d seen the boy for the first time had unravelled something within him. It was a stirring he hadn’t felt in years, a mix of curiosity and a yearning he didn’t entirely understand. The kid had seemed so out of place, a figure of mystery with his wary, dark eyes that darted like a trapped animal’s. And in the brief, stolen glances he’d managed to catch, Aemond had felt something sharp, something alive break through his carefully built walls.
Aegon, of course, hadn’t let it go unnoticed. He’d smirked, taunting Aemond about his “strange fascination.” But underneath the jabs, Aemond detected a glimmer of something different, perhaps a rare empathy, or at least an understanding of what it felt like to chase something without quite knowing why. After Aemond’s punishment, Aegon had returned to the brothel alone, searching for the boy, and somehow managed to cross paths with him. He’d recounted how he’d tried speaking to the boy, but he was met with nothing but blank stares or nervous glances. The boy didn’t seem to understand a word anyone said, and though he never bolted right away, there was always an air of trepidation about him. Sometimes, if Aegon kept a respectable distance, he’d manage to coax a small, shy smile from him, but the boy remained wary.
"He's like a stray cat," Aegon muttered, shaking his head with a small, bemused smile. "Sometimes he’ll stay put long enough for a smile or a quick word, but then he's gone again."
They turned another corner, moving further into the shadows as the soft glow of lanterns illuminated the alley ahead. Aemond’s pulse quickened, an uncharacteristic excitement tingling through his veins. He knew he was taking a risk in hoping to see the boy again, but he couldn’t help himself.
As they approached, Aegon’s hand on his shoulder halted him. “There,” he whispered, nodding toward the alleyway. And then Aemond saw him, the dark-haired boy, half-hidden in the dim light, his form slightly slumped as if weighed down by something invisible. Aemond’s breath caught, and before he realized it, he’d taken a step forward, the urge to close the distance overwhelming him.
The boy’s head snapped up at the sound of Aemond’s footsteps, and his dark eyes widened with a familiar look of alarm. In that single instant, Aemond saw the flicker of a decision, a fleeting choice to flee, to vanish once again into the labyrinth of alleyways. Aemond’s heart plummeted. He’d spent so many nights haunted by the brief glances, the unspoken connection, and he couldn’t bear to watch him disappear yet again.
But something was different this time. The boy’s movements were sluggish, his limbs heavy as if weighted down by exhaustion or maybe even illness. His steps lacked their usual quickness, the skittish, darting movements of a creature always ready to run. Instead, he moved reluctantly, as though something deep within him wanted to stay despite his fear.
Aemond felt his instincts ignite, a sense of urgency taking over, and he broke into a run, his boots thudding against the uneven stones as he followed the boy deeper into the narrow passage. Shadows stretched across the dimly lit alley, casting them both in a blend of half-light and darkness, but Aemond kept his focus, his gaze never leaving the small, stumbling figure ahead of him. He watched as the boy wove unsteadily around a corner, his balance faltering.
And then, it happened. A loose rock caught the boy’s foot, and his thin body pitched forward. Aemond surged forward, reaching out just in time, his hands catching the boy’s fragile frame before he could hit the ground. The boy’s weight fell into Aemond’s grip, lighter than he expected, and he could feel the faint tremor in his muscles, the telltale signs of exhaustion or hunger. The boy’s breaths came in rapid, shallow bursts, and he clutched the fabric of Aemond’s tunic, steadying himself for a brief, fragile moment.
The silence grew heavier between them, weighted by the boy’s shaky breaths and the unspoken fear radiating off him. His small, fragile body remained taut; every muscle coiled as though expecting the worst. Aemond felt his heart stutter with a pang of doubt, afraid that his grip was too firm, too much. In an instinctive reaction, he loosened his hand, but as the boy tried to pull away, Aemond’s fingers closed gently, almost protectively, around his arm, grounding them both in the moment.
Aemond’s mind raced, and he found himself muttering under his breath, barely audible, as he searched for the right words. Every instinct he had drilled into him as a Targaryen and a warrior felt useless here, faced with something he couldn’t simply command or silence. After a heartbeat of hesitation, he awkwardly moved his hand to rest on the boy’s bony shoulder, the gesture uncertain but sincere. His gaze softened as he looked at the child with his single eye, searching for something, anything, to ease the hurt he saw in the boy’s face.
“It’s alright,” Aemond murmured, his voice low and unfamiliar to his own ears, softened by an emotion he rarely let himself feel. The words tumbled out awkwardly, but he meant them. He wanted the boy to feel it, even if he couldn’t understand the language or the intent behind them.
The boy blinked up at him, his tear-streaked cheeks flushed with confusion, his eyes bright with lingering fear. Aemond felt a strange ache, seeing that raw vulnerability. He could feel the question lingering between them, unspoken and heavy: Why are you being kind to me? Aemond’s gaze lingered on the boy’s face, drawn to the matted, dirty hair that fell over his right side, concealing whatever lay beneath. What was he hiding? Aemond wondered, curiosity sparking at the thought. What hurt or scarred him so deeply that he felt he had to hide it?
“I…” Aemond’s voice softened further, barely a whisper, his thumb brushing the boy’s shoulder in a gentle, almost hesitant motion. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
The boy’s shoulders shook, his breaths hitching as he rubbed at his tear-streaked cheeks, though the sobs still slipped through. His small body leaned forward, his head bowed, a protective shield of tangled hair falling to hide his face. Aemond’s chest tightened as he watched, feeling the boy’s fear and desperation in every shudder.
“Shh…” he murmured, the sound unsteady as he stiffly rubbed the boy’s arm in an awkward attempt at comfort. He had no idea what he was doing, only that he needed to do something. The boy stilled, looking up at him with a heartbreaking expression, eyes wide, filled with a raw mix of hope and terror. Aemond could feel the weight of the unspoken plea in those young, pained eyes, a wordless question that hung between them.
Then, with a trembling voice, the boy said something in a language Aemond couldn’t place, a string of foreign syllables that washed over him, laced with urgency. The words were a mystery, but the tone, the desperation, was unmistakable. Aemond’s brow furrowed, straining to understand even though he knew he couldn’t. The boy’s words seemed to ask for something, a plea as his fingers clenched into fists, his gaze darting away, as if fearing Aemond’s response.
Aemond swallowed, piecing together what little he could. He guessed the boy’s desperate look and trembling voice were a plea for freedom, for assurance that he wouldn’t be forced anywhere, controlled or hurt like he’d been before. Without thinking, Aemond tightened his grip slightly, steadying him, and leaned down so he could look the boy in the eye, his own gaze softer than he’d ever let it be.
“Please, let me help you,” Aemond said quietly, his voice low and uncertain. He knew the words meant nothing to the boy, but he hoped his tone, his expression, would convey enough to ease the fear in those wary eyes. For a moment, the boy just stared back, unblinking, before finally giving a hesitant nod and following him as they made their way back down the alley, back to Aegon, who they’d unintentionally left behind…
Again.
As they walked, the boy shifted, pushing back a few strands of his tangled hair. In that brief instant, Aemond caught a glimpse of his face, and his heart stopped. A jagged, branching scar stretched over the right side, tracing harsh patterns into his skin, like the roots of a tree or the path of lightning itself. He gasped, unable to contain his shock, and the boy’s head whipped around, panic flaring in his bright green eyes.
The boy’s face crumpled with distress as he pulled his hair down, desperately trying to shield the scar. He screeched a frantic burst of words in his unfamiliar language, his voice trembling with alarm. Aemond, realizing he’d startled him, felt a pang of guilt. “I... I didn’t mean to-” he stammered, but the boy only shrank back, looking like a cornered animal.
Aemond hesitated, his hand hovering uncertainly in the air, wanting to comfort him but unsure how. He was so small, so fragile in his fear, and Aemond was painfully aware of his own inadequacy. But the boy’s silent trembling, the quiet way he tried to disappear, struck something deep in him. Without another word, Aemond gently reached down, closing the space between them. He moved closer, his hand slipping around the boy’s back, and carefully scooped him up.
The boy tensed at first, hands clutching onto Aemond’s collar, but slowly, as they began to walk, he relaxed into the hold. Aemond shifted awkwardly, trying to keep his stride steady, his arms adjusting to the slight weight of the child. He wasn’t used to holding anyone, let alone someone so small and vulnerable, but he gave a gentle, tentative bounce as he walked, hoping to ease him.
The boy’s breathing grew slower and more rhythmic, his small chest rising and falling with a gentleness that told Aemond he was finally at ease. The frantic tension that had gripped him earlier melted away as his fingers slowly loosened their tight hold on Aemond’s collar. He nestled deeper into Aemond’s arms, his head resting against his shoulder with an almost instinctual trust. His eyelids fluttered for a moment before they drooped completely, and Aemond could feel the weight of his tiny body relax into sleep. The quiet rise and fall of the boy’s breath was soothing, the frantic energy that had filled the alley now replaced with a soft, steady calm.
Aemond moved carefully, ensuring that the boy stayed asleep as they continued down the dark alleyway, the faint glow of lanterns casting long shadows across the cobbled streets. It felt surreal, carrying the child in his arms, the soft weight of him pressing against his chest. The boy’s face, for the first time, was free of tension, the lines of fear momentarily smoothed out as he rested. Aemond’s heart felt oddly light, a sensation he didn’t recognize, something both unsettling and comforting in equal measure.
By the time they reached Aegon, the tension had not returned, and Aemond, despite his brother’s usual unflinching bravado, found himself unwilling to allow this moment to slip away. He turned to Aegon, giving him a sharp, warning glance, one that could only be interpreted in one way: Don’t you dare wake him.
Aegon raised an eyebrow, his surprise quickly shifting to disbelief. “What... What are you doing?” he hissed in an exaggerated whisper. “You’re still in trouble with Grandfather! What do you think he’ll do when you come home with a street kid?!”
Aemond’s gaze remained steady, his voice cold and unwavering as he looked down at the sleeping boy in his arms. "He’s coming home with us." The words were simple, but they carried an authority that Aemond had never expected to summon. His tone brooked no argument.
Aegon blinked, taken aback by the resolve in Aemond’s voice. His initial shock faded into confusion as he tried to grasp what his brother was doing. "What? Are you out of your mind? You’re already on thin ice, and now you want to bring some random kid into the keep? The last thing you need is to make things worse!"
Aemond’s expression hardened, his thoughts a whirlwind of emotions that he wasn’t quite ready to voice. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this, why he felt so compelled to protect this boy, to give him a home, even if it was just temporary. But there was something in the way the boy had looked at him, the raw fear and desperation, the trust that had come so easily despite everything. It made Aemond feel something stir inside him, something he’d long buried under his years of training, under the mask of his duties and expectations.
Aegon’s face scrunched in frustration as he muttered under his breath, glancing down at the small child in Aemond’s arms. The boy stirred slightly, and Aemond tightened his grip, as if to ensure he wouldn’t wake up. He could feel Aegon’s eyes on him, searching for some sign of weakness, some hint of doubt. But Aemond’s resolve was unwavering.
"You’re going to get us both killed," Aegon muttered darkly, but his voice held no real malice, just concern. He could see it in his brother’s face, the way his jaw was set, the way his posture had shifted. Aemond wasn’t just doing this, he was committed.
"I’m not asking for your approval," Aemond said quietly, his eyes never leaving Aegon’s. "I’m doing what I think is right." He shifted the boy slightly in his arms, careful not to disturb him.
Aegon let out a long sigh, his irritation giving way to reluctant acceptance. He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back against the stone wall as he eyed Aemond and the boy. “Fine,” he grumbled, clearly not convinced, but resigned. “But when Grandfather has your head on a pike, don’t come crying to me.”
Aemond’s lips twitched in the slightest hint of a smile, though it was tinged with bitterness. “I’ll take my chances.” His words were quiet, but firm, a resolve that seemed to settle into his bones with an unsettling weight. The memory of his last punishment came rushing back, a cold shiver running down his spine as his mind replayed the days of isolation.
He remembered the suffocating silence of his room, the heavy door that locked him in, the distant echo of voices beyond the stone walls. No one was allowed to speak to him, no one was allowed to be near him, aside from the maid who brought him food and cleaned his laundry. Even that was mechanical, detached, as though he were little more than an inconvenience. There were no words of comfort, no gestures of kindness. Just the unyielding walls and the cold glare of his grandfather’s disapproval. It was as if the entire world had turned its back on him, and he was left to rot in that cage of his own making.
Aemond clenched his jaw, shaking off the old, familiar pain that threatened to resurface. That was the price of failure, they had said. A failure of control, A failure of discipline. And the punishment had been harsh, unrelenting. But he had survived. Survived, and learned to bury everything, his anger, his frustration, his hurt, deep inside where no one could see it. Where it could not be used against him.
Now, as he held the boy in his arms, a small, fragile figure who had been through far too much already, Aemond could feel the protective instinct rise within him. This child, this boy, was vulnerable, and Aemond wasn’t going to let anyone take him away.
He would never leave the boy’s side. He couldn’t… he wouldn’t.
The cold isolation he had endured had forged something inside him, something harder and darker, but it had also left him with an understanding of what it felt like to be abandoned, to be seen as a weapon rather than a person. He would never let this boy experience that. Never.
And if anyone tried to take him away, if they thought they could tear him from Aemond’s arms or rip him from his care… well, Aemond would show them just how far he was willing to go. He was the son of the Targaryen bloodline, a prince bound to a dragon. Vhagar, his monstrous, deadly companion, was as much a part of him as his own skin, and together, they were a weapon, one that no one would dare challenge without consequences.
Aemond looked at the boy’s peaceful, sleeping face, the small rise and fall of his chest, and something cold and unyielding stirred deep within him. He wasn’t afraid of what would come. They could try, he thought with a grim smile, but they would regret it.
For now, though, he would just hold the boy close, making sure he remained safe. And when the time came, when the world tried to force its cruelty on them both, Aemond would be ready to remind them all of the price of underestimating a Targaryen, and his bond with a child who had no one left but him.
They would see, in time, what kind of weapon Aemond and Vhagar truly were.