Chapter Text
In the year 81 A.D., King's Landing was more bustling than usual. The streets and squares sported red and black banners as citizens celebrated the birth of Prince Baelon and Princess Alyssa Targaryen's second son: Prince Daemon Targaryen. And, far from human gazes, on a forgotten island in Westeros, a majestic creature was planning its own epic entrance.
“Kika, what do you make of this roar?” asked Aemond in his mental-digital language.
A holographic projection floating in front of him replied in her robotic voice:
“Your roar is impressive, Aemond. Perfect for intimidating and captivating.”
That was Aemond. A young man of the 21st century who, without knowing how or why, had awakened in this world as a colossal white dragon, radiant and absolutely magnificent. He did not take his new form lightly, for months he had practiced adapting to being a dragon, perfecting skills like flying, roaring and roasting sheep with a precision worthy of a starred chef.
“No raw meat, please.” he had said more than once, forgetting that dragons didn't usually express their culinary preferences.
In the evenings, in his cave lit by the warmth of his own fire, he had long chats with his inseparable virtual assistant, Kika, who was still functioning thanks to some technological or magical miracle.
One morning, while munching on a leg of lamb roasted to perfection, Kika announced in a ceremonious tone:
“Important notice: prince Daemon Targaryen has been born.”
Aemond's blue eyes sparkled like two sapphires in the firelight. Excited, he let out a roar that almost sounded human.
“At last, Daemon will be mine! I mean... My rider!” He coughed, trying to sound more epic and less obsessed.
Ever since he had come to this world as a dragon, Aemond had decided that if any human deserved to be his rider, that human would be Daemon Targaryen. A perfectly logical decision (according to him): Daemon, with his defiant character and his Targaryen blood, was the ideal rider for a dragon as unique as he was. Of course, the fact that Daemon was attractive and sensual had nothing to do with it, absolutely nothing.
Aemond's arrival in King's Landing was anything but inconspicuous. His size, even larger than Balerion's, cast a gigantic shadow over the city. When he descended near, or too near, the Red Keep, he shattered towers and walls with the grace of an elephant in a porcelain store.
“What the hell is that?” shouted a soldier before rolling down from the jolt of impact.
“A giant dragon!” shrieked another, as his comrades ran like frightened chickens.
Amid the chaos, Princes Aemon and Baelon ran for their own dragons, ready to defend their home. But Aemond, showing no aggression, scanned the surroundings with his bright blue eyes. He had only one mission: to find Daemon.
"Where? Where is my perfect rider?" he roared, as Kika projected a small holographic map in front of his eyes.
“Scanning... North, third floor, east wing. There's a 98% chance that the lump carrying the wet nurse is Prince Daemon.”
Aemond turned his imposing head in the indicated direction, his eyes riveted on a terrified wet nurse carrying a small bundle wrapped in blankets. The panicked woman tried to flee, but the dragon followed her like a hawk.
“There's my Daemon, he's so tiny and adorable!” thought Aemond excitedly, watching the baby with shining eyes.
The white dragon bowed his head and let out a soft roar, more like a purr than a threat. The wet nurse, trembling, did not know whether to hand the baby over to him or run faster.
Princes Aemon and Baelon arrived with their dragons, ready for combat. But they stopped when they saw the scene: the white dragon did not attack, it only followed every movement of the wet nurse. Slowly, the soldiers lowered their spears, confused.
“Wait!” shouted Baelon, pointing at the intruding dragon. "'He's not attacking us! Just... Follow the wet nurse with your eyes.”
The pattern became clear: where the wet nurse went, the dragon followed. A murmur ran through the Red Keep.
“What does this mean?” asked King Jaehaerys, watching from above.
One of the councilors, as puzzled as all, dared to speculate:
“Perhaps... Perhaps the dragon has come to claim Prince Daemon as his rider. Strange, but dragons have their own rules.”
Meanwhile, Aemond inclined his giant head toward the wet nurse, trying to convey his intent.
"Give me Daemon, lady. I'm not going to eat him.” thought Aemond, but all that came out of his mouth was a soft roar, like a giant purr.
The young wet nurse, who until a minute ago was only concerned with soothing the cries of a chubby baby, was now more terrified than a pink pig facing Caraxes. In front of her, the largest dragon ever seen had his huge eyes riveted on her charge: slimy little Prince Daemon Targaryen.
“Why is he looking at me like that?” the wet nurse stammered, shaking like jelly.
Aemond paid no attention to the screaming humans or the Targaryen princes watching him with poker faces. No, because Daemon Targaryen was there: his destiny, his rider. Sure, for now he was a baby drooling on his blankets, but all great beginnings have modest beginnings, don't they?
'Come on, Aemond, get it right. You've got to smile so they see you're friendly.' He thought, tilting his giant head in an attempt to look less threatening. Unfortunately, being twice as tall as Balerion didn't help, and all he managed to do was make his colossal jaw look even more terrifying, as if he was preparing the dinner menu.
On the other hand, the Targaryen dragons did not share his enthusiasm. Caraxes, Vermithor, Meleys and Silverwing growled in unison. They all seemed to agree on one thing: they didn't like that weird, obsessive dragon. Two of them even began to move into attack position, ready to launch themselves at the white colossus in defense of their royal family.
“Hold it right there, you reckless dragons!” growled Aemond, rolling his dragon eyes in indignation. "This moment is mine. Stay out of it!"
But, of course, dragons didn't understand protocols or 'special moments'. As Caraxes and Meleys launched themselves at him, Aemond decided it was time to set boundaries.
In all his majesty, he craned his neck, inhaled deeply, opened his jaws and his chest began to glow a deep blue. He was ready to unleash a dracarys that would go down in history. But what came out was not scorching flares.....
Piu, piu, piu!
An icy blast shot out of his mouth. In an instant, Caraxes was frozen in mid-flight, Meleys ended up trapped in a block of ice, and half of the Red Keep was transformed into a wintry landscape. The towers creaked, the standards went stiff as ice popsicles, and a group of unfortunate soldiers ended up turned into ice sculptures with expressions of pure dread.
“What the hell was that!!! Since when can I spit ice? Kika, explain it to me right now!” protested Aemond, turning to his virtual assistant in the midst of the mental chaos.
Kika replied in her usual digital, nonchalant tone:
“Upgrading dragon skills.... Congratulations, you're one of a kind, good job!”
As Aemond processed his 'upgrade', the humans on the ground had their own reactions.
“What the hell...?” cried Baelon, skidding awkwardly on the ice as he tried to keep his composure.
King Jaehaerys watched the scene from his position, rubbing his beard curiously.
“This is... interesting. We've never seen an ice-spewing dragon before.”
“Father, he's destroyed half the castle!” protested Aemon, brandishing a frozen sword uselessly as he tried to thaw it by slamming it against a rock.
But the old king, oblivious to the wreckage of his prized Red Keep, looked thoughtful.
“Such a unique dragon doesn't come along every day. If he has come for Daemon, perhaps we should allow the bond to be established.”
The court murmured, incredulous at the king's calm. Meanwhile, Aemond turned his massive head to Jaehaerys and gave him a look that seemed to say, 'Wise old man, I like you.'
But his attention quickly returned to the wet nurse, who was still hugging the little Daemon as if her life depended on it, completely motionless. The white dragon's eyes sparkled like sapphires, and his breath formed little clouds of cold vapor that seemed almost... adorable.
“Lady, it's not that hard. Let me look at the baby or I'll turn you into a pretty ice statue, what do you say?”
The wet nurse, with the baby Daemon still tightly wrapped, was shaking like a jelly. She didn't know which decision would be worse: give the baby to the dragon and risk being devoured? Or refuse and end up a human-sized ice sculpture? Fortunately, Princess Alyssa, Daemon's mother, took the reins.
“Give it to me! If this dragon wants to claim my son, at least let him do it the right way.”
With the bravery that coursed through the Targaryen veins, the princess took the baby in her arms and approached the towering white dragon, who watched her with a frown, or as close to a frown as a dragon can have, slightly furrowed.
“*************************!” exclaimed Alyssa in High Valyrian, gesticulating passionately.
Aemond, being a young man of the 21st century trapped in the body of a dragon, did not understand a single word. He just bowed his head, trying to look sophisticated while thinking: Is she insulting me or giving me instructions?
"Kika, what is she saying, is that a speech or is she insulting me?" he asked his mental assistant.
Kika replied with her neutral tone:
“Incomplete translation: 'Dragon, respect my family if you want to claim my son.' Although there's a 98% chance she called you a big head too."
Aemond, not paying too much attention to the princess' words, was focused on what really mattered to him: the little bundle wrapped in blankets in Alyssa's arms. After what seemed like endless speeches that Aemond completely ignored, the princess moved the blankets and let the dragon see the baby.
And there was Daemon, all pink and chubby, with round cheeks and white tufts on his tiny little head. Aemond stared at him, and something in his giant dragon chest melted. Literally, some of the frost that had frozen around him began to disappear.
“Look at him, Kika... he's perfect! He's like a little stuffed monkey with white fur!” he said mentally, completely enraptured.
“Technically he's a human, not a monkey. By the way, congratulations.” The robotic voice sounded strangely solemn. “You've claimed Daemon Targaryen as your rider. It is an official bond.”
Daemon, feeling the dragon's intense gaze, opened his small lilac eyes. He blinked, watched Aemond for a moment, and let out a bubbling chuckle that sounded like bells on a spring day.
The huge dragon lowered its snout very carefully, until Daemon's tiny little hand touched it. The instant the tiny fingers caressed his cool scales, Aemond felt such a burst of happiness that he almost began to purr louder than usual.
“It's official! This baby is mine! Well... not mine- mine, but you know...” he said to himself, unable to contain his excitement.
“Yes, yes, well done, Aemond.” interjected Kika, in a matter-of-fact tone. “Now, please control your enthusiasm before you turn King's Landing into a cheap copy of Winterfell.”
Alyssa, seeing that she had done her part, tried to back away with Daemon still in her arms.
“Very well, you have seen my son. Now we must go. It's cold, and a baby can only stand so long in these conditions.”
But Aemond wasn't about to leave his newly claimed little rider so quickly. He growled softly, enough for a couple of the guards to drop their weapons and skid backward on the ice. Alyssa sighed wearily, already irritated.
It was then that Prince Baelon, Daemon's father, decided to intervene.
“Listen, strange white dragon.” he said, trying to sound calm as his sword hung unused at his side. “If Daemon stays here too long, he might get sick. You wouldn't want your rider to get sick, would you?”
Aemond turned his head to Baelon, his eyes glinting as if he was seriously considering turning him into a human ice cream. And then, like a mischievous teenager, he exhaled a soft icy breath straight at the prince's head. Baelon's hair went completely white, frozen in spikes that looked like something out of an eighties rock band.
“By the Seven!” cried Baelon, shaking his hair unsuccessfully as he tried to regain some dignity.
Satisfied with the joke, Aemond decided to accept the cheap excuse. He lay down on the frozen floor, watching Alyssa leave with the baby, but not without a final dramatic roar that shook the frozen walls of the Red Keep.
Dealing with a dragon four (or maybe seven?) times the size of Balerion was a challenge, even for the Targaryens. But this was not just any dragon, Aemond, the new member of the family, was a young man of the 21st century trapped in a gigantic scaled body, with modern standards and a slightly peculiar temperament. The situation was already complicated, but if on top of that the dragon had his quirks... That was another level.
First, there was the problem of accommodation. Putting Aemond in the traditional dragon pits? Forget it, he wouldn't fit. Aemond was basically a mini King's Landing with legs. Leave him out in the open? Worse idea. That meant having him huddled next to the walls of the Red Keep, where he was busy overseeing restoration work or ruining it, depending on his mood for the day. If a worker moved a brick out of place: iced dracarys. If someone made noise near baby Daemon: more frost.
“I can't take this dragon anymore!” complained Baelon, overseeing attempts to repair a tower whose roof now resembled a giant ice cream. “It's destroying everything we're trying to fix!”
One morning, Princess Alyssa, tired of the situation and on the verge of collapse, decided to take matters into her own hands. She planted herself in front of the imposing Aemond with her arms crossed and baby Daemon in her hands.
“Listen, giant dragon, this can't go on.” He lifted the baby in front of Aemond's snout, who immediately let out a purr of joy. "If you love Daemon so much, here's the deal: I'll bring him to you every day so you can spend time with him, but you stay away from the fortress. Got it?"
Aemond, who didn't understand a word of High Valyrian but was offended by the tone, arched an eyebrow (or something that looked like an eyebrow) and expressed his displeasure the only way he knew how: by freezing Alyssa's sleek silver mane.
“Aemon! Baelon! Do something!” cried the princess, as she tried to shake off the rigid helmet of ice her hair had become. Daemon, for his part, was laughing like it was the funniest show in the world.
Another problem with Aemond was his utter lack of understanding of High Valyrian. Baelon, Daemon's father, spent half an hour shouting orders at him in High Valyrian with exaggerated gestures.
“************* dracarys! ***********************” exclaimed Baelon, almost on the verge of tears.
Aemond stared at him throughout the speech. If he had been able to speak, he would surely have said, “ What on earth are you saying?
“Nothing, he understands nothing!” snorted Baelon, folding his arms.
It was then that Aemon, with a spark of inspiration, decided to try something different.
“Do you understand me if I speak to you like this?” he said in English, his tone dubious.
To everyone's surprise, Aemond raised his head and tilted his neck slightly, as if he had just heard celestial music. With a roar that sounded like 'At last someone who speaks my language!', he nodded.
Prince Aemon turned to Baelon, triumphant.
"He speaks English. Who would have guessed?"
Baelon, frozen (literally, because Aemond had blown him by accident), only managed to utter a grunt.
As if that wasn't enough, there was also the matter of food. Aemond would not eat raw meat, something that puzzled the keepers. Whenever they offered him a fresh ox or sheep, the dragon either ignored them, or, if they insisted too much, froze the poor keepers like snowmen.
"What's wrong with this dragon? What do we do now?" complained one guardian, as they thawed him out with a blast of heat and fire.
“It wants roast. Just roast.” replied Aemon, who was by now used to Aemond's extravagances.
So, every day, the Red Keep cooks were forced to prepare gigantic pieces of roast meat for the capricious dragon.
And then there was the matter of the name, which was also an odyssey.
"We should call him Icewind." suggested an counselor, arguing that it was a fitting name for his icy breath.
Aemond didn't take a second to react. With an icy snort, he froze the poor man on the spot.
“What kind of name is Icewind, do I look like a cheap fairy tale cliché?” he grumbled in his mind, as Kika, his virtual assistant, remained stoic.
Aemon, seeing the mess, had the bright idea to ask directly.
"What is your name?" he asked him in English.
After several attempts, the dragon finally nodded proudly when Aemon said “Aemond”. And so, the mystery was solved.
Finally, there was Aemond's relationship with the Targaryens. He had a clear rule: he tolerated the Targaryen only because of Daemon. All others were, at best, annoying decorations. If anyone, especially Baelon, got too close, the result was predictable: a new icy statue adorning the fortress.
“Baelon, I think you should avoid approaching Aemond.” advised Aemon after the last freeze.
“And what am I supposed to do? He's my son's dragon!” protested Baelon, shivering as he tried to warm himself by a fireplace.
“Well, he doesn't seem to like you.” replied Aemon, shrugging his shoulders.
On the last day of 2024, Happy New Year to all my readers!