Night had fallen over High Tide.
Prince Aegon lounged beside his bed, watching through the window as Aemond slipped quietly out of the castle.
In the tales he remembered, Aemond would one day tame Vhagar, the mightiest of the living dragons. Yet Aegon could not help but feel a twinge of unease.
That was his brother out there, facing a beast older than their grandsire. If Vhagar chose to roast him, there would be no mercy...and no second chances.
"Don't worry. He'll be fine."
Aegon turned. Helaena had appeared at his side without a sound, as she often did, her expression distant, eyes soft with half-dreamt thoughts.
"We can go down to meet him later," she murmured.
Aegon nodded. "I will. Where's Daeron?"
"Asleep already. Little children always doze once their bellies are full," Helaena said, her voice trailing off as her gaze drifted somewhere far beyond the room.
Over the years, she had grown accustomed to the strange clarity, and the burden of her dragon dreams. She had seen many things in them, though none where she was wed to Aegon.
Yet she remembered a dream from her childhood with perfect vividness, she had seen herself marry him, and she had seen House Targaryen lose its dragons.
Somewhere along the way, the future had blurred. What once was clear had become a haze of fragmented visions, shards of a prophecy she could no longer piece together.
After a long silence, she asked softly, "Mother said House Tyrell has no suitable girls. She told you you may choose your own bride. Is there someone you fancy?"
Aegon paused, caught by the earnest gleam of her eyes. He thought for a moment before answering.
"Not yet. Perhaps in a few years. If I've found no one by then, I'll let Mother decide."
Helaena's gaze fell to the floor. She said nothing more.
The silence lingered, until the night air was split by a roar so mighty it rattled the very stones of the keep.
Both turned toward the window. In the distance, Vhagar rose from her lair like a mountain taking flight, climbing near-vertically into the storm-dark sky.
Along Driftmark's coast, Rhaenyra and Daemon had only just finished their passionate tryst when the sound reached them.
"Something's happened," Rhaenyra breathed, her cheeks still flushed. A chill crept down her spine, a sense of dread she could not name.
Daemon's expression hardened. That cry… it was Vhagar, testing a new rider.
But who?
Surely not Rhaena. And Viserys, impossible.
A single name came to him then, and his stomach dropped.
If it was truly that boy, Rhaenyra would soon find herself in danger she did not yet comprehend.
High above, Aemond clung to Vhagar's reins as the great she-dragon surged upward like a living tempest.
He had not even fastened his harness before she took to the sky. The wind tore at his face like knives, but exhilaration burned away all fear.
Vhagar, obey!
The words were ripped from his throat as the bond took hold, a spark of fire flaring between man and dragon.
For the first time, Vhagar acknowledged the boy astride her back.
Moments later, she dove.
The world spun in a blur of crimson clouds and salt wind before she slammed down upon the shore before High Tide, crushing a row of stables beneath her talons.
Aemond leapt from the saddle, breathless, eyes alight with triumph. He had done it, he had not failed his brother. He had tamed a dragon of legend.
But as he strode into the corridor, a familiar voice cut through the night.
Joffrey, nose still crooked from Aemond's earlier blow from a few days prior, stood before him with a cluster of Velaryon boys at his back.
"You stole my dragon!"
Rhaena's cry rang out behind them. She had yet to claim a dragon of her own, but her outrage was fierce enough for any rider.
Aemond turned, the corner of his mouth curling.
"Your dragon?" he sneered. "When did Vhagar become yours?"
His gaze swept over the gathered bastards... Velaryon black-haired and brown-eyed. "Who told you that? These mongrels?"
He let out a short, derisive laugh. "They're nothing but whelps born of lies."
Six-year-old Jacaerys Velaryon was young, but not so young that he failed to understand Aemond's words.
His small fists clenched. Rage flushed his face.
"Who are you calling a bastard?" he shouted. "My dragon egg has already hatched, I'm not a bastard!"
Aemond gave a low, mocking laugh, brushing back his long silver hair. "Is that what you tell yourself, little prince? Do you even believe it?"
Jacaerys trembled with fury, eyes bright with unshed tears. But Aemond pressed on, relentless.
"I'm telling you the truth," he said, his voice sharp as a blade. "You're a bastard. And your wh-"
A rough cough cut him short.
Aegon stood at the end of the corridor, flanked by Helaena and a sleepy Daeron with hair in wild disarray.
"Congratulations, brother," Aegon said with an easy smile as he strode forward. "You didn't disappoint me. I'm proud of you, Aemond."
He passed Jacaerys and the others without so much as a glance, and pulled Aemond into a fierce embrace.
The Velaryon boys bristled but did not dare speak. They feared neither Aemond nor Helaena nor the drowsy Daeron, but Aegon was another matter.
There was a ruthlessness in him that every child at court had learned to fear.
Two years ago, Aegon had once tossed a sack over Jacaerys's head and beaten him senseless. When the boy ran crying to his grandsire, Viserys punished Aegon. But the retaliation that followed was worse than the first beating.
Since then, Lucerys and even little Joffrey had each received their share of lessons, simply for being near Jacaerys.
He had learned one truth well, Aegon Targaryen did not forgive, and he never struck only once.
Aemond looked surprised to see them. "Brother, sister, Daeron...why are you here?"
"You're our brother," Helaena said softly. "We were worried."
Daeron rubbed his eyes, yawning. "Are we fighting?" he mumbled. "Can we go back to sleep after?"
Aegon chuckled. "Fighting? With these Strong boys?" His voice dripped with disdain.
That single word struck deeper than any blow.
Jacaerys let out a cry of rage and charged.
He meant to strike Aegon, to defend his mother's honor, but he was still a child, while Aegon had grown tall and strong through years of hard training.
Aegon met his charge with a swift kick to the stomach.
The boy folded and flew backward, landing at Lucerys's feet, gasping and clutching his belly.
Aegon's eyes flicked toward Lucerys, amusement playing at his lips. The younger boy shrieked.
Footsteps clattered as the Kingsguard arrived.
Aegon turned his head lazily, and found the twin knights, Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk Cargyll, entering in gleaming mail.
"Well, well," Aegon drawled. "You two are on duty tonight? Rare. Care to share a cup when your watch is done?"
Arryk hesitated, tempted. Erryk remained impassive. "I fear not, Your Highness. Might I ask what happened here?"
"Nothing worth reporting," Aegon said easily. "Prince Jacaerys grew... excitable. I merely reminded him of his manners."
The words carried a sting that Erryk chose to ignore.
He knelt to help Jacaerys up, already dreading what this would mean. The rift between the Queen and the Princess was widening by the day, and King Viserys was too weary to mend it.
He signaled to his twin to follow protocol.
Arryk hesitated, then stepped closer to Aegon instead. "Your Highness, are you hurt?" he asked with genuine concern.
Erryk's jaw tightened. He had warned his brother not to take sides too soon, but Arryk's sympathies were clear.
Sighing, Erryk gathered the Velaryon boys and led them toward the hall, dispatching a guard to summon the King.
By the time the family assembled in the great hall of High Tide, the night was thick with tension.
When Viserys learned that Aemond had claimed Vhagar, his heart swelled with pride. Another dragon for his line, another sign of Targaryen strength.
What pleased him even more was that the quarrel between Aegon and Jacaerys had ended with nothing worse than bruises. No blood spilled, no tragedy.
In truth, he feared nothing more than kin slaying kin.
Of late, Aegon had grown into a fine young man, disciplined, composed, and increasingly admired throughout the realm.
That popularity worried him. But thus far, Aegon had shown no hint of ambition, acting only at his mother's urging and never beyond his station.
Rhaenyra broke the uneasy silence first. Her voice was sharp with anger.
"Aegon! Jacaerys is my son. How could you lay such a heavy hand on him? And I must remind you- questioning royal blood is high treason!"
Viserys frowned. He did not wish to hear of treason. Not tonight.
"It was but a quarrel among children," he began, hoping to soothe her. "Let us-"
But Aegon interrupted him.
"A heavy hand?" he echoed, calm as still water. "Jacaerys struck first. He couldn't control himself. I wonder whom he takes after."
Then his hand drifted to Helaena's hair, brushing the pale strands tenderly.
"Such beautiful silver hair," he said lightly. "A gift from the gods to our House."
He turned to Aemond. "And you, brother- did the gods bless you as well?"
Aemond smiled faintly. "Of course. The blood of the Dragon runs strong in me."
Then to Daeron, "And in you too, little one."
Daeron grinned sleepily as Aemond ruffled his hair.
Together, the four of them- Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, and Daeron, turned their eyes toward Jacaerys, Lucerys, and Joffrey.
---------------------
A/N: Enjoying the story so far? Want more? There are already 18 advance chapters waiting on my Patreon, and the first two are completely free! ⚓
Things are just starting to get interesting, so if you're curious about what's coming next, hop over and take a peek
-- patreon.com/Captain_Lag
OH! And gimme those Power stones alright?