Chapter Text
High Tide Castle, 120 AC
He was angry. The worst he had ever been. He wanted to punch something, someone. Yet not even the squires would be able to take any of the anger off of him. He was put in his mother’s solar, a thick bandage covering the place where his right eye once was. This bastard marked him for life, possibly even endangering his chances of becoming a knight. How was he supposed to see any opponents if he was short of a damn eye?
It was that damn strong boy who did this to him. What idiot even gives a five-year-old a dagger? And this imbecile was to become a high lord one day! Aemond gagged just at the thought. He himself was a prince, son of the King and the Queen. Who would dare to lay a finger on him? And even if he was just a second son and a spare, he grew up in court and he did do it deaf. Many things had been said about his half-sister’s brood. There was a reason why they did not look like their mother and father with their valyrian traits. No, his nephews all had the brown hair and pug nose of his half-sister’s sworn shield. If the court loved one thing it was the scandals and one of the biggest had been the uncanny appearance of the little brown princes. Soon the wildest speculations appeared why their mother had hidden them on Dragonstone.
Unfortunately, a simple quarrel was not the worst thing that had happened tonight. He was one eye short due to his rather clumsy nephew, but it was what they had said to him; an accusation, not any less cruel and treasonous than his own.
As Aemond called the brown-haired Velaryons bastards they threw it back at him. Called him a bastard as well. He was confused at first. Why should he from all people be a bastard? His mother was the Queen and his father the King nonetheless. He had three siblings who all looked just like him. Aemond looks like his father, he got his entire appearance from him. His mother’s less valuable Andal heritage from the Hightower line left no trace on him. He was all silver-white hair and bright purple eyes.
Who would even doubt such a thing? His parentage was without question. And there was obviously no doubt about who his mother was. If he had inherited one thing from his mother, it was her thin face and build and her arrogant smile.
Not that he has seen it often. Neither the arrogant smile she wore at court nor the sincere smile she looked at Helaena and Daeron with. Or any smile at all. She called him fierce, strong and bold. But never had any loving words left for him, even as a child.
So Aemond brushed their name-calling off as childish stupidity. But it left a bitter taste in his mouth. It was not the first time he had heard such hideous accusations.
It was a few years ago, while his youngest brother was still a babe getting fed by his wet nurse. Aemond wanted to visit Daeron and eavesdropped on the maid in the nursery. There was another servant as well and they were talking about how the Queen finally birthed another son for the king, after all, it took some time after Aegon. They were giggling and one told the other to keep quiet and never speak about it again.
Aemond was confused, he was the Queen’s last son. Not Aegon. While he had never heard people talk about that matter again, as he grew up he became more and more aware of it. Once his father, the King, said how much Aemond reminded him of his own younger brother. They were both fierce and bold and showed valour already at a young age. Further, Viserys mentioned how perfect the choice was to name him after both his uncle Aemon and his brother Daemon. It had been Queen Alicent’s idea, but she soon became uncomfortable whenever he mentioned it.
That was not all, however, while Aemond enjoyed training with sword and other weapons already at a young age, his brother Aegon was not interested in it at all. His older brother moved heavily and slowly. He was just as sure with a blade as the King had been with Blackfyre, neither were warriors and preferred to feast and drink instead of fighting.
Throughout his entire childhood, he, therefore, admired his uncle, who had a reputation for being a rogue and also carried the Targaryen’s other valyrian steel sword, Dark Sister.
Once he saw him train with a Kingsguard in the Red Keep’s courtyard and after he beat the knight fair and square, he asked Aemond to come to him. Daemon had shown him some movements and tactics he had never heard before. After he tried his best at executing them, Daemon looked proudly at him and tousled his hair. He was proud of him and Aemond’s chest was burning, when did his father ever say such a thing? Viserys thought sword fighting to be unnecessarily brutal and a possible hazard for the young princes.
His uncle training him was only a one-time occasion, as the King sent Daemon back to Driftmark soon after. Aemond then began to squire for the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. His tactics were not bad, but different to Daemon’s. Ser Criston moved slower and his sword had more force behind. Personally, Aemond preferred his uncle but he would not tell anyone.
From this time on, his mother began telling him about all of the misdeeds his uncle Daemon had done. The way he behaved in the small council, what he had said about his dead stepmother and her dead son, the way he acted inappropriately with his half-sister and all the wars he was killing people in. Queen Alicent’s tone was heavy with poison for the old rogue and Aemond began believing it, his admiration for his uncle was slowly fading away.
The most memorable had been as his mother told him to keep away from Daemon when he was visiting the capital with his newborn daughters, Alicent said that he would bury Dark Sister in his boyish chest if Aemond would dare come too close to him. He was a rogue and he should keep away from him.
The prince was no one to be scared though. They travelled to Driftmark for the funeral of both Laena and Laenor Velaryon. And was determined to follow in his ancestors’ footsteps and put use to the so-called magic in his blood; that was how the Grandmaester called it. It was his right and his family's tradition and so he decided to mount himself his own dragon.
But not just anyone, the biggest and oldest one. The only one fitting for him as he convinced himself. Luckily said beast was currently on the island and lost her rider Lady Laena not long ago. Vhagar was lonely, and she must have been waiting for him. So one night he took it on himself and mounted the dragon. Too bad his bastard nephews have seen him. It was quick and just as he was excited about finally having his own dragon, he lost an eye for it.
After a day and a night full of pain and sorrow he thought of himself as healthy enough to see his dragon in the daylight. Without caring for his mother or the guards, he sneaked out of their chambers and into the stables. As he sat on her back for the first time, Vhagar broke her chains as she ascended into the night sky. Now she lay free but sleeping in one corner. His head was still dizzy, yet he was able to appreciate the dragon’s beauty. She was his now nonetheless.
Slowly he walked up to her, Vhagar sensed his presence and opened one bright green eye, it was soft as she recognized her rider. His gloved hand moved to pet her snout and the dragon let out a harmless growl.
Aemond did not see how her eyes narrowed at the intruder behind him, only as she began to roar he turned around, expecting some guard or dragonkeeper there. Yet his eye stumbled upon his uncle leisurely standing at the entrance of the stable, looking amused at the two of them.
“Was it worth it?” Daemon mocked.
“What do you care, nuncle.”
Daemon walked towards them and Vhagar did not bother to growl or at least hiss anymore, she only kept a wary eye on the other prince. “It is a shame she became riderless. I miss those days as we flew together through the skies, my Laena and me.”
Aemond suppressed his urge to say something, it only would have been mean. There was mourning on his uncle's face, after all, he lost his wife in a gruesome way. Dying on her few last weak steps down the winding tower. He was told that Lady Laena meant to see Vhagar one last time, she never made it. A feeling of guilt crept through his spine, there was a bond between this ancient being and her former rider, did she mourn her also?
“You know, I scolded Lucerys afterwards. Not much, he is still a child. But for now, he does not carry a dagger with him for a while.”
“I thought you have so much love left for the little b- “he hesitated, ”the little boy.” After the King proclaimed that every man, woman and child, be they prince or not, would get his tongue cut out if they would call his grandsons bastards again, Aemond had to be careful. After losing an eye, the loss of a tongue would be atrocious.
“The two of you are my nephews. It does not fare well for you to hate each other. Such a rivalry within one family only means bad things.” Daemon softly put his hand on Vhagar’s snout and she allowed him so. “Moreover, if they sit on such majestic beasts.”
“Father will not let me ride her for another month, as he said that I have to recover first. It is part of my punishment in all but name.” the young prince ground his teeth, growing furious once more. “I suffered this terrible wound and then got disciplined for it. The King should be proud that I claimed my grandfather's mount.”
“Prove yourself with her first. If you show him that you are a sure and reliable dragon rider, he will see it eventually.”
“He cares little. The only interest he shows is when I misbehave according to him.”
“So you are betting on your father’s attention then?” Daemon raised an eyebrow.
“No!” Aemond shouted back. “As if I would do this on purpose. He simply finds things that I do and then decides them to be wrong and improper. The way I train, talk, behave… everything. There is always something wrong about it in his eyes.”
Daemon laughed at him, he was unsure if he mocked him or his brother’s antics. “Viserys values different qualities in people, especially in his family. Trust me, I have been there before. You are but ten years of age, if the King insists on disciplining you then you might listen to him; for your own good of course. It is a shame your mother sent me away from court, I could have helped you deal with that temper of yours.”
Aemond frowned in pain, it was his father who sent Daemon away not his mother. He did not know what he was supposed to believe, so he kept on. “Why did she do that? I thought the king was glad to have you near him, but then he made you leave at once.”
“Your mother is everything but fond of me.”
“Why? Because my grandfather Ser Otto does not like you? If one was to believe he had his reasoning for it.”
“Among other things, yes.”
Aemond was thinking too slow for his licking, his mind wandered towards a particular direction he was unsure to visit. But wasn’t it best to know of the truth and to put his own speculations to an end for all? “I have heard rumours. Terrible, treasonous rumours.”
“Pray tell nephew!”
Aemond took a deep breath. What if he would laugh at him? Even just the thought was laughable in his mind. “About my mother and… you. In a rather inappropriate way.”
Daemon looked at him, his pale lilac eyes were cold and terrible. There was no doubt left on his face. Aemond stepped back instinctively and felt Vhagar’s heat reassuring him. At least his dragon was still there, for his heartbeat was almost out of his chest in stress and worry.
“What you imply there could be considered high treason. Who said such foul things?”
“I eavesdropped on some servants, they seemed to know of things I could have never imagined.”
“They should have been thrown in the black cells for speaking this out loud.”
“So what is the truth? I cannot ask my mother, she will be horrified at my implication.”
His uncle looked at him for too long, his eyes studying his face. With every passing moment, Aemond’s doubts grew bigger. The pressure in his chest was almost unbearable, his hands were sweaty and shaking. Then the old prince closed his eyes and turned to the ground, his lips curled into a defiant smile.
“No.” Aemond’s remaining eye filled with tears.
Daemon tried to put his hand on his shoulder but he flinched back. His legs carried him faster than he had expected in his still injured state. He ran through the halls and corridors of High Tide Castle, ignoring servants and nobles alike, tears streaming down his cheek. His wound was throbbing and he wished for nothing more than a milk of the poppy-induced coma, preferably one he never woke up from. Once he finally reached his room, Aemond slammed the door, not caring about anyone else in the royal chambers.
His entire existence was a lie. His mother was nothing but a whore. His father was not the man he thought he was. Aemond was not the son of a King but merely a bastard of his whoremongering disgrace of an uncle.
He wanted to scream, to throw up, to hit everything surrounding him. He wanted to yell into his mother’s face for her infidelity, wanted to scream at his uncle for his fervour. He wanted to shout at the world for lying to him.