The Woes Of A Wayward Son
Aemond Targaryen loathed traveling by ship. The endless confinement on the blasted galley with no one to accompany him reminded him of his glaring disadvantage—his lack of a dragon. Without one, he felt condemned to a life of limitations, subject to the barbs of the court and the taunts of his nephews. And to suffer a gibe from his father on top of it felt like salt in the wound. King Viserys had offered him the choice among the dragon's eggs or young hatchlings found beneath the Dragonmont after Laena Velaryon's funeral, "if the lad was bold enough," he had said.
Had his father possessed a deeper understanding of his son's struggles, he might have grasped that Aemond's plight stemmed not from a lack of boldness but from an earnest desire to prove his worth. Unlike how his siblings—Aegon, Helaena, and Daeron—who had fought to claim their dragons from Dragonstone, Rhaenyra's children had been handed the royal pick of the eggs. A privilege denied to Aemond's siblings due to courtly doubts about the Velaryon siblings' legitimacy.
Only Aemond—thanks to his mother's relentless persistence after her lord father's exile from King's Landing—had been granted a chance at all. Even that ended in disappointment when the fragile creature inside his egg perished in his cradle almost immediately after emerging. It was a failure he could not escape, a constant reminder that, in a family where dragons were everything, he alone had been left behind.
And so the King's casual mention of the very thing that had caused him so much pain felt like a cruel reminder of his inadequacy. It reminded him that while his brothers and nephews soared through the skies bonded with their dragons, Aemond remained grounded, struggling with the weight of expectations and the whispered doubts about his worth.
If Aegon were here, he'd likely tell Aemond not to be troubled by the King's words, insisting instead that Aemond was destined for the most formidable dragon in the world one day or that Sunfyre could easily carry them both if need be. His brother would have brushed off their father's idiomatic cruelty with the easy confidence that seemed to come so naturally to him. But Aegon wasn't here, having been sent to Oldtown— just like Daeron —when word reached the King of Lords' urging his brother to prepare for his eventual claim to the throne. That had been a year ago. Now, all Aemond had of his two brothers were the letters they sent him each moon, filled with tales of their exploits and studies while he remained in King's Landing.
It was all because of Rhaenyra and her brood.
For she was all his father saw, all that he ever wanted to see. His golden child. THE REALM'S DELIGHT.
Aemond had sensed it long before he could name it, that subtle undercurrent of favoritism that seeped into the very fabric of their lives. It gnawed at him, a shadow that clung to his every thought, even as Aegon turned a blind eye to its presence. His brother might feign indifference, but Aemond knew better—knew that the sting of their father's disregard was something they all felt deep in their bones. They were no longer children, blind to the world around them. They had grown sharp-eyed and wary, able to discern the cruel truth in how Viserys Targaryen favored his firstborn daughter and her brood over the offspring of his second wife. It was not always visible, but it was there; a bitter taste on the tongue, a coldness that could not be ignored.
The sudden roar of a dragon above them drew every eye on the deck skyward; Helaena. Dreamfyre's wings stretched wide, vast enough to cover the sky and cast a shadow over the ship below. Aemond's breath caught, as it always did when confronted with the sheer majesty of dragons. Fire made flesh—such magnificent creatures. He distantly wondered how much Sunfyre had grown in the past year. Daeron's letters speculated that she might have reached Syrax's size or even more substantial by now. Imagine a dragon so young achieving the size of one fifteen years its senior—it would be a sight to behold, he was sure.
Aemond knew a dragon's size wasn't dictated solely by age; he'd read enough to understand that. Vermithor, by all accounts, was considered academically larger than Dreamfyre despite being younger. He had never seen it, of course. But Sunfyre was still young, younger still, when he first laid on it, especially compared to Syrax. Aegon had been just five when he went to Dragonstone to claim his Golden Lady. Aemond recalled his brother once confiding that he had initially wanted to name her Narcissa—after a flower from Essos Aegon read about in a book—but Helaena had laid eyes on the dragon for one moment and declared her to be Sunfyre. His elder brother, ever soft-hearted where their sister was concerned, had complied without hesitation. It wasn't surprising, really—Aegon had always harbored a deep affection for their sister Helaena.
And though Aemond had never fully grasped why Aegon clashed so fiercely with their mother whenever the subject of marriage arose, he was relieved that his brother had ultimately accepted the match. Better that than see Helaena married off to Jacaerys Velaryon, of all people. She would be nothing but a hostage if that were to happen, their grandsire had declared.
Aemond would never wish such a fate upon his kind sister. Helaena Targaryen is often content in fading into the background and existing on a higher plane rather than socializing with people. She is different. Always be kind to your sister, his mother and grandsire had said. Mushroom, the court fool—a three-foot-tall dwarf proclaimed to the entire court; a simpleminded girl and rather plain for a Targaryen.
Well, he did say a lot of things about a lot of people. But he was no longer there to speak such things in the court. Four years ago, rumors swirled that he had lost his voice after speaking out of turn to someone he shouldn't, and the King had tried to uncover the culprit who had silenced his favorite fool, but the mystery remained unsolved to this day. Our sister carries too many tales and lives within her; Aegon confided in him before he left for Oldtown. Try to be there for her even if you don't understand her.
"Look, that's Princess Helaena's dragon," A feminine voice shouted, her tone high with excitement. The words cut through the evening air, causing a ripple of gasps and whispers among the gathered ladies who barrelled out of their cabins to witness Dreamfyre's immense, shadowed form sweeping across the sky. Her pale blue wings gleamed with an ethereal shimmer, catching the last vestiges of the setting sun.
Despite her preference to remain on her dragon's back all day, Helaena was a member of the royal family. Thus, it was deemed prudent that she had her own gaggle of ladies-in-waiting—maidens of noble birth and marriageable age, selected with care by her mother, grandsire, and brother.
Among them was Lady Elissa Farman of Faircastle, daughter of Lord Farman, sworn to House Lannister of Casterly Rock; Marla Stokeworth, granddaughter of Lord Stokeworth from the Crownlands; Lady Bethany of House Florent from the Reach, the youngest daughter of Lord Ronnel Florent from his first marriage, and a niece of Lord Unwin Peake through marriage; Lady Eddara Cerwyn, sister to young Lord Robbard Cerwyn of the North; Lady Lucinda, daughter of Lord Jorah Mallister of Seagard from the Riverlands; and Lady Sharra Wylde, the only daughter of Lord Jasper Wylde of Rain House from the Stormlands, born from his fourth marriage.
While Aemond didn't know how Helaena survived their endless chatter, given her ability to sit as still as a silent sister, the ladies had made themselves at home in the Red Keep despite their differences in culture, gods, and upbringing. There were many petty fights, of course, that provided endless entertainment to the courtiers and headaches to his mother, but they always found their spirits back sooner or later.
Then there was the incident when Lady Elissa was brought to tears after Lady Sharra accused her of stealing dragon eggs, a petty remark that stirred up troubling memories of a scandal involving an ancestor of her's with the same name. When Lady Eddara nearly fought with the Septa outside the castle sept, saying that northerners were savages for praying to trees that demanded blood and sacrifices. Or the surprise swarm of bees that invaded a picnic organized by Lady Bethany Florent and caused the girls to leap onto a nearby table, inadvertently knocking over the food onto themselves as they scrambled in every direction until the Kingsguard arrived to calm the chaos. And the time Lady Lucinda disappeared into the Red Keep's vast library for an entire day, sparking a frantic search and wild speculation among the other ladies. They feared she had been kidnapped—or worse, had met a tragic end. At least, as a result, they now knew where to look for her now.
Still, though they caused an unnecessary nuisance, Aemond couldn't disregard the effect the maidens had on Helaena. His sister, who always seemed burdened by a thousand unspoken thoughts, had somehow appeared lighter. He wasn't sure what lifted the weight off her shoulders, but he believed it was likely to be related to the fact that she finally had girls her age with whom she could converse freely.
But whatever it was, Aemond was glad.
"We will make Driftmark within the hour, my prince," announced Ser Rickard Thorne of the Kingsguard, bowing respectfully. Aemond squinted against the dying light, his sharp gaze fixed on the distant island. Relief washed over him; he didn't think he could endure another day on this blasted ship. The wind, steady from the east all day, had shifted to wild gusts, but he was grateful it had been favorable compared to much of their voyage. Without the galley's oars, they would still be beating past the Gullet and the Narrow Sea. He was a little jealous when he thought about how Helaena must have already reached the High Tide without suffering like him.
At least he would be spared watching Ser Erryk begging the gods to strike him down on his bunk below deck while his twin, Ser Arryk, looked far too amused by his brother's misery, handing him the concoction Grand Maester Mellos had made back at the Red Keep. "I'm glad Ser Erryk will stop wanting to die now," Aemond remarked dryly. The poor man had even submitted his beard to a razor after his whiskers became hopelessly befouled for the third time while he leaned over the rail and hurled into the swirling winds.
Ser Rickard smiled. "He does look a shade thinner than when we set out from King's Landing," the Kingsguard agreed. The roughness of the narrow sea had not suited Ser Erryk, and the knight had nearly gone overboard when the storm seized them unexpectedly off Sharp Point. Somehow, Ser Erryk had clung to a rope until his twin and two sailors could rescue him and carry him safely below deck. Aemond hadn't witnessed the event himself—he had been below deck at the time—but he had heard all about it from Helaena's ladies and the servants.
"I don't think I have ever met the Velaryons or my uncle Daemon," Aemond mused after a pause. "Though my grandsire had plenty to say about them—"
"Nothing good, I can guess," Ser Rickard Thorne interjected, unable to hold back the comment. Aemond, however, took no offense. After Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander, and Ser Lorent Marbrand, who served as Aegon's protector during his time in the Red Keep, Ser Rickard and the Twins were the ones Aemond spoke to most frequently. The man did not mince his words, which only made him more honest than most, at least, in Aemond's opinion. He appreciated that quality, especially in a court where veiled words and hidden meanings were the norm.
And Ser Rickard wasn't wrong. Lord Corlys was said to be a prideful man. He had resigned from the office of Master of Ships when his wife, Princess Rhaenys Targaryen, was passed over as heir to the Iron Throne. His anger only deepened when his daughter was overlooked as the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms in favor of Aemond's mother, Alicent of House Hightower. And the less said about his uncle Daemon and his grandsire Otto Hightower, the better.
"Well, their rivalry is as legendary as it was mutual and everlasting," Aemond acknowledged. "So, I wish to ask you for an opinion without bias."
"Well, I haven't the head for politics or anything, so I can only tell you what I witnessed before my eyes," Ser Rickard warned Aemond before he began, rubbing the thick beard on his face thoughtfully. "I've only ever crossed paths with Lord Corlys during feasts and the Princess's wedding. By the time I took my vows, he had already left his position. So, my knowledge of the Lord of High Tide is limited to what others might know. Rich, ambitious, and prideful."
"But your uncle, the prince—now, he served in three different offices on the Small Council before the Rogue Prince was banished from both the court and the council by His Grace, the King. But His Grace's love for his brother was unquestionable. He would always forgive Prince Daemon's misdeeds and take him back. So I can only imagine how many lines he must have crossed for King Viserys to take such a drastic decision as to banish the prince from the city."
So, is it true that Rhaenyra had been seen with her uncle in Flea Bottom's brothels? Aemond heard that the reason his grandsire, Otto Hightower, was removed as the King's Hand was also due to this. Soon after, his half-sister's marriage was arranged to Lord Corlys's son, Laenor Velaryon. No wonder his mother loathed Rhaenyra.
Ser Rickard continued, unaware of Aemond's scowling expression as he stared into the distance, his long face silent and thoughtful. "From what I saw during his time in the city and council, Prince Daemon is a skilled warrior and a crafty general; his victory at the Stepstones was proof enough of that - No matter how underhanded he might've won the battle. He also had a thirst to prove himself—a thirst for power. And he is powerful. To this very day, the people of King's Landing know him as 'Lord Flea Bottom,' and he remains a figure of respect and dark repute among the gold cloaks."
"Still, the Lord Hand's words may hold some truth to them. Along with being brave, stubborn, and crude, Prince Daemon is also volatile—one wrong word, one disagreement, and he would lash out. Easy to anger and eager for revenge. He seems the sort of man who is only loyal to himself and his dragon, the blood wyrm. The small council had always opposed him being the heir, your grandfather, more so than any others. When the King finally made Princess Rhaenyra his heir following the prince's drunken japes about the "heir for a day" regarding Prince Baelon's death, the furious prince resigned from the gold cloaks. He flew with his lover, a whore from Streets of Silk, to Dragonstone with a dragon egg for his child, inciting a bigger rift."
"So it is true, then," Aemond spoke up, his voice tinged with curiosity and a flicker of hope. "My father only named the Rhaenyra his heir to keep the throne from falling to his brother Daemon?"
"Careful, my prince," Ser Rickard replied, voice low, his eyes sweeping their surroundings with practiced vigilance. "I would advise you to be cautious when speaking such things aloud. The Princess is the King's heir, whatever the reasons may be. She will remain so as long as the King decrees it. To question that is treason, and men have burned for far less."
Was he alluding to the incident with Ser Harwin and Lord Lyonel Strong? Rumors had long whispered through the court that, to protect Rhaenyra and her sons, his father had orchestrated the fire at Harrenhal. Some said Ser Harwin's younger brother, Larys Clubfoot, was also murdered when he got wind of something he shouldn't have. Others believed it was the Sea Snake's doing, a calculated act of vengeance for his son, Ser Laenor Velaryon. Yet when asked, his grandsire had remained tight-lipped.
So, Aemond nodded, the weight of Ser Rickard's warning sinking in. Caution was indeed necessary. He couldn't afford a mistake that could have seen him sent away like his brothers; he had to stay in the Red Keep to protect his mother and sister. After all, he had promised Aegon.
"I take it you're eager to see your brothers," Ser Rickard said, skillfully steering the conversation away from what he knew would be a more apprehensive and fraught topic. "It's been nearly a year since Prince Aegon left for Oldtown, has it?"
"Nearly ten moons, Ser," Aemond replied, though uncertainty lingered. "I'm not sure if they're coming or if Aegon received the raven yet. But yes, I would be glad to see them again." Though he doubted Daeron would be there. Aegon would never agree to bring Daeron on such a long flight, even if he had received the letter. To Aemond, Daeron was still that little boy of six, trailing after Aegon and him with his tiny legs, trying to eat the colorful bugs Helaena collected or chasing his fat cat while they trained or attended lessons with the maesters. He had been so small when they sent him away.
"Yes, the Red Keep has been a bit dull without the princes running about," Ser Rickard said with a fond smile. "Prince Daeron, most of all. He was the gentlest child, always with a runny nose and muddy hands."
Aemond chuckled at the memory. Yes, Daeron had a knack for getting into the messiest situations. He had even got himself stuck in the secret tunnels in Maegor's Holdfast when he was four; Aemond doubted he'd have been found if it weren't for Aegon by some Mother's mercy. Ever since, the Kingsguard had struggled to keep up with him, as he was always finding ways to escape his attendants. Aemond recalled many nights when Daeron had wandered the dark corridors to find either him or Aegon, pestering them for a story. And once he heard it, he wouldn't simply fall asleep—his late-night enthusiasm had been insufferable. But, by the Seven, Aemond missed that little brat.
He missed Aegon, too. He missed going hawking with him, those carefree rides on Sunfyre to escape the court and its relentless politics. He missed wandering the streets of King's Landing with his brother, moving among the smallfolk as Aegon greeted the shopowners by name and distributed food to the weak and orphaned. Aegon was powerfully curious, endlessly inquisitive—a side few ever saw. To most, Aegon was a thoughtful and quiet boy by disposition, but they didn't know him like his family did.
Aegon was many things, but kind was not one of them. He wore the mask of kindness well, a pretense he maintained with ease, yet anything or anyone outside his bloodline was merely a means to an end. Aegon's actions often baffled their own grandsire sometimes, appearing erratic or whimsical, but there was always a calculated purpose behind them. The people of King's Landing were often charmed by his earnestness and fiery passion, mistaking it for genuine care. Yet, beneath that facade, Aegon was jaded and cynical, a princewho abandoned any belief in heroes, clinging, instead, to the cold truth of survival.
But while Aemond often found himself puzzled by his brother's ways and didn't fully understand everything about him, one truth remained: everything Aemond had learned and followed was shaped by Aegon. Even though he is only a few years older, Aegon is as much a mentor as Ser Criston and his Grandsire.
It wasn't long before they reached the docks. Ser Rickard moved to his post as the sailors scrambled across the deck, spurred into action as Driftmark came into view. The clamor of the fish market reached Aemond's ears as the galley drew near the pier. At least a hundred quays lined the waterfront, bustling with goods being unloaded from ships hailing from the Free Cities as the Royal ship pulled steadily for shore. Aemond could also see the high-masted swan ships and big-bellied carracks with their white sails huge with wind, preparing to sail to the Summer Isles, Lorath, and the Port of Ibben. The Royal ship, Queen Rhaena, a triple-decked galley of three hundred oars, looked almost small beside the fat-bottomed cogs.
The silver-haired prince gazed at them, wondering if he would ever have the chance to see those distant lands. Perhaps, once he had a dragon of his own, he could journey to those far-off places with his siblings. But with the lords and his grandsire, Otto Hightower, determined to place Aegon on the throne, Aemond doubted that Aegon or Helaena would ever be free to leave Westeros. Still, it was a comforting dream, one he liked to hold onto.
Dreams are important, Aemond. They give you purpose and meaning to your life.
Then, what is your dream, brother?
My dream? Aegon had replied softly, a rare seriousness in his voice. Mine is to keep our family safe and stay with you all... forever and ever.
In that case, we can both share the same dream. You'll share it with me, won't you?
Aegon had laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Sure, I'll let you share my dream until you find one of your own. But when that day comes, do tell me. I'll try to give you a hand if it gets hard for you to achieve it on your own, okay?
The King was immediately escorted to his assigned chambers upon the orders of his grandsire. King Viserys had always possessed a pale face that matched his silver hair, but after the week's journey through the biting winds that swept across the bay, he seemed even more frail, almost a sickly shade, as though a mere cough might topple him. It had concerned Aemond greatly. However, the sight of Aegon and Helaena waiting with the rest of the welcome guard brought some warmth to both his and their mother, Alicent's hearts.
"It is really good to see you, Aegon. I wasn't sure you'd have made it in time, dear one," Queen Alicent said with a small smile as Aegon bent to kiss her hand, then affectionately ruffled Aemond's hair in greeting. "You seem to have grown taller, though, I see," She commented, cupping his face with one hand and gently rubbing the top of his cheek with her thumb.
"What can I say, Mother? Oldtown's air and water must have some magic in them," Aegon replied with a wry smile. "Though it gladdens my heart to see my family once more. I wish it were under better circumstances, but it does serve as a good excuse to reunite with you all." He offered his arm to their mother and his other to Helaena, who had remained quiet, humming softly to herself, as was her usual way since their meeting at the gates of High Tide.
And Aegon did look happy, but Aemond could see that the sight of the King's weakened state troubled him just as much as it did Aemond. For all his glaring faults, the King was still their father, and his sons loved him in their own way—perhaps not as deeply as they loved their mother, but the bond they shared with their sire was undeniable. Aegon, perhaps more so than the others, felt this connection keenly, likely because he was born earlier and had spent more time under their father's care before the realm's burdens took their toll on Viserys.
So Aemond could only imagine how much it pained his brother when he heard of the King's decision to send him away to the Citadel. It was a deliberate move, a way to keep Aegon distant from the court and the political machinations that could threaten his daughter's claim to the throne. It felt like a betrayal, not just to Aegon but to their family as a whole. It wasn't just the physical distance from King's Landing that hurt, but the message behind it—that his father saw him as a potential threat rather than a trusted son.
All that bitterness, which had taken him months to shake off, came rushing back in full force. Aemond hated it all — hated the way his father had cast his second family aside time and again. Aemond hated it even more that he couldn't do anything to change the situation. And that helplessness only fueled his anger.
"You should've been with us," he said instead, unable to suppress the lingering resentment that bubbled to the surface. His words came out sharper than intended, earning him a stern look from his mother and a concerned glance from Aegon. But Aemond couldn't help it—he was tired of pretending it didn't bother him, tired of watching his family be torn apart by decisions that weren't theirs to make. Tired of his father's partiality and indifference.
Thankfully, the Queen dismissed Helaena's ladies soon after the King retired to his chambers, allowing them to rest from the journey. Now, only the three of them remained, accompanied by Ser Lorent Marbrand, Aegon's former protector, who trailed them at a respectful distance as they walked Lord Corly's corridors. The rest of the Kingsguard and Otto Hightower had accompanied the King for his protection, except for Ser Erryk, whom Ser Criston had commanded to seek a healer.
"You too, Ser Lorent," Aegon continued, glancing back at the knight, changing the atmosphere with ease that doubted Aemond could ever accomplish. You have too much of the dragon's blood in you, they said to Aemond. "I would have asked if the journey went well, but after seeing Ser Erryk's pallor, I very much doubt it."
"Oh, the poor man was near the stranger's door the whole time, my prince. And it is good to see you as well. Your presence is greatly missed at the Red Keep," Ser Lorent responded with a note of genuine solace in his voice, earning a small smile from Aegon.
"And you, brother, what's new with you?" Aegon asked, turning to Aemond with a teasing smile. "Helaena was just telling me you've been spending more time in the yard and the libraries than guarding her bug collection. Absolutely unacceptable." There was a fondness in Aegon's tone as he playfully reprimanded his younger brother; Aemond couldn't help but wince. It was true—he hadn't been spending as much time with Helaena lately. She was often surrounded by her ladies, and Aemond could only endure so many tea parties before the mindless gossip about satins and Myrish lace made him wish to sink into his chair and disappear into the ground to escape from the boredom. "So I've decided," Aegon continued, a mischievous glint in his eye that promised suffering. "As soon as we return to King's Landing, I'll be doling out your punishments until our sweet Princess is satisfied. What do you say, Hel? Should we have him trail Lord Beesbury for a month as his assistant? Or maybe lock him out of the libraries and away from the maesters for a full month?"
"Oh, no, Aegon, please. Anything but Lord Beesbury. Please don't be so cruel, sister," Aemond almost whined, his voice betraying a hint of desperation. His grandfather's stern voice echoed in his mind: Princes don't whine, Aemond.You should always have your back straight. But the thought of spending a month in the tedious company of Lord Beesbury was enough to make him falter. Aegon, after all, was strangely efficient when it came to enforcing such things. If anyone could arrange it, it was him.
"Now, now, children," interrupted their mother, lowering her voice to an angry yet eloquent whisper. "There is no need for such a ridicule. Lord Beesbury has a firm grip on numbers. You might as well learn a thing or two from him, Aemond, dear."
"Mother, not you too," Aemond pleaded, his exasperation spilling over. "The man is as old as a fossil from Old Valyria; he sometimes nods off in the middle of a sentence! And when he's not sleeping, his voice alone is enough to drive you to tears— and that's putting it mildly. Just ask Aegon if you want to!"
"Oh, yes," Aegon sighed, his tone carrying a hint of genuine distress that made their mother shake her head. "I once made the mistake of asking Lord Beesbury about the number of coins allocated to the orphanages in Flea Bottom. I hated myself for it afterward."
"See," Aemond wanted to interject, but Aegon continued, barely concealing a wicked grin, "Which is why this is the most perfectly productive punishment you could ever receive." When Helaena nodded in agreement with her betrothed, Aemond threw his hands in the air with a frustrated huff.
Well, he would do it, Aemond decided. If it made Helaena happy, he would endure the punishment. He had always been willing to do anything for his sister.
But just as he resigned himself to his fate, a dragon's roar echoed in the distance, a cry of great distress that reverberated through Aemond's mind, cutting through the moment like a blade.
Vaghar.