Chapter 36: Dragonstone II - 123 AC

A/N: fair warning on this one. It's a bit confusing. But just so you know:

Aemon without a D = MC's eldest son

Aemond with a D = King Viserys's son.

I know, I fucked myself up on that one. Maybe I should change it…

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In the evening following the funeral, the castle of Dragonstone had grown quiet, with most of its inhabitants retreating to their chambers to end the long, sorrowful day. Yet, the halls were not entirely empty. A few guards patrolled the corridors, and the Kingsguard stood watchful outside the king's chambers. The castle's owners, too, were still out and about, especially Rhaenyra, who had sought solitude in a quiet corner of the ancient stronghold.

She stood on a balcony, gazing out as the sun set, its golden light slowly swallowed by the darkening sea. The soothing sound of waves crashing against the cliffs below filled the air, offering a moment of peace to the grieving princess. But then, a new sound began to weave its way into the evening—a soft, melodious tune from a lute, floating up from the castle's courtyard below.

At first, Rhaenyra tried to ignore it, her mind heavy with thoughts of loss. Yet, the beautiful music was persistent, its gentle notes impossible to resist. Slowly, she found herself listening more closely, the song bringing an unexpected sense of calm to her troubled heart.

Gaemon was the source of this melody, the fourteen-year-old son of Clement, who was sitting on one of the steps leading to the courtyard. He too was watching the sunset, his head resting against the cold stone wall beside him as his fingers casually strummed the strings of his lute. Unlike his younger sister, Gaemon wasn't closely monitored or questioned about his whereabouts, his near coming-of-age granting him more freedom.

As he played, Gaemon hummed along with the tune, though the melody lacked any accompanying lyrics. It was a quiet, reflective moment, the music a private expression of the boy's thoughts as the day faded into night. The song continued, gentle and unhurried, the sun dipped lower on the horizon, nearly swallowed by the sea, leaving just a touch of orange in the sky. But then, as the last light of day began to fade, Gaemon's peaceful solitude was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching from behind him. 

He turned around and saw a girl his age with silver hair and purple eyes—clearly of Valyrian descent, but not his sister.

"Princess," Gaemon greeted quickly, straightening his back from the lazy position he had been in moments before. "I did not expect you to be out this late."

The princess, Helaena, only gave him a brief glance before continuing past him down to the courtyard. Gaemon watched her, puzzled, as she wandered across the yellowed grass, lifting her skirt slightly as if searching for something. His curiosity piqued, Gaemon stood up, carefully placed his lute against the wall, and observed the girl more closely, unsure of what she was doing but intrigued nonetheless.

Gaemon quickly realized that the princess was simply wandering aimlessly. After a few moments of watching her, he gave up and returned to his seat, resuming his lute playing. He closed his eyes, immersing himself in the melodies he created, letting the world around him fade away, including the peculiar behavior of the princess.

Time seemed to slip by quickly as he played, and when he opened his eyes again, the sky had turned completely dark. Realizing how late it was, Gaemon decided it was time to return to his chamber. He stood up, preparing to head back up the stairs.

But just as he turned to leave, the princess's voice called out to him.

"Wait," she said.

Gaemon paused, turning his gaze back to her. He was surprised to see that Helaena was now holding a couple of insects in her hands. He tilted his head, almost incredulous at the sight.

"Princess?" he asked, his curiosity piqued. "What are you doing with those?"

Helaena, however, ignored his question and made a request instead. "Could you play your lute again?"

"My... lute?" Gaemon repeated, confused by the request.

"They seem to like it," Helaena replied, glancing down at the insects in her hands. Her tone was earnest, as if the connection between the music and the small creatures was perfectly natural.

Gaemon hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He couldn't quite understand it, but something about the sincerity in her voice made him want to oblige. He sat down again, picked up his lute, and began to play once more, watching as Helaena carefully observed the insects, seemingly soothed by the melody.

"Helaena," the queen called out softly, her voice tinged with both care and fatigue. "Go to your chamber. We're leaving tomorrow, and you need to wake up early."

The girl didn't respond, merely standing up, releasing the insects she had been holding, and walking over to her mother without a word. Alicent then turned her gaze to Gaemon, who quickly lowered his head in respect.

"Your Grace," Gaemon greeted politely.

"You as well," the queen replied, her eyes drifting down to the lute in his hands. "You'll only disturb those who are sleeping if you play your lute at this hour."

"Yes, Your Grace," Gaemon nodded, understanding the subtle reprimand.

The queen sighed once more, a weary sound that spoke of long-standing concerns. She turned back to her daughter, who was now gazing at Gaemon with quiet curiosity. "Come," she urged Helaena gently, softly guiding her to move.

As the queen and her daughter left the courtyard, Gaemon found himself alone once again. The quiet of the night settled back in, with only the distant sound of the waves and the fading echoes of footsteps to accompany him.

======

In the early morning light, Aemond Targaryen, the youngest son of King Viserys, stood at the edge of the dock on Dragonstone, his cloak wrapped tightly around him to shield against the sea breeze. He gazed up at the skies where dragons circled above—Sunfyre, the golden dragon of his elder brother Aegon, and Dreamfyre, the graceful creature bonded to his sister Helaena. The sight of the majestic beasts, their wings cutting through the dawn air, was a familiar yet bittersweet one for Aemond.

Out of all the king's children, Aemond was the only one without a dragon. It was a subject that had long weighed heavily on the young boy's heart, a source of quiet frustration and a wound to his pride. Especially now that he had seen his betrothed.

Rhaena, the sole dragonrider of House Celtigar, was a name that lingered in Aemond's thoughts more often than he liked to admit. Despite the distance he kept from her during their time on Dragonstone, there was a bitterness he couldn't shake. The girl, just a bit younger than him, had been granted a dragon egg that hatched into the very creature she now rode—a dragon that could have been his if fate had dealt him a different hand.

In the quiet corners of his mind, Aemond couldn't help but wonder what his life might have been like had that egg been placed in his cradle instead of hers. The idea gnawed at him, feeding a small but persistent grudge. What would the lords of the Seven Kingdoms think of him now? A prince of the blood, dragonless, while his future wife soared the skies on dragonback.

The prospect of being a dragonless prince with a dragonrider wife was a bitter pill to swallow, especially at his age. The thought of being outdone by a girl—a Celtigar, no less—was a wound to his pride that stung more than he would ever confess. So, while he never spoke to Rhaena during his stay, he harbored that quiet resentment, as young boys often do when their sense of self-worth is challenged.

The shriek echoed across the island, pulling Aemond's attention sharply to the source. His eyes narrowed as he spotted Rhaena, just as carefree as ever, astride her small dragon, Dusk. The creature's gleaming violet scales shimmered like amethyst in the morning sun, a sight that only deepened the scowl on Aemond's face. The earlier bitterness that had simmered within him flared into annoyance, a burning resentment that settled into the pit of his stomach.

He exhaled deeply, trying to quell the frustration rising within him, but his gaze drifted upward to the Dragonmont, the towering peak just behind Dragonstone's castle. The mountain loomed ominously, its presence heavy with the ancient, dormant power of the creatures it housed. A thought began to form in his mind, one that took root and refused to let go.

Looking around, Aemond noticed that everyone seemed preoccupied with their preparations to board the ship. The dock was a flurry of activity, but no one was paying attention to him. His family was distracted, the guards focused on their duties. It was the perfect opportunity.

Without a second thought, Aemond moved, slipping away from the dock. He climbed the path toward the castle, his mind set on a bold, reckless course of action.

======

Aemond watched from the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest as he took in the scene unfolding before him. The mouth of the Dragonmont loomed ahead, its dark entrance leading to the cavernous lairs of the mighty beasts that resided within. The air was thick with tension, the voices of the Celtigar twins echoing through the stone halls as they argued heatedly with the dragonkeepers.

The twins, Aemon and Gaemon, were locked in a fierce debate with the dragonkeepers, their voices rising in the harsh, guttural tones of Valyrian. Aemond could make out enough of the conversation to understand the gist of it—Aemon was demanding that the keepers call forth Vermithor, the bronze-scaled beast that had once been ridden by King Jaehaerys. The dragonkeepers, however, were adamant in their refusal, citing the immense risk and the lack of permission from the owner of the castle.

The argument grew more intense, with the twins accusing the keepers of doubting their Valyrian blood just because they were Celtigars. The accusation seemed to hit a nerve, as Aemond noticed the dragonkeepers exchange uneasy glances. Then, Gaemon, the younger and more bookish of the two, made a bold threat: they would summon Vermithor themselves if the keepers refused to do it.

Aemond's breath caught as the dragonkeepers, after a moment of hesitation, finally relented. They stepped back and told the twins to go ahead if they were so confident, and if they succeeded in calling the beast, it would prove enough of their worthiness. But they issued one final, grim warning—the dragon would not suffer a false rider, and if they failed, they would pay with their lives.

Despite the ominous warning, Aemon and Gaemon showed no sign of fear.

Aemond held his breath as he crouched in the shadows, his eyes locked on Aemon, who stood at the edge of the platform. The tension in the cavern was almost suffocating, the dim light from the torches casting long, flickering shadows on the rough stone walls. The only sound that could be heard was the distant, ominous rumbling from within the mountain.

Aemon's voice echoed through the cavern, commanding and clear, as he called out in Valyrian, "Naejot Māzīs, Vermithos!" (Come forth, Vermithor!)

For a moment, there was nothing but silence, the kind that pressed down on the chest and made the air feel heavy. The silence stretched on, and just as Aemond began to wonder if the dragon would answer the call, a deep, earth-shaking growl reverberated through the cavern. The ground beneath them trembled, and the air grew thick with the smell of sulfur and ash. Aemond could feel the vibrations in his bones as the sound grew louder, more menacing.

Then, from the darkness of the cave's depths, came the sound of massive, scraping footsteps. The dragon was coming.

Aemond's breath caught in his throat as he strained to see through the gloom. The sound grew closer, louder, until finally, a pair of enormous, glowing eyes appeared in the shadows. The dragon's scales gleamed faintly in the dim light, a deep bronze that seemed to drink in the darkness around it. Vermithor, the mighty dragon of old, was coming.

Aemond pressed himself further into the shadows, into the corner as he approached the side of the platform, where a ladder existed to bring him to the base of the cavern. Aemon stood his ground, his eyes fixed on the approaching beast, showing no sign of fear as the dragon emerged fully from the depths. Vermithor was colossal, his massive form dwarfing the platform and the humans standing on it. The dragon's nostrils flared as he took in Aemon's scent, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized the boy before him.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The dragon loomed over Aemon, his hot breath washing over the platform, carrying the stench of fire and death. Everyone seemed too focused on the dragon, which made Aemond able to slide down the ladder, and to the cavern itself. But, Vermithor is still there, so he had to wait, to watch the fate of the Celtigar. If Aemon failed, Aemond would be able to take a chance at it or die trying. And if Aemon succeeds, Aemond could go further into the cave, to find another one.

Vermithor growled, swinging his massive head, eyes burning with intensity. His agitation was palpable, each movement reverberating through the cavern like a rolling thunderstorm. Aemon stood firm, though his heart raced, knowing that his life was on the line.

"Lykiri!" Aemon shouted, his voice cutting through with authority. The dragon's growl deepened, and in defiance, Vermithor unleashed a torrent of bronze fire into the cavern, bathing the stone walls in a fiery glow that danced and flickered with life.

"Vermithor, Lykiri!" Aemon called out again, more forcefully, his voice echoing off the walls. The dragon hesitated, the growl softening as Vermithor lowered his head, his golden eyes narrowing as he inspected the boy, nostrils flaring with curiosity and caution.

"Dohaeras," Aemon commanded, his tone calm but firm, as if speaking to a stubborn child.

Vermithor's jaws parted, flames flickering within, casting ominous shadows. But still, Aemon held his ground, unwavering, meeting the beast's gaze.

"Daor, Vermithor! Dohaeras!" the boy roared angrily.

The fire receded, and the dragon's mouth closed. Slowly, Vermithor leaned forward, allowing Aemon to place a hand on his nostril. The dragon's warm breath washed over him, hot and potent, as their eyes locked in silent understanding.

At that moment, an unspoken agreement passed between them. Vermithor snorted softly, almost playfully, a hint of approval in his eyes. Aemon smiled, feeling the bond solidify, a connection born.

Hearing Aemon's success, Aemond, hidden in the shadows of the cavern below the platform, clenched his fists in frustration. The Celtigar twins' laughter and congratulations echoed through the cavern, mingling with the clanging of armor as the guards rushed to inform the princess of Aemon's achievement. Aemond's frustration peaked as he watched Aemon mount Vermithor and take off into the skies of Dragonstone. Seizing the moment, Aemond sprinted toward the cavern's entrance, determined to find any trace of the dragons. He scoured the area urgently, his eyes darting around for signs that might lead him to the dragon he so desperately coveted.

He ventured deep into the cave system, the steam from geysers erupting intermittently on either side of him. The winding passages seemed endless, but Aemond's focus remained fixed on finding a dragon, ignoring all other concerns. After what felt like hours, he stumbled upon a more expansive chamber, its vastness only partially illuminated by the shafts of light filtering through cracks above. He moved cautiously through the darkness, only to feel something heavy beneath his feet. Bending down, he grasped the object and carried it towards the light. There, illuminated by the faint rays, he discovered it was a dragon's bone, black as dragonglass. Despite its small size, it was unmistakably from a dragon, hinting at the presence of a creature that once roamed these depths.

Whether the bone was from long ago or more recent, Aemond could not discern. Just as he was contemplating this, a menacing growl echoed from behind him. He turned, feeling the oppressive heat from the darkness. Fear gripped him, but the notion that Valyrians could tame dragons bolstered his resolve. He approached cautiously, his steps echoing in the cavern.

From the shadows emerged a pair of glowing green eyes, revealing a massive dragon whose scales shimmered black as coal. It was the Cannibal, a beast of ancient repute. The ground trembled as the dragon fully revealed itself, its immense form casting an ominous silhouette. It took a deep sniff of the air, and upon catching Aemond's scent, it roared with fury. The dragon's roar reverberated through the cavern, a clear indication that this intruder had trespassed into its territory.

"Lykiri!" Aemond shouted desperately, trying to calm the Cannibal, but his pleas were met with indifference. The dragon's tail lashed out with a speed that nearly caught Aemond off guard. He sprinted toward the crack through which he had entered, but the dragon pursued him relentlessly, its massive footsteps causing tremors that nearly toppled him.

His breath came in ragged gasps as fear surged through him. As he neared the crack, he caught a glimpse of the greenish fire reflecting off the cavern walls. Just as he squeezed through the narrow opening, searing pain erupted across his back. The Cannibal had unleashed a blast of green fire, grazing Aemond with its scorching intensity. The boy stumbled, the pain almost overwhelming as he desperately scrambled to escape.

The searing pain left Aemond unable to scream anymore. He lay motionless on the ground, his strength waning. With great effort, he dragged himself inch by inch through the narrow crack, hoping against hope that he could make it back to safety. Each movement sent jolts of agony through his scorched back, but the instinct to survive drove him forward.