Chapter Text
Aemond Targaryen had always thought that he was unlike his siblings. Not to say they were all perfectly normal kids, Aegon was a chronically deranged pest, Helaena talked to herself more than to others, and Daeron had been away for so long he had almost forgotten what he looked like. But Aemond was different, and they all made sure that he knew it.
The first jest was when he was the only one dragonless amongst his siblings and nephews. Even Lucerys and Jacaerys had their puny winged beasts, while Aemond just used to go to the dragonpit everyday and pray to the gods they bless him with one.
Along with the embarrassment of being a Targaryen kid without a dragon, Aemond wasn’t particularly close with his family either. Most of the time when he tried to talk to Helaena, she would talk in riddles he didn’t understand, but listened tentatively to anyways. Viserys never had time to engage himself with his kids, he was slowly disintegrating because of his disease, and sometimes Aemond miserably wished he would die sooner. But amongst them, his mother was his closest companion, the person he trusted the most, but she was just his mother, and Aemond wanted a friend.
As for Aegon, ever since a few years back, he seemed to have grown close to Rhaenyra’s two kids, always messing around with them, stealing stuff from the kitchens, poking fun at people at court, and most of all, secretly devising against Aemond. One time, at a dinner party, hosted by Princess Rhaenyra to announce the pregnancy of her third son, the three of them deliberately made his entire night unbearable. He ended up storming out of the hall and locking himself in his room, almost on the verge of violently sobbing.
That same night, he snuck out of the window in his tower, and made his way down to the tunnels hidden under the dragonpit. It was the dead of night, the entire city was in deep slumber, and no one would even realize if Prince Aemond Targaryen got burned to a crisp beneath them. No one would linger too much on the fact either; Viserys would be mad at the dragonmasters for not being able to stop a kid, Aegon would probably crack a joke at his funeral about being burned twice, but his mother– oh, his mother. She would have had every single dragon in the city be butchered for hurting her beloved son, harming even an inch of his skin. She had always despised those scaly beasts, and once when Aemond had said he’d take her on a ride when he got his own dragon, she had immediately refused his offer, saying that a dragon can never be large enough to saddle two. Despite that, even if he ever got a dragon, he knew he’d claim it for her.
The young prince slowly made his way into one of the elongated tunnels deep inside the pit, shivering, not of fear but because of the cold. He had no idea which dragon’s lair he had stumbled upon, and as he advanced further, the air grew thicker and heavier, the firelights reduced in number, and he had forgotten which path he had taken to come here.
‘This is it’, he thought silently. ‘I’ll be stuck here forever. No one will come looking for me, I will remain here only to be roasted into dragon dinner.’
As the little prince was about to lose any hope of getting out, he heard a grumble. Something shifting beneath the shadows. His whole body was shaking, and he could swear his legs were going to give away at any time. He lifted his torch up slowly, cautiously, towards where the grouse was coming from. He knew it was a dragon, but not which one, or how big it was. If it was Vermax or Arrax, Aemond could get away unscathed, but the same would not apply to Sunfyre or Dreamfyre, they were much older and bigger in size, and definitely more short tempered. But a dragon would never hurt a Targaryen? They cannot and they always have to bend to the will of their masters, their keepers, the Targaryens. So, Aemond decided to take the risk and enter the bending tunnel, with his heart hammering in his chest, and dizzy from exhilaration.
It all happened so very fast after that. The beast reclining in its nest must’ve felt Aemond’s presence early on, an unfamiliar scent. The moment he started to see a glimpse of its glistening scales, the creature screeched horridly, spraying its wings, and blasted a small stream of fire at the ceiling of its confinement. That was all Aemond needed to see, before he dropped the torch frantically, and sped out in whatever direction he could. He didn’t know how long it took for him to finally feel a breath of fresh air, but when he emerged from the tunnels, all he could do was gasp and shake, and eventually lie down on the sandy ground inside the pits and laugh at the roof, as all sense of adrenaline died down inside him. It was a reckless decision, a stupid one, born out of anger and hatred, but Aemond Targaryen had felt something he never had before, and he knew he was fated to endure it again. And endure it he did once more, but this time it came with consequences much more severe.