Chapter 37: Dragonstone III - 123 AC 

They say the first flight is always memorable, and for Aemon Celtigar, it was an experience unlike any other. Riding his newly bonded dragon, Vermithor, the wind rushed through his hair as they soared above the island of Dragonstone. Each sharp turn and sudden dive made his heart race, a mix of exhilaration and fear that he had never felt before. As they flew, he took in the breathtaking view—the sprawling castle, the smoky volcano looming above, and the three smaller dragons circling near the port. From this height, they seemed insignificant in comparison to Vermithor. The sheer power beneath him, the sense of control over such a formidable beast, made Aemon feel like a god. Now, he understood why the Targaryens believed themselves to be closer to gods than men.

It wasn't long before the other dragons noticed Vermithor's presence, particularly Rhaena, who was in the midst of her daily ride on Dusk. At first, the dragons paid little mind to Vermithor, recognizing the ancient beast as a familiar presence on Dragonstone. However, when Rhaena spotted a rider atop the bronze dragon, her curiosity piqued. She commanded Dusk to approach, and as they drew nearer, Aemon realized just how massive Vermithor was—the length of Dusk was equal to just one of Vermithor's wings.

The amethyst-scaled dragon circled Vermithor, seemingly examining the old dragon with keen interest. The two dragons roared at each other, a powerful exchange that echoed across the sky, as if they were greeting one another. High above Dragonstone, Aemon and Rhaena locked eyes. Recognizing the rider, Rhaena's face twisted in displeasure, while Aemon's lips curled into the widest smirk she had ever seen. The answer to her unspoken question was clear, and with a huff, Rhaena turned Dusk away, resuming her morning exercise.

Aemon wasn't satisfied with just a brief flight. The exhilaration of riding Vermithor was too intoxicating to end so soon. He urged the dragon to continue soaring around the island, relishing every second as they weaved through the skies. For about an hour, they circled the rugged cliffs and the smoky peaks of Dragonstone, the wind whipping through Aemon's hair and the powerful beat of Vermithor's wings resonating in his chest. The island below looked small and distant, and with every loop and dive, Aemon felt more connected to the ancient power beneath him, reveling in the sensation of absolute freedom.

After an hour of thrilling flight, Aemon decided it was time to land, knowing he would need to deal with the consequences of taming Vermithor without permission. He commanded the dragon to return to the Dragonmont, already planning to revel in his accomplishment once the immediate aftermath was handled. As Vermithor approached the platform where Aemon had first taken flight, he noticed a commotion below. A group of guards and maesters had gathered, surrounding a motionless figure on the ground. 

At first, Aemon assumed they had come for him, but his eyes were drawn to the still body at the center of the group. His heart skipped a beat as he feared the worst—that his brother Gaemon had attempted to tame another dragon and paid the price. Without hesitation, Vermithor landed beside the platform, the ground trembling under the dragon's weight. Aemon hurriedly dismounted, nearly stumbling in his haste, and sprinted toward the lifeless figure, his heart pounding with dread.

"Move!" Aemon shouted as he pushed through the guards, dropping to his knees beside the motionless figure on the ground. But as he looked down, confusion quickly overtook his initial panic. The face staring back at him was not Gaemon's, but Aemond's. 

Aemon's eyes darted around, searching for answers, only to see Gaemon standing in the corner, unharmed and staring back at him with equal surprise. The gathered guards and maesters exchanged uneasy glances, their expressions mirroring Aemon's own confusion and shock.

"Why is he here like this?" Aemon demanded, pointing at Aemond's scorched and burned body. "Why is he... like this?"

No one responded. The maester, with a grave expression, gently nudged Aemon aside to tend to the prince, his silence only deepening the mystery in the boy's mind.

======

In the dimly lit corridors of Dragonstone, Clement hurried through the castle with a sense of urgency, his mind racing as he processed the sudden summons from the king, who should have already departed. His brow furrowed with confusion and concern, he moved quickly, the quiet echoes of his footsteps resonating against the cold stone walls. 

As he turned a corner, he nearly collided with Laena, who was pacing anxiously, her worry evident in every step. The moment she saw him, she stopped, and turned towards him.

"What is going on in there?" Clement asked softly.

"I've heard arguments," Laena replied. "But I do not know what they are talking about."

Clement hummed in response. He gently placed a hand on her back, urging her to move with him. "Then let's just see what it is."

Together, they walked briskly toward the hall, the murmur of voices growing louder with each step. As they neared the door, the sounds became more distinct. When they arrived, Clement could already make out the unmistakable shouts of Queen Alicent herself. With a steadying breath, he pushed the door open, and the heated voices inside erupted into a cacophony of anger and accusation, the queen's voice rising above them all.

In the corner of the hall, Clement could see Queen Alicent practically spitting venom at the group of Kingsguard, her face flushed and her eyes red as if she had been crying. The king was also present, though much quieter, his demeanor heavy with worry but not as overtly emotional. Across the room, Rhaenyra and Laenor stood together, their expressions guarded, while Daemon leaned against the wall, separating himself from the main group, his gaze fixed on Clement's son, Aemon, who was sitting in a chair, looking rather absentminded.

Clement and Laena hurried to Aemon, with Gaemon and Rhaena already at his side. Gaemon looked distant, lost in his thoughts, while Rhaena's expression was indifferent, almost cold. Laena knelt before Aemon, her eyes searching his face for any sign of what had transpired. Clement stood behind his wife, his presence a steadying force.

Laena gently placed a hand on Aemon's shoulder, her voice soft but firm. "What happened to you?"

"Nothing," Aemon replied, his voice flat. "I did it."

Laena's brow furrowed in confusion. She glanced quickly at Clement, then back to Aemon. "But?"

It was Rhaena who answered. "The prince, mother. He tried to follow brother's footsteps, I suppose. And failed, miserably."

Laena's frown deepened as her eyes scanned the room, taking in the expressions of the other children. Aegon appeared indifferent, his boredom evident as he leaned back in his seat. Helaena seemed lost in her own thoughts, disconnected from the tense atmosphere. The two sons of Rhaenyra, Jacaerys and Lucerys, looked confused.

Laena quickly noted the absence of Rhaenyra's youngest child, still an infant, and also the missing presence of Alicent's last son, who was far away in Oldtown. The realization settled in as she connected the dots—Aemond, the only one without a dragon, was the one missing. Her heart sank as she understood the implications of Rhaena's words and the gravity of what might have happened.

Laena sighed heavily and softly caressed Aemon's head. "You did good," she murmured, her voice gentle. Then, she stood up, turning to Clement, whose face remained impassive, betraying none of the turmoil he might have felt inside.

Suddenly, the door creaked open again, and the room's tension thickened as the maester entered. Queen Alicent, her hands clenched tightly, rushed towards him, desperation etched in every line of her face.

"How is my son, Maester?" she asked, her voice trembling with barely contained fear.

The maester's sigh was heavy, and he bowed his head. "Forgive me, Your Grace," he muttered. "The prince cannot be saved."

Alicent's breath caught in her throat, and she quickly covered her mouth with her hand, her eyes welling with tears. She fought to suppress a scream, clenching her teeth as her grief overwhelmed her. King Viserys, standing nearby, closed his eyes, the weight of regret and sorrow settling heavily upon him.

With great effort, Alicent regained control over her emotions. She turned, her eyes meeting Clement's for a brief moment, and he saw the burning disdain and hatred in her gaze. Without a word, she stormed over to Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, and slapped him hard across the face. Then, without looking back, she bypassed the king and exited the room, her departure marked by a profound silence.

King Viserys, looking as if all strength had drained from him, found a seat in the hall. Rhaenyra approached him quietly, offering silent comfort as she stood by his side. The frail king then turned to the maester.

"Prepare the body, Maester," he instructed.

The maester bowed his head again in silent acknowledgment before turning to leave the room, the heavy door closing behind him with a finality that seemed to echo through the hall.

======

The atmosphere of the castle had grown oppressively heavy with the reality of death. The royal family, supposed to have returned to King's Landing the day before, remained in Dragonstone to mourn the tragic loss of Prince Aemond. In the king's chambers, a somber silence reigned as Queen Alicent assisted King Viserys in preparing himself for their son's funeral. The air was thick with unspoken words, each movement deliberate and laden with sorrow.

Alicent helped Viserys into his attire, fastening his cloak with hands that trembled ever so slightly. Her eyes lingered on his crippled arm, the empty sleeve a stark reminder of the king's frailty and the relentless march of time. As she stepped back, she turned to the window, the grim gray skies outside mirroring the weight in her heart. After what felt like an eternity of silence, she finally spoke.

"How do you think this happened?" she asked, her voice taut with pain. "Our son... He doesn't deserve to die like this."

"Taming dragons is not a riskless endeavor," Viserys murmured, his tone weary. "You know this. I know this. We all know this. Even Aemond. He was taught of it."

Alicent's gaze snapped back to the king, sharp and piercing. "Is that it? You blame it on your own son's incompetence?"

"Of course not," Viserys sighed.

The queen shook her head. "I can think of many ways this could have been prevented, and it seems you are blind to every one of them."

"Indeed," Viserys agreed. "If we had watched him more closely—"

"It's not about watching him wander around," Alicent interrupted, her hand slamming down on the table beside her. "He, your son, should have had a safe way to get a dragon in the first place. You didn't allow it."

"He was given the same opportunities as the others," Viserys countered, his voice weary but firm. "He was told he could tame one of the hatchlings, just as others have. But Aemond always wanted more, something grander."

"Perhaps if we had placed an egg beside his cradle," Alicent insisted, her voice rising with frustration. "Perhaps if we had done more to ensure he had what was rightfully his, he wouldn't have felt the need to take such risks."

Viserys sighed deeply, shaking his head. "You know as well as I do that an egg beside his cradle was no guarantee. It doesn't always work that way. Even with an egg, there is no promise of a bond."

"But we should have tried nonetheless!" Alicent snapped, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Instead, you gave an egg to another house, a foreign one. Now that house has not two, but three dragons. Our family in King's Landing doesn't even have that many, Viserys. Do you not see your folly? They stole one of the Targaryen dragons, and you keep quiet about it."

"What would you have me do, Alicent?" Viserys chuckled in frustration, the sound hollow. "Ask them to return it? Demand they take their kin's head?"

Alicent clenched her fists, her knuckles white. "Your son was probably envious of him, of them. Aemond was the only one among his siblings without a dragon. His betrothed is a dragonrider, and now his future good-brother is one as well. It's no wonder he did something so reckless. Can you imagine the shame, the envy he must have felt? I can't even decide who to blame. Is it us for not giving him enough? Or is it those Celtigars who now sit across the bay with their stolen dragons?"

"Alicent..." Viserys murmured again. "Our son died trying to claim what was full of risk. No one took it from him. He made a choice—a dangerous one—and paid the price. He wasn't murdered."

"Is it?" Alicent asked. "The maesters here are not of our own, but Rhaenyra's. They could have—"

Viserys's expression hardened. "Are you suggesting that Rhaenyra—my daughter, your step-daughter—would harm her own brother? Be careful with your words, Alicent. Grief can cloud judgment, but we cannot let it drive us to baseless accusations."

Alicent sighed, her frustration evident in the deep lines etched into her face. "How can you be so blind about the state of your own court?"

"Enough," Viserys snapped, his patience wearing thin. "Today is our son's funeral. I do not want to taint it with endless arguments."

Alicent's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and resignation. She took a deep breath, struggling to calm herself. Without a word, she moved to assist Viserys, helping him adjust his cloak and supporting him as he walked. Her hands were gentle, but her face remained set in a troubled expression.