Chapter Text
Chapter 4
Vhagar reached Sharp Point in less than an hour. She flew with the wind, rising and fall, chasing an invisible force. Aemond had known for a long time that Vhagar behaved the way her emotions told her too. And right now, she felt anxious. And angry. Caraxes appeared settled at the bottom of the small hill behind the large beacon tower that was bright aflame. There was so sign of Syrax. Aemond left Vhagar to do as she please before rushing the incline. It felt good to sprint up that hill. To feel a real ache in his chest rather than the one he imagined there.
Daemon was waiting for him when he reached the top. His smile quickly faded, “Did you run here?” He teased. Aemond shook his head, “No, I have a dragon that takes me where ever I wish to go.” Daemon chuckled, “Well aren’t you lucky.” Aemond had expected Daemon to be offended by his comment, seeing as he claimed Vhagar the same night as his previous wife’s funeral, Laena Velaryon, Vhagar's last rider. Aemond stood beside Daemon, both staring into the flames. Daemon laughed again, “My nursemaid once told me that Targaryen’s had the ability to see their future in fire?”
“Oh?”
“She said ‘only dragons can see the truth that only fire can bring’.”
“Did you believe that?”
Daemon nodded, “Sure, as a child. I thought Targaryen were invincible.”
“And now?” Aemond looked at the man he suddenly saw so much of himself in.
Daemon sighed, “And now…now I’m…not so sure.” He looked down slightly at Aemond, “What did you decide?” Aemond kept a straight face, “About what?” Dameon clicked his tongue, “Don’t play dumb. You are not stupid, Aemond.” He took a step back, “I decided that you owe me more answers.” Daemon mirrored the young man, “Ask me anything you wish.” Aemond flinched. He hadn’t yet thought about what he wanted to ask. There were too many questions. Many of them felt more like accusations than genuine inquisitions.
Daemon stepped close enough to put his hand on Aemond’s shoulder, “It’s ok, son.” Aemond brushed his hand away, “Do not call me that.” He warned. Daemon retreated a few steps with his hands up, “My apologies.” Aemond eyed him the corner of his only eye. He watched the fire dancing around the metal barrel containing them. They looked so free. Swaying and sparking with nothing to stop them but their selves. Aemond continued to stare into the flames, “How was I conceived?” Daemon laughed nervously, “How much detail do you want?” his joke landed on miserable ears. Aemond glared at him. “Right, spare the details,” Daemon promised. “It was a couple of years after the King had named Rhaenyra is heir. Which was shortly after his wife, Aemma, died from birthing their son.”
“Viserys had a son? Before Aegon?” Daemon nodded. Aemond looked at Daemon curiously, “Is that why I would have caused a war?” Daemon shook his head, “No, no. You were not the only factor. The pit had been laid with kindling long before you were born. Your birth would have only sparked the war for the Iron Throne. And Rhaenyra and I would have fanned the flames.” Aemond found himself looking at Daemon while he told his tales. Daemon softly smiled and Aemond turned back to face the fire, “Why did it matter so much? Rhaenyra was named Viserys heir. It wasn’t a secret.” Daemon nodded, “Yes, he did name Rhaenyra heir, but on the condition that I exile myself. I was ambitious in my youth. I wanted the Iron Throne more than I wanted money or fame or women. That’s how I found myself on Driftwood, married to a Velaryon. I left Rhaenyra soon after the only time we had been with each other. I didn’t know the truth about you until my brother had died.
“Viserys knew that I was not fit to rule the Seven Kingdoms. But Rhaenyra was. She was already a ruler in her own right by the time I left Kings Landing. My brother knew that I would spoil the potential Rhaenyra showed him from a very young age. So when she figured out that she was pregnant with you, by me, Rhaenyra knew it would complicate everything. And that you would be in danger as our son.” Daemon paused.
“What did she fear? That I would be murdered in my sleep?” Aemond quipped. “Yes.” Daemon said firmly, “Rhaenyra was terrified that you would be a target, especially if you were a boy, a male heir to the Iron Throne.”
“Who was she worried about?” Aemond reluctantly asked. Daemon hesitated, “The Hightowers. Alicent and Otto. The Great Lords who witnessed Viserys name Rhaenyra as his sole heir who couldn’t fathom a woman seated on the Iron Throne. And by me.” Aemond’s head snapped towards Daemon. “I—I’ve told you of my youthful ambitions. Rhaenyra knew that if she bore a son, which she did, it would put me another place further from inheriting the throne. And she was right. I used to be so selfish. I would have done almost anything for that pile of swords.” Daemon confessed. He looked at Aemond, “Rhaenyra knew that I would hate myself for killing my own son,” Daemon looked Aemond in the eye, “And she would have been right. Rhaenyra always seems to be right.” Daemon laughed dryly.
“You don’t sound happy about that.” Aemond commented. Daemon scoffed, “The complete opposite I'm afraid. I love her dearly for it.” Aemond noticed how Daemon’s jaw softened when he spoke of Rhaenyra. The pair gazed into the blaze together for several moments.
“When Rhaenyra said a war would have started ‘nineteen years ago’ was she referring to when she learned of pregnancy with me or when I was born?” Aemond asked with a lump in his throat.
“I believe she was referring to when you were born. Why?” Aemond thought back to what Otto said in the council meeting to his daughter, ‘He is nearly twenty’. “I’ve just turned ten and eight this year.” Daemon shook his head, “No no, you are ten and nine this year. Trust me and I’ll spare you the details.” Nineteen was closer to twenty than eighteen. His grandfather could have simply misspoken as he threw a fit when the Queen mother questioned his orders.
“But Helaena just turned ten and nine at the beginning of this year. Her and I are fifteen months apart in age. We can’t both be ten and nine.” Aemond argued. Daemon shrugged, “The math doesn’t make sense, does it?” Aemond didn’t want to think about it. How many lies made up his life thus far? How many more would he have to endure knowing of? There was a nagging voice in the back of his mind telling him that if he chose to believe Rhaenyra and Daemon Targaryen were his parents then he would have no reason not believe he was being told the truth about his age now.
“Are you happy to have a son?” Aemond asked so quietly he hoped Daemon hadn’t heard anything at all. “I am. But only if he wants to be my son.” Aemond bit the inside of his cheek, a childhood tick he was too old to still fall into. “What is your plan, Daemon? What do we do after the world knows of who I really am and choose to believe us?” Daemon shrugged, “I’m not sure yet. I choose not to give it any thought. Not until we had your answer.” Aemond scoffed, “My decision won’t change anything. Who I am won’t change anything. Aegon will still sit on the Iron Throne and rule the kingdom until he drowns himself in his cup.”
“Maybe,” Daemon mused, “Or maybe the kingdom will see a ruler in you just as your grandfather saw in your mother.” The suggestion hung thick in the air between them. Aemond had never imagined himself sitting on the Iron Throne. He thought it was a foolish dream. Daemon’s pretty words didn’t change how he felt about one day being King. Aemond sighed, “I’m afraid it's too late for me for I am to be married off to the Lady of Winterfell.” Daemon scrunched his face, “Is this an order from the King?” Aemond shook his head, “No from the next best thing, the Hand.” Daemon rubbed his temples harshly, “Fuck,” he said into his breath. “Imagine how I feel.” Aemond joked.
“There was a small council meeting where we discussed Luc’s envoy to Lord Borros regarding the offering of his hand in marriage to one of his daughters. Lord Jasper attests that such a union would not compromise Storms End loyalty to the Crown. It was decided that we turn our attention to the North and securing its fealty to the King by way of the new Lord of Winterfell, Cregan Stark. His sister, and only sibling. is unwed and not yet promised. Lord Hightower thinks I'm best suited to carry out the duty of uniting the North to the south rather than one of Rhaenyra’s children.” Daemon laughed, “How ironic,” Aemond brooded with a smile, “Quite.”
“We could send Jace to Winterfell with a marriage proposal before you have a chance.” Daemon offered, “I mean, when have they ever gotten involved with ‘Targaryen troubles. It would be a miracle if Lord Cregan accepted your offer. I imagine he’d much rather kiss your brothers’ boots. But a Velaryon might be a wide enough degree of separation.” Aemond nodded in agreement, “You may try. But what have you to offer them that the Crown cannot?” Daemon did not answer. “There is nothing the Velaryons of Dragonstone can offer to the Lord of Winterfell. Besides, Otto is hoping for a three-fold marriage tie if I marry the Stark girl and the Stark boy marries one of the Baratheon girls.”
“Ah, I see. He wants to connect the south directly to the North and Storms End as well by way of the North?” Daemon scoffed, “Old man Otto seems to be awfully sure of himself these days.” Daemon murmured. “You have no idea.” Aemond concurred. ‘What do you know of Lord Stark’s sister?”
“Why? Do you want to marry her?”
“Depends on what you tell me about the fair maiden.” Aemond retorted. Daemon smirked, “Well, from what I can remember, she would be at least a year older than you are now. Lord Rickon and his wife were both relatively handsome. I’ve never heard anyone speak ill about their sons looks either.” Aemond nodded. “But they are Northerners. There is a reason they don’t like to get into the affairs of the south. And why the Targaryens in line for the Iron Throne do not want to involve the North in ruling the Seven Kingdoms.”
Aemond shrugged, “I may be in line for succession but I won’t be a southerner when I approach them with our offer.” Daemon raised his brows, “Oh?” He queried hopefully. Aemond looked his father in the eyes, “I’ll be an envoy from Dragonstone.”
“Does that mean—”
“Send Jacaerys to Winterfell. Have him reveal my parentage to Cregan Stark. Have Jace gauge the young Lords reaction. If he doesn’t believe Jace, we face no loss. If Lord Stark does believe him but doesn’t not accept my proposal, let us hope, as you say, they’ll want to stay out of our ‘Targaryen troubles’. Either way, I’ll turn coat to Dragonstone without a second thought about it.”
“And if Cregan believes us and accepts the proposal? What then?” Daemon pressed. “Well then father, I guess we’ll have a wedding to plan.”