^CHAPTER SEVEN - AEMOND^

King's Landing, days after Vhagar's return...

Aemond Targaryen stirred, his eyes fluttering open. The maesters surrounding his bed exchanged relieved glances.

"Prince Aemond, you must rest," one urged. "Your injuries still linger."

Aemond's voice was firm, though laced with fatigue. "I've rested long enough. What news have I missed?" His lip twitched, a subtle betrayals of his irritation.

The maesters hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. "You've been unconscious for days, Your Highness."

Aemond's face hardened. "I said I'm fine. Leave me."

With a burst of energy, he tossed aside the bedcovers and stood, swaying slightly. The maesters rushed to steady him.

"Prince Aemond, please—"

"I said leave!" Aemond's voice echoed through the chamber, his lip twitching with each word.

The maesters bowed hastily and retreated.

Aemond strode from his chambers, determined to reclaim control. He entered the council room, where his family and advisors awaited.

King Aegon smirked. "Welcome, brother. We'd almost forgotten you were still recovering."

Aemond's eyes narrowed, his lip curling slightly. "What's been decided in my absence?"

Queen Alicent's expression turned grave. "Lord Otto has been relieved of his duties as Hand."

Aemond's gaze snapped to Ser Criston Cole, now occupying the Hand's chair. His lip twitched, a fleeting sign of displeasure.

"Lord Borros informed us of your actions at Storm's End," King Aegon explained, leaning back in his seat. "Grandfather Otto was... displeased. "His displeasure was... palpable," King Aegon continued, a hint of amusement dancing in his voice. "I deemed him unworthy of the role. Ser Criston Cole shall serve as the new Hand."

Aemond's lip twitched, his jaw clenched. He turned to his mother, seeking explanation or reassurance, but Queen Alicent's expression offered neither.

"Where is Lord Otto?" Aemond asked, his tone measured.

"Returned to Oldtown, I suppose," King Aegon replied with a shrug. "His services are no longer required here."

Aemond's gaze lingered on his brother, then shifted to Ser Criston. "And what of our plans to counter Rhaenyra's claims?"

Ser Criston's eyes met Aemond's, his voice confident. "We will not be swayed, Prince Aemond. The Iron Throne will remain with our faction."

Queen Alicent's voice intervened, her tone cautious. "Aemond, your health is more pressing. You should not exert yourself."

Aemond's lip curled, a flash of irritation. "My health is not in question, Mother. Our kingdom is."

King Aegon leaned forward, his eyes glinting. "Brother, your... enthusiasm is noted. But perhaps we should focus on consolidating our power before—"

"I will not be ignored," Aemond interrupted, his voice rising. "Rhaenyra's supporters grow bolder. We must act."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable.

Ser Criston Cole spoke up, his voice measured. "Prince Aemond's concerns are valid, Your Majesty. We cannot afford to appear weak."

King Aegon nodded thoughtfully. "Very well. What do you propose, brother?"

Aemond's eyes locked onto his brother. "We strike at Harrenhal. Show Rhaenyra's supporters that we will not be intimidated."

Queen Alicent's expression turned grave. "Aemond, Vhagar is still recovering. You're not fully healed yourself."

Aemond's lip twitched. "I'll not be swayed, Mother. This is our chance to assert dominance."

Ser Criston nodded in agreement. "With Vhagar and our combined forces, we can take Harrenhal and crush Rhaenyra's hopes."

King Aegon smiled, a calculating glint in his eye. "Very well. You may lead the assault, Aemond. But be cautious."

Aemond's mouth twitched, a fleeting sign of irritation. He met his brother's gaze with indifference, while Ser Criston bowed his head in respect. Queen Alicent's expression turned disapproving, her head shaking in dismay.

____________________________________

On the night of the raid...

"Your command, my lord prince?" Ser Criston asked, awaiting the signal to storm Harrenhal.

Aemond's silence stretched out, lost in contemplation. Ser Criston repeated, his voice firmer, "My Prince!"

Aemond's focus snapped back. "What? Do you aim to announce our presence to the entire castle?"

The Lord Hand's piercing gaze lingered on Aemond before returning to the task ahead. "Does the girl weigh on your mind?"

Aemond's pause was brief. "Let us focus on the task at hand," he replied brusquely.

As the Hand of the king, Ser Criston Cole, ordered his men to get ready, Aemond mounted his dragon, Vhagar, her scales glinting in the moonlight. The dragon's eyes seemed to burn with an inner fire, mirroring Aemond's own fierce determination.

With a burst of wings, Vhagar lifted off the ground, Aemond secure in the saddle. The army stormed toward Harrenhal, ready to take the castle.

But just as they approached, archers appeared on the walls, Lord Harwin Strong's voice ringing out. "Fire!"

A hail of arrows rained down, catching the army off guard. Some men screamed, unable to block the incoming projectiles.

Ser Criston Cole muttered under his breath, his face twisted in frustration. "By the seven..."

Aemond, seeing the chaos, flew downward toward the archers, Vhagar's wings beating powerfully. He intended to end the threat with a blast of fire.

But then, three dragons appeared on the horizon, flying toward Aemond at breakneck speed. Vermithor, Moondancer, and Arrax.

Aemond cursed, his heart racing. "Vhagar, Essugra!" (Flee, Vhagar!)

Vhagar responded instinctively, banking hard to evade the incoming dragons.

Princess Rhaenyra's voice carried across the battlefield. "Jacaerys, go after Ser Criston! Assist Lord Harwin."

Jacaerys, astride Vermax, veered toward Ser Criston's position, his dragon's roar echoing through the night.

Meanwhile, Princess Rhaenyra, on Vermithor, and Princess Baela, on Moondancer, gave chase, pursuing Aemond and Vhagar.

"Get him, Vermithor!" Rhaenyra shouted, her dragon surging forward.

Baela's voice followed, her dragon Moondancer closing in. "We have him now, Rhae!" she shouted, using her affectionate nickname for her cousin, Rhaenerys.

Aemond's grip on Vhagar's saddle tightened, his mind racing with strategy.

The skies above God's Eye Lake erupted into chaos as three dragons clashed in a frenzy of scales, flames, and shrieking wings.

Vhagar, the ancient beast, unleashed a torrent of fire, scorching the water below. Moondancer, Baela's silver dragon, dodged the flames with agile ease, her wings beating rapidly as she countered with a blast of icy air. The chill gust extinguished Vhagar's flames, but the older dragon's fury remained unrelenting.

Rhaenerys, astride Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, swooped in from the north, her dragon's wings slicing through the turbulence. Vermithor's jaws snapped shut mere feet from Vhagar's tail, the sound echoing across the lake like a crack of thunder.

Aemond wheeled Vhagar around, the dragon's claws swiping at Moondancer. Baela's dragon recoiled, her scales scraping against the water as Vhagar's blow landed. The force of the impact sent Moondancer stumbling.

Vhagar seized the opening, slamming into Moondancer with brutal force. Baela's grip faltered, and she tumbled through the air, her scream echoing across the lake.

Rhaenerys broke off her attack, Vermithor banking hard to intercept Baela's fall. With precise timing, Rhaenerys plucked the unconscious princess from the water, cradling her safely against Vermithor's scales.

As Vhagar recovered from its assault, Rhaenerys positioned Vermithor between Aemond's dragon and her own vulnerable form. The Bronze Fury's wings spread wide, a warning to Vhagar.

Aemond's eyes locked onto Rhaenerys, his expression twisted in anger and frustration. He hovered before her, Vhagar's wings beating the air.

"Who are you, exactly?" Aemond demanded, his voice laced with suspicion.

Rhaenerys met his stare. "Someone who sees the destruction you're sowing."

"You're Rhaenyra's ally, then?" Aemond spat.

"I'm fighting for reason," Rhaenerys said. "This war will consume everything. Targaryen, Hightower – none will be left standing. Brothers at war invite strangers to claim the spoils."

Aemond's eyes narrowed. "What do you know of the future?"

Rhaenerys's gaze pierced his. "Enough to see that neither your house nor the Hightowers will claim the Iron Throne. And you, Aemond... will die in this very lake."

Aemond's face paled, his eyes widening in shock. The color drained from his cheeks as the weight of Rhaenerys's words sunk in.

Rhaenerys realized Queen Helaena must have shared her own prophetic visions with him, but this confirmation seemed to shake him deeply.

It's earlier than I expected... The changes I've brought to this timeline are already rippling outward.

With his composure shattered, Aemond mounted Vhagar, preparing to depart.

"Aemond, do not stray further," Rhaenerys urged, her words echoing behind him. "Redemption remains within reach. Seek it before the path behind you fades from sight."

Aemond's gaze lingered on Rhaenerys for a moment before he turned Vhagar toward the horizon, fleeing the unsettling prophecy.

Rhaenerys guided Vermithor toward the Harrenhal ruins, where Jace awaited, his face etched with concern.

"Baela?" he asked, rushing to Rhaenerys's side.

"Unconscious, yet alive," Rhaenerys assured him, handing Baela's limp form to Jace.

"Ser Criston Cole escaped with a handful of survivors," Jace reported, "though Vermax's flames left their mark on his face." He allowed himself a wry smile. "Queen Alicent may think twice before inviting him to her chambers now." Rhaenerys's expression mirrored his.

"Fortunately, our losses were slight," Jace continued, "and the castle remains unscathed. The people of Harrenhal eagerly await the aid Mother promised for rebuilding."

He paused, his face lighting up with a genuine grin. "Tonight, we feast. The castle's cooks are already at work."