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"So how do we call them?" Asks the older of the King’s sons, the royal example, plastered on the chair like they were put there for two weeks and not twenty minutes.
He has grown bored already, noticeably so, with the fidgeting and consecutive sighs, and since his little shadow is away, it is Aemond who bears the burden of it.
"What?"
"Their mother is Jace's aunt. But their father is—was our uncle."
"You shall refer to them as Lady Baela and Lady Rhaena respectively, Mother trusted us with this courtesy, behave yourself," Aemond repeats with the deeper voice he has been practicing; Ser Laenor said it sounds good enough, he needs to make a more than good enough impression.
"Pfft, don't get why us. We never saw them," Aegon mumbles, letting another frustrated exhale pass through his lips, making an obnoxious sound. He doesn’t need to rehearse his changing voice, lucky him.
"Some insults can only bleed through the future and hope for forgiveness," Helaena chimes in from the floor, her pretty dress creasing on the rug where she has been re-organizing her portable drawers of dissected animals.
"Really? Because is not only father, right?," Aegon jumps from his seat, renewing his energy to exist, brought by the power of adult gossip.
"Sister, don't spur him on."
"Family ties can be a prickly issue," says his sister, agreeable. That’s the best thing to not have the Velaryons near, the chance of reining over Aegon’s strange ideas of ‘fun’ is higher.
"Thank you!," Aegon, mistakenly, takes the comment as if Helaena is on his side.
"That's why I will present them these," continues the princess, showing twin bracelets made from fine metal, hanging four ornaments each, two rubies, and two aquamarines resting inside crab claws. "For the glory days and past victories..."
"Pretty," Aegon whispers, taking one with a delicacy uncharacteristic of him, letting it catch the light.
"It can be gifted when we are better acquaintances," settles Aemond, they do look good, the claws were dried, polished, and glazed with careful artistry, mended by a little clasp to the chain. "I'm sure we can make a case for Mother, whatever her resentment is about."
“I’m not sure that it is the sons that should resolve her issues,” Aegon ponders, trying to fit his hand inside the jewelry. Helaena barks a reprimand, uncannily like Mother’s, and wordlessly the bracelets come back into her hands.
“It will bleed and forgive the future,” Helaena repeats, putting honey on her voice that doesn’t quench the glares she aims at Aegon.
“You should be grateful for being an ambassador of it.”
“A courtesy dinner for the new orphans is not something to be grateful for,” Aegon replies. “Mother won’t trust me comforting you, why then am I here?”
Before Aegon can remind his brother how much a twat he is but he is expected to be decent, they are interrupted by Ser Erryk arriving at the little hall.
“My princes, princess. Your guests—”
“Yeah, yeah, make them pass,” Aegon says, taking Helaena’s hand and making her stand up too. Discreetly Aemond takes the boxes of insects and bracelets to put them on the other side of the room.
“Lady Baela Targaryen, Lady Rhaena Targaryen.” Announces the knight and after a quick murmur of ‘thanks’ he returns to his post outside the threshold.
Both girls are as tall as Aegon, a head over Aemond and Helaena, yet they shrink themselves after quick bows, wearing red with deep blues that drown them awkwardly, like dolls that were dressed up in opulence, noble orphans taken out of their homes because politics demand so. A memory seizes Aemond for a heartbeat, their mother murmuring about betrothals and the Princess promising that it would never happen, her girl would not be dragged out the Keep to please a Great House.
And in that beat where he fails to make courtesy, Helaena takes the lead.
“Cousins!” She chirps far too loudly to be respectable, she gallops across the room, halting just in front of the Targaryen twins and reaching with her arms without touching them. “Be welcome, be welcome," she says smiling openly, looking at them in rapid glances.
There is no need for it, neither of the girls is looking at them, avoiding eye contact too, one is glaring gloom to the curtains and the other hasn’t lifted her eyes since entering the room. The first one changes her sullen face for something more akin to a derisive sneer meanwhile the latter seems to take Helaena, rightly so, at face value and smiles a little.
“It is a pleasure to meet you, princess,” answers the most self-conscious of the two and tries to join their hands in a greeting. Unfortunately, Helaena is not ready for that and jerks her hand abruptly, without changing her happy expression, which leaves the twins confused.
“Pleasure to meet you two,” Aegon drawls, sliding next to their sister and taking the rejected salute with a sleazy smirk, he is about to kiss the lady’s hand before her sister pushes him by the shoulder.
“ All right? ” he musters under his breath, admiring agape how his shoulder hurts from the quick reaction of the girl.
Helaena answers him by shaking her head, first down and up, then side to side, Aemond rushes near her and murmurs a quick assurance, also in Valyrian, so she knows she is dismissed but not judged. Helaena trots unfazed to the room corner. Two against two now.
“ I say that it is the highest of rudeness to talk in another language in front of your guests. ”
"Higher than correcting you?" Aemond hits him on the ribs with his elbow, it does not deter Aegon from being an ass. "Sorry, but that was lackluster."
The shy girl murmurs something only for her sister, not in Common nor Valyrian, it prompts some giggling, unfortunately for everybody in the room, it's taken as an invitation to trouble.
"Hey, who is rude now? What did you say?" Aegon demands, vibrating with the possibility of a challenger.
"Nothing my prince, my apologies."
"Bleh, craven .”
"She said that you can only flaunt High Valyrian now that the Queen is not around." Translates the brazen lady, meeting Aegon in front of her sister.
Aemond steps back, trying to catch sight of Ser Erryk on the threshold. Just in case. Is not like his brother is that idiotic to hit a lady.
Right?
"Ha!, yet you barely speak it and it's with a stilted accent, so is the legacy of the Rogue Prince!" Aegon advances to be nose-to-nose with her, grinning openly.
The shy girl also takes a step back, Aemond registers this instead of who is lunging for whom.
He may be wrong, but surprisingly, it is little lady Targaryen, their cousin from Pentos, that strikes first. With a snarl and a good jump she sends Aegon to the floor, going by the yelp he lets out, the prince wasn’t expecting this reaction either.
“Ser!” Calls Aemond with mild annoyance, not only Mother would be disappointed in them, Princess Rhaenyra would bite their heads off for mistreating the daughters of her friend.
His voice seemed to startle the other girl from her resigned role of spectator, making her attempt to kneel and stop the fight.
“No, no, he deserves it,” Aemond comments stopping her motions. Better one than two injured girls, however upon close inspection his brother is not punching back, more like trying to get away with his eyes intact judging by his scratched cheek.
"My condolences, lady…" Aemond starts, watching the girl correcting her posture like she just found the only thread by which she is hanging.
"Rhaena, my prince, " she answers with a polite sigh.
Ser Erryk comes fast, successfully separating the children barking insults both in High Valyrian, Common Tongue, and a mixture of both and neither. Aegon is laughing, climbing over the knight like a scaredy dog searching for his owner's protection.
“Lady Rhaena.” Aemond tries the name on his tongue, he is sure Mother complained about Valyrian names once. He observes the sisters whispering to each other in the aftermath. Both with sunken eyes and feeble hands, they must be so tired. The one that fought Aegon, Baela by process of elimination, looks like a mess now, no doubt because of an ungentlemanly hair-pulling. “You haven’t been on court, right? Always in Essos?”
His honest question is met by identical upset stares, even Ser Erryk stops his berating to be dismissed by the renewed tension between the children, excusing himself to keep watch on the farthest wall.
The only one unaffected by it is Helaena, who chooses this moment to present little boxes to both girls, such is her determination that the gifts can not be rejected swiftly.
“We are sorry for your loss,” says the princess and goes to her brothers, pulling the oldest in a more respectful posture, since Aegon is hanging from Aemond's shoulder despite being taller.
Baela scoffs and crosses her arms without taking any interest in what is inside the box, while Rhaena makes a point to bow in gratitude and still not look inside it. This doesn't go unnoticed.
"As awkward as this welcoming is, I am willing to admit that it was disheartening to learn about Uncle Daemon's death," Aegon grumbles grudgingly. "He leaves behind two magnificent daughters, both worthy legacies of a warrior and a prince," he recites carefully, nodding first to Baela and Rhaena.
"Please accept these presents in good faith and be the families reunited in mourning," Aemond finishes when Aegon doesn't continue, putting the same effort into his voice as he did.
Baela still looks skeptical of them, but she and Rhaena wear the bracelets, with sheepish 'thank yous' muttered. They don't take them off for the rest of their little travel to the site of the funeral. It’s a start, even if nothing else changes with their interactions, those little pieces of handcrafted jewelry would tell Mother that they tried to mend whatever bonds are broken within the families.
Mother has always got the perfect skill to not say why and how she is doing the things she is doing. That's why it is so bizarre how all good manners and pretense are thrown out of the window on the day of the funeral.
“I do not care what your father said, I doubt he will notice. You remain here.”
And well, it is not like Aemond was thrilled to see how they burn the remains of their uncle but, still, it is strange. The attentive Queen skips every custom to herd the princes and princess outside the front row of the crowd of nobles reunited for the even stranger occasion that is 'Daemon Targaryen is absolutely dead'.
“It has to be Syrax ‘cause Father doesn’t have a dragon and the old thing of his wife already burn—ouch!” Aegon starts explaining to Daeron, and he is lightly slapped on the head for his troubles.
They are the only important family this far, barely making out the King, Princess Rhaenyra, and Princess Rhaenys in front of the pyre.
“Bloody beast wanders around, wanders around and around.” Muses Helaena, swinging on her feet at the rhythm of Syrax's wing movement up the hill, the bright dragon only awaits her rider's orders.
“Oh! Right, and the Wyrm is riderless.”
Maybe Mother is right in leaving them on the sides and apart, this kind of commentary would have been dreadfully received among the mourning family members. Although they are too mourning, supposedly.
“He came with Syrax!” Daeron replies, proud of adding intel, Aegon responds patting Daeron's head tenderly. In response, the Queen sidesteps him, putting some distance between them, the kid in her arms none the wiser about her growing displeasure with their little talk.
“Hey, Aemond, wouldn’t be funny if you…?”
“Aegon! Rein in your thoughts!"
“Mother, this could be your final blow. Just picture it.”
“And what is that supposed to mean, my child?”
“Eh…” For once in a full moon, it seems like he is thinking about what to say next.
“Uncle Daemon and you never agreed,” Helaena intervenes, unfortunately, she didn't have any qualms to say it out loud.
Mother mouth's goes thin, sour, and after a measured breath she answers with the royal poise of always.
“My apologies for setting such poisonous appearances, I do not hold rancor against the man.”
“Your husband is alone there,” Aemond counters since she wants to play it like this.
And, well, nobody is paying attention to them, and the ones that do probably already know how Daemon Targaryen was in life, no surprise that the Queen didn't like him.
“I would prefer to protect my youngest from the gruesome rites,” she says rearranging the weight of Daeron to keep him upright, a challenge to do so because the kid is too old and too large to be carried in his mother's arms.
“No worries, Mother, I saw how dragons are fed,” answers the same kid, holding one of his hands to his mother's cheek, bumping his lips on her furrowed brow. A kiss to dissuade the bad tempers. It works…somewhat.
“The King has all the company he needs in this trying time, his daughter and cousin are more consolation than I could hope to be.”
The silence installs between them, probably because the she-dragon is closing the distance for the pyre. All groups of people fall silent and just a faint ' dracarys ' is heard. Then cracking fire rises.
“If the issue is such an urgency for you all, little dragonlords, the rightful claimant would be Lady Rhaena,” the Queen comments when they all begin to disperse, like the good children they are, they listen to her before trying to reach the Velaryons in the front. “It is my understanding that her egg never hatched… daring pride can only take your legacy so far," she adds under her breath.
And with that she begins marching, to comfort her husband maybe, as the man hasn't moved yet while his companions have. Princess Rhaneys hugs her granddaughters who were a couple of steps behind them, watching the burning ceremony alongside Ser Laenor and his boys.
Aemond wants to make a beeline for them but he is halted by his mother yet again. The Queen cannot keep the children holed up with her, but that doesn’t mean she won’t try to control the interactions they are allowed to have. Adjusting Daeron in her arms she instructs them to keep an eye on each other and extract themselves quickly from any political discussion.
“Perhaps you will be better off outside the tents.” Her overgrown, living shield waves them from her shoulder, happy to be carried all day.
Aemond doesn’t understand why she thinks it is important, but at least is easy to do. After both Targaryens have received condolences from nobles they drift to the other children. Baela got used to the brashness of Aegon in their trip to Dragonstone, and with Jace finally reunited with the young prince, the three make an excellent repellent of adults. Without mincing words the two launch commentaries about the Great Houses to compensate for the girl missing the hottest gossip of the Red Keep, their unashamed laughter does turn some heads, and after some glares they herd themselves to a side, throwing some rocks at a little hill.
Searching around Aemond finds the other twin, looking broody alongside Helaena, tearing up the grass where they are seated.
“Do you th…Is it the same sea that binds the shores as are souls bonded?”
“Shores are more of their land than their sea,” Lucerys answers, observing the sea with a frown.
“Is coincidental and convenient, then,” Helaena concludes and resumes her small weaving of cords, she always carries something to be distracted when her insects are not proper.
Aemond takes a seat on the grass next to Rhaena.
“Are you still shaken?”
A short-lived, poisoned glare is his answer, then a defeated sigh.
“My apologies.”
“No need, my prince. Better than the lords probing for details of his de—" She grumbles quietly, unable to say the word.
“Morbid," Helaena coughs and extends the tip of the cords to Aemond, who wordlessly takes it and tenses it for her to braid.
They remain like that, watching the waves and the pace of her craft, Lucerys joins the attack at the vegetation with his push dagger and makes little mounds with the fresh-cut leaf blades, within the two they make sinuous paths resembling the coast where they are, Rhaena draws another one at the east of it.
'Compromise', said Mother and seemed to endure this ordeal with that word. Compromise to take the girls before the King could even think of splurting raging nonsense at them because of his grief. Compromise to send Rhaenyra to convince Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys to let their mother rest on Dragonstone when she is stable enough. Compromise to let the widow be absent from the rites because, how can you ask her to watch such a thing again?
"Is he always like that?"
Aemond is startled by her voice, these days whereas Baela played and conversed smoothly, Rhaena was found more drawn to quiet crafts with Helaena, not much curiosity for the other Targaryens. He tries to suss what she means but it is not a great mystery, as the voice of Aegon travels incredibly well in the open field.
"Come on, it's only a cup! Not even of the strong wine, right wench?" Aegon hollers, offering Baela the same drink he has been trying to entice Jace to taste. "Is sweet! Wine is sweet! And good for your soul."
Jacaerys does take a sip and apparently does not agree.
"No, you are wrong," he complains and drains the rejected cup. "You know if we had something stronger we could go breathe fire too."
Baela directly spills the rest of her cup, making Jace giggle.
"Sure, you can do that, too. Damned kids. Wench! How about some beer? No? Just water? Some water, then!" Aegon orders, baffled by their preferences, he is so lucky that Mother is distracted.
"He is worse," Aemond deadpans, Baela and Jace are having fun, for how long until Aegon stops being functional and/or entertaining is up to the Gods. "You have a good sister, Aegon never passed a chance to be an arse about dragons," he tries to sound kinder that he feels, is not like every Targaryen in history rode a dragon but his brother acts like that's a given for them. Feels good to have another person with whom to discuss the issue.
"Yeah, Baela is…formidable." Rhaena murmurs between sighs. "Father would have been proud."
The firstborns of the families are getting closer, still talking about their dragons and their expectations of flying them when they grow larger. Rhaena holds herself tighter, shrinking in the already little space she is seated.
"Cousin, can you finish this one?" Helaena calls, not waiting for the affirmation, dropping the new braided bracelet on Lady Targaryen's hand.
"How…?"
"Any tie you can think of."
Aemond hands the other tip for her to close it. Lacking another thing to do, he observes Rhaena tying the cords. She takes both ends and crosses them, looping one over the other, pulling in opposites to tighten the circular knots formed, like a flexible clasp for it to be adjusted.
Right above their heads Syrax roars lamely and whirring chirps answer her, the mount of the Rogue Prince is late for the funeral.
"I need a favor."
"You going to steal dragon?" Answers the mess of his brother, now alone throwing rocks at the end of the cliff. Still a cup next to him.
"Wha—No."
"So you convinced Rhaena to do so? How charitable." Aegon takes a deep breath and with great effort stands up. "Let's get going, then." He declares looking way above Aemond's head, who steps back in case he gets nauseous in his personal space.
"Listen. You have gotten Jace drunk and now you two are missing." Aemond says, better get done with him quickly.
"No, I did not! He is fine! It wasn't even pure wine. He spitted—spat into the cup." A pause, a belch, and an understanding. "What is my payment?"
"I will swear that you weren't drunk, just pretending with him." Aegon nods with enthusiasm, fearing he will lose the little attention, Aemond continues: "You will need Daeron too."
"W-whyyy? Is late already, he is unbearable when is late."
"You need to disappear another son to stall them more. I will take the girls and Luke. Keep up." Aemond rolls his eyes and looks back, the dark is upon them, the tents being lifted and the people going to the castle to rest.
"Wait? Helaena is invited too? Did I do something to you? Like, out of the usual stuff? The first time you want to cause chaos and you don’t include me..." His brother grumbles, almost making him take pity on him.
"Dreamfyre is bigger."
"So?"
"Aegon!"
"Yeah yeah, you got your favor, must defend our own." In an incredible maneuver, Aegon lifts the cup from the ground, and instead of drinking it all, he throws the content behind him. "May the Warrior bless you all."
And with a pat on Aemond's shoulder, he is gone, leaving the little brother utterly confused by his commitment to a cause that does not entertain him nor benefit him.
They have a full moon, thank the Sevens. Baela and Rhaena go in front, the little dragon of the former sliding with fast grace, raking the ground and leading, allegedly Moondancer has detected Caraxes’s scent. Behind them Aemond and Luke follow, cautiously to their detriment, looking back every three steps.
In all honesty, Aemond would have preferred to go just with Rhaena, however, after the little time they have known the Targaryen twins he has an understanding that that would not be what she needed or wanted. The bitterness of his comment from the afternoon certainly didn't translate, and he is tempted to repeat it until she tastes it. Rhaena has a good sister, of her age that would rather be defensive of her than irredeemably annoying to her, not once Baela has teased her, dismissed, or ignored her. If it was Aegon in her place he would have picked up Aemond on Sunfyre and thrown him in front of the riderless dragon, crying with laughter when his broken bones hindered his performance in the claiming.
“We are far.”
“Not really.”
And if he is allowed to be genuine, bringing, and involving the Velaryons is not ideal, power is in the numbers and the passionate righteousness that Lucerys can infuse in his whining is an excellent bait for the adults when they are inevitably found out. Yet.
“Aemond.” Calls Luke again, wariness in his voice.
“It would be fine.”
At last in their expedition comes Arrax, just a shy of the size of its rider, the dragon observes the sky as best as it can, often being reminded what role has been cast tonight. Another necessity, some warning signal if they began searching for them…and if Caraxes reacts badly to their boldness.
The rushed possible scenarios are two: a search party starts and Helaena whistles for her ride, the she-dragon lights the sky informing them across the terrain of the imminent scolding. Or, in the worst case, Arrax is the one that breathes fire into the air, alerting the princess that a bigger ally would be needed to subdue whatever offense they pose to Caraxes. The perfect strategy against failures.
Aemond could have said that he is being pretty clever. Helaena, the apple of their eyes, both of the Queen’s and the King’s, is always allowed to stroll late, just gazing at the skies or checking the nooks of the Red Keep in search of new spiders. It calms her. He is taking advantage of that little rule and the fact that both Syrax and Dreamfyre have been left to roam free to not spook the mourning Wyrm before the dragonkeepers can herd him to the Pit. Caraxes is to be caged again, re-trained, tamed, and morosely awaiting his new rider. They are just taking the initiative. True Blood of Old Valyria.
“Aemond.” It is Baela who calls him now, she and Raena have stopped in their tracks on the edge of the hill, the tall grass hiding the group and whatever lies at the valley forward.
“He’s sleeping,” Rhaena says in hushed surprise.
Leaving both Moondancer and Arrax behind, the four descend quietly; indeed, Caraxes seems to be sleeping, lax on the disturbed ground, clawed like the beast has been burrowing without a cave.
“Still has Uncle’s saddle.”
“How were we supposed to take it off?” Baela grunts harshly, softening the glare in deference to Lucerys. “Go. I am right here,” she whispers to her sister.
“Alone?”
“You are without dragon, he could think we two are threats.”
“He knows you better!”
“You can do it,” little Luke says while checking Arrax's ropes, in attention to trouble, he climbed again the hill, a smart boy.
Aemond only nods and the girl scurries away and towards the dragon. The creature is strange by the descriptions of its species, a long, long, powerful neck, equally large limbs, and dark red scales that form symmetrical spikes adorning its back continuing up to the tail; another interesting detail that fills Aemond with curiosity is that the hind legs are winged, folds of rough skin falling over the ground where he rests.
Rhaena touches a leather clasp and the dragon opens his eyes. The girl retreats, scared despite that she should have expected it. The beast raises and fixes his snout in her direction.
“C-caraxes. I am Rhaena.” She says when regaining composure. “Daughter of Daemon Targaryen.”
The dragon answers with several whines and cracks, hisses and grunts that are higher than any growl of other adults-dragons. Aemond gets closer to them, enthralled. It doesn't matter that he was being careful, the dragon spots him and for a moment nobody breathes.
“Talk to him!” Luke whispers loudly, he went in the other direction, half-hiding behind his own dragon, ready to flee.
“What?”
“In Valyrian! That’s how you claim it,” Baela yells, also clutching at Moondancer but staying put in her place with fearless resolve. “ Lykirī !, and dohaerās . ‘Be calm and serve’”
“Serve…?” Rhaena repeats, unsure. “ Lykirī , Caraxes, please, I am his daugh—” She asserts without conviction. “ Lykirī !” Rhaena tries, screaming, somewhat off-key and the Valyrian flows differently than it should, like water in a riverbed, the words extend and lose power on their consonants.
The dragon squints his eyes at the girl and again retreats to encompass them all, dragging his front legs across the ground.
“Caraxes! Dohaerās ! I— lykirī !…" She takes a big breath and resumes her screaming, now palpable frustration in her voice. "Just! Y-you look dumb!"
Despite the creature's incapability of understanding what she said, by its reaction the tone of what she said is carried perfectly. Despite the danger of following this strategy, Rhaena is not over.
"You always looked dumb with your long neck and squalid legs and chirping like a bird in heat and— Father is always grandiose and intimidating and every room went quiet when he entered…while having the silliest mount in history!" She pauses for a gulp of air, her breaking of script regaining the full attention of the beast, Caraxes puts himself right in front of Rhaena for her just to muster with a sob: “I am not your new rider.”
“Rhaena!” Baela chides and comes to her sister, holding by her shoulders with burning distress, precaution be damned, much to the displeasure of the little pale-green dragon, that stomps its claw on the ground.
“I am just not! I don’t speak High Valyrian like you, I am not—I don’t want Father to be gone. But he is, he is and he didn’t prepare me for it.”
“What!? He didn’t prepare anyone for this!”
Rhaena shushes her, touching her cheek and patiently waiting for her to calm herself.
“It may come naturally to you. It does not for me, I've to learn this, his legacy…to claim his dragon is not in my wishes.”
Baela’s indignation crumples on the hands of her sister, both on the verge of tears, completely ignoring the great dragon that had been observing them, probably confused and bored about the late visit of the humans. The girls keep whispering to each other, and to the utter bewilderment of everybody with half a brain present, they try to leave.
“Are you mad!?” Aemond yells, rushing to catch Rhaena. He startles them, he startles the dragons, does not matter, he tries to grab her hand. "You are his legacy! You can't reject it! You leave now and in two months they will sadd—!"
Levering his long neck, Caraxes barrels his head against them without moving the rest of his body, without any warning, he throws all three of them to the ground, successfully separating them. The dragon still defends his rightful claimant, despite the rejection, he does it with grace enough to not harm the blood of his last master. With a hiss and a hammering heart, Aemond notices that he is the only one sustaining a wound.
"Aemond!" Lucerys shrieks somewhere above them, rushed squeaks of Arrax in an unspoken question.
"Moondan—" Starts Baela screaming, the little dragon shields her as much as it can, the force of its fire won’t be enough to do more than annoy the great wyrm, an attack is an absurdity in these circumstances.
"No! If—” On the ground, Aemond still tries to command, to redirect this not-yet-failed plan. The right side of his head feels cool, feels wet. And it wasn’t a claw, it wasn’t a powerful maw closing on his neck. Blood drips from above his eyebrow, from his cheekbone, from his chin, and over his neck; with the little moonlight still reaching from behind the beast’s head he can pinpoint the barbs below Caraxes’s teeth, they glisten slightly, is where Aemond’s flesh caught in the spikes. He glances at his side, finding a terrified Rhaena. “With all due respect, my lady,” he growls, rising again with his eyes fixated on the beast, the clicking of its throat sounds curious rather than furious. A good start as anything.
The shy Rhaena understands him perfectly, and with a shake of bravery, she advances, ignoring her sister's attempt to hold her inside the defensive arch of Moondancer’s body.
“Go ahead, it’s up to him.”
Baela tries to dispute it, but her twin only waves her off, holding Aemond’s hand and forcing him to reach for the retreating dragon.
Together, step by step, they close the distance, Caraxes doing the most to avoid them, the beast rises over, crouches his legs, and stands fully, the rumble of his tails can be heard as a threat of fleeing. Rhaena holds her free hand higher and the dragon doesn’t flee, he bends his neck until the slit pupils are on the same level as the hand; the girl deliberately lowers that hand and shows their joined ones.
She presses Aemond’s hand over the same scales that wounded him earlier. The dragon abides.
“My lady Rhaena,” Aemond mutters: “‘Tis my oath, we will get you a dragon.”
And she laughs, quietly, hiccupping sobs, her eyelashes still wet, with her eyes closed she doesn’t see Caraxes blinking slowly, an awestruck Aemond blinks too, clumsily so because of the drying blood on his brow.
“Of course, cousin. Let’s see first if this one takes you,” Rhaena says and pats slightly the beast before letting him go, she steps back and Caraxes doesn’t try to reach her again. It's done, then.
Aemond lets go of the dragon, marching resolutely to his saddle, Caraxes obliges without an order, lowering himself for access. He hears the other children behind him, first with some doubt then in clear support, he thinks about his siblings, about the other Velaryon and their parents hopefully still ignorant of their location; he thinks about the deceased uncle, the one man that could get away with being disrespectful to the Crown, to the Council, to the King, to good manners and tradition. He touches the burnished dark wood, the red leather beautifully carved in intricate drawings, a saddle for a prince.
“ Soves ! Caraxes, soves !”
The dragon shakes himself, raising his head high, taking a few steps back before launching on a powerful run, barely missing and stomping over the children and two little dragons.
The potent winds steal Aemond’s breath, and he can only clutch the saddle with dear life in the rising, the powerful force and strange movements were not in any book or lesson the dragonkeepers taught them, there is no clear rhythm either as the flapping of the wings are quickly followed by the backing of the legs. He feels the cold of the night stripping the thin gashes on his face, renewing the flow and hissing pain there. A poignant reminder of the little price paid, he stared up a dragon with his fresh blood on it and now he is riding it, Aemond grounds himself in that, holding firmly the ropes, proud to watch the dragon turning his head in recognition. Clanking the undone clasp near his legs to get a better grip on the seat, he swallows the fresh night air and howls with elation, Aemond Targaryen soaring the skies, lastly, a dragonrider.
And when it is time to come down, Aemond can not do it, not in the literal sense, although in the physical plane, he is indeed dismounting the red dragon, walking as a Prince, as a dragonrider, as a new Aemond Targaryen, yet he can not dismount this joy. High still in his triumph, his ears keep ringing with the rush, his skin prickling with emotion, hands tight missing already the roughness of steering the saddle. So is the fervor of the victor that can't be deterred by the worst of mother’s glares. The Queen walks, too, with determination, her posture all rigid and angry, while he is confident; they stop a feet within each other, measuring the strangeness in this dynamic; the downturned mouth is for Aegon’s mischiefs, the fearful eyes and irate frown are for the Princess’ and the King’s antics. Whom the Queen is gazing at is a mystery she seems to not be prepared yet to confront, with a proud smile the Targaryen dressed in green, drenched in red, declares smoothly with the voice of her precious son:
“May I present to you my dragon, Caraxes?”
Mother turns her attention to the aforementioned beast behind him for a split second and after it, her hand cradles Aemond’s face, not afraid of the staining her nightgown, is soft and cold, she kisses his forehead and embraces him with force, muttering a soft ‘you are safe’ that wavers when caressing the dry blood over the wounds.
“I can not congratulate you yet, my dea—”
“Nonsense Alicent!” the King exclaims behind her, and the world ceases to be just mother and son, the Queen takes a step to the side, clasping her hand firmly on Aemond’s, “the boy is to be celebrated!” says the King taking Aemond’s head between his hands, and shaking him excitedly, Aemond can only grimace.
“Your Grace, there is still the matter of th—”
“He didn’t steal him!” Rhaena bellows from somewhere near them, the boy glances across the ground finding the rest of his family scattered in two groups, surrounded by knights, guards, and dragonkeepers, fretting all nervous.
An excited Lucerys narrates their adventures to his brother, aunt and uncles, with only Jacaerys responding with the proper enthusiasm. Both Daeron and Aegon are sprawled on the ground, the eldest holding the youngest, defeated one by exhaustion and the other by his vices, while sweet Helaena gathers Aegon’s hair in a ponytail in preemptive caution. The five children perceive themselves to be observed and start to cheer, but the new dragonrider barely pays attention to them, because right next to them are the Targaryen twins, explaining hastily their wanderings, which may or may not have something to do with the new rider of Caraxes.
“Excuse me,” Aemond mutters, squeezing once his mother’s hand before trotting to defend the ladies, not that he thinks Ser Laenor and the Princess would be harsh on them.
Some joy leaves him, the determination faltering because, she is so thin , between the Princess and her husband there is another person, she is the one that the girls are talking to. Lady Laena. The woman can not stand for herself, clutching both Ser Laenor’s and Rhaenyra’s arms with trembling hands, her curly gray hair, so similar to Baela’s and Rhaena’s is held clumsily by small braids, skin covered in sweat yet she is encased in more clothes than anybody else on the field. Every shame that Aemond failed to feel while looking straight at his worried mother is coming fast, clutching his heart and closing his throat.
He intended to stand in front of the girls, side-by-side at least, yet the moment the woman notices him he stops in his tracks, despite the weak build and sunken cheeks, her eyes are the most lively here, dark eyes that seem to shine with a fierceness incapable to be subdued by sickness. Her gaze pins Aemond in his place, awkwardly, he clears out his throat, hoping that his well-practiced voice of a young man doesn’t fail him now.
“Lady Laena, my apologies for any discomfort we caused you, for any offense my actions could have brought up,” he stammers quickly, despite his best efforts, eyes cast down waiting for the rightful judgments.
“Aemond, is it? my girls were telling me how you came to claim my husband’s dragon. Anything you want to say for yourself?” He hears her answer, a soothing voice scraping the question like sharpening a knife.
“Eh…I am immensely grateful for the opportunity given to me, lady Rhaena,” Aemond says unsure, smiling softly at the girls. “Is not like I…” he tries to elaborate, embarrassment filling him when he remembers that he wasn’t all the gentleman when deciding that a riderless dragon should not go to waste.
“We do not control the dragons. Caraxes would have been mine but I rejec…I would do my claim when I choose to,” Rhaena intervenes, her sentence miles better than the one Aemond could have hoped to concoct, although he can guess an underlying frustration.
“Yes, as she says and wishes.”
“Oh, ‘wishes’ what a loaded wording, so you were indeed the schemer of tonight’s shenanigans?” Princess Rhaenyra asks, not trying to hide a teasing smile. Of course, she can grant herself the levity, in a way, the Velaryon’s children were the least troublemakers tonight.
Aemond can only redirect the questioning with a glance, which both girls shrug off, he can claim to be the sole instigator, just one little obstacle to shoulder all the responsibility…
“Aemond! I am appalled, never woul—”
“Pardon, your Grace, may I?” Lady Laena stops the Queen’s rant, eliciting a sweet nod from her, then the woman with great effort lowers herself to look directly at Aemond’s eyes. Again he feels compelled to still himself, freezing like a rabbit on a hunt. “Young rider, promise me that you would not endanger my daughters ever again.”
Aemond wants to answer the proper answer, to say that obviously, he would not dare to do so, the eyes of Lady Laena must carry some of the threat of a dragon, no wonder she claimed one of the largest.
“I a-am sorry, however, I cannot promise such a thing yet, my Lady. I made an oath,” he says instead, painfully aware of the reactions of the other adults, ranking from clicking tongues in distaste to expectant chuckling. “I do not know what will entail to fulfill it, but it would be dishonest to not expect any risk.”
The Princess suddenly detaches herself from Laena, stifling some laughter while her husband barely can contain his amused expression.
“And what is this oath you are speaking?” the King asks with genuine curiosity.
“We”, Aemond considers it, searching for his siblings and nephews with his eyes, he continues talking looking directly at the Targaryen twins, “we are going to get her a dragon, whatever that may mean.”
It ignites an uproar, the children finally stealing Aemond to properly celebrate with him, while the Queen faintly tries to put order again, despite the laughing Princess asking for a minute of unrestrained joy, the King asserting that she should have known already, known of the Targaryen nature. Amid the chaotic jubilation, Aemond chances another look at Lady Laena, again he is taken aback by her, by her calm demeanor despite her grief and sickness, she is now smiling softly at the children, still supported mostly by her brother, exuding peaceful intuition; she winks at him and he can only wink back.