Chapter Text
Red Lips. Luscious lips. Half-lidded eyes. So soft, so close… Rhaenyra.
Not the queen mad with grief, not the cruel sister. But something vulnerable. Something obscene in its tenderness that was not meant for his eyes.
In front of that lustful, lovestruck gaze, the man let out a very unmanly scream and jumped back.
“Is everything all right, kepa?” asked the woman with a worried, melodious voice.
Kepa. The Valyrian word for father and uncle. Aemond placed a hand on his chest, on the verge of a panic attack. Then he saw it. The sword. Dark Sister: attached on his belt. He knew that sword intimately. The blade had pierced his skull just a moment ago. Aemond took his fingers to his forehead, brushing his eyelids. Plural. He had two eyes, and the resulting binocular vision made him slightly drunk.
He almost barked out a delirious laugh when soft, warm hands took gently his hand.
“I know how her loss pains you, even if you don’t use words in your grieving. I know, Uncle.” said Rhaenyra with luminous eyes. The kind of gaze Aemond had never seen on her before. Certainly not for him.
The man looked at the princess with a more analitical gaze. He knew that dress: its outline imprinted in his memory. She had worn it on that fateful night in Driftmark. When he was bleeding from his maimed orbit... when she, without pity, requested that he would be interrogated for a truth visible to anyone with eyes see.
The dress was like a flame in a blur made of pain and the elation of his newfound bond with Vaghar. At that young age, Aemond didn’t fully grasp the dire consequences that the accuses of bastardy might cause to Rhaenyra and her brood. They could ruin her, ruin them…
“Whore... you... you... hate...” Aemond blabbled, incapable of forming a complete sentence.
“Daemon!” Rhaenyra exclaimed, hugging him with all her strength, and the man felt her trembling against his chest. Aemond found his head resting on her shoulder, as he cried. He was dead. Pierced by Dark Sister. Was this his personal hell? Whatever entity designed this torment must have had a wicked sense of humor.
Or maybe it was Daemon's hell. Dear uncle certainly would seethe upon seeing his niece-wife in Aemond’s arms…
Aemond lingered in the embrace. Without any idea of what he could say later.
Rational thoughts. Facts. Not feelings.
They were in Driftmark... and he was in Daemon’s body. Bloody Daemon Targaryen. His uncle Daemon, the infamous Rogue Prince. Rhaenyra wouldn’t hug Aemond this way. Not in this life, nor any other.
Wait. Driftmark. Daemon grieving for his loss. Rhaenyra’s dress.
Aemond took a long breath.
“My darling delight…”
He tried to imitate the smooth tone that Daemon used to render inanities like zaldrites or beloved as if they were precious jewels. From Rhaenyra's frown, he had clearly failed in the endeavour.
For a moment, Aemond contemplated strangling his sister. There wouldn't be any war without her alive because her brown plain children's claim couldn't be stronger than Aegon's. Even if their father was a fool. Aemond smirked to himself. A son came before a grandson, that was true. Well, a male son also came before a female daughter and Viserys was a complete fool. Aemond caressed Rhaenyra's neck, his stare thoughtful. The woman didn't protest, unaware of the peril.
Interrogate the child thoroughly.
But that Rhaenyra payed for it: with Luke's life.
And this Rhaenyra had not yet uttered the phrase.
No, if Aemond killed her, he should dispose of Jace and Luke as well. They were only children right now, snotty, petulant children armed with Valyrian steel. And the little one with the andal name... had he even been born yet?
Klll them all. For Jaehaerys, for his family. Innocence was an illusion. Kill them all, and then I could off myself. Because there would be no life left for Aemond.
Treated like a rabid dog, kinslayer, child killer. Nothing new for Aemond One-eye, but he was Daemon now, and that meant he wouldn't have the Greens' protection like the last time. There was no way Otto or Alicent would believe that he was Aemond from the future. A bleak future paved with death and pain. No, this kind of portent was a Targaryen thing.
Or maybe he simply didn't have the guts to spill more blood from his hands. Not again.
Daemon was tired of living, the day he challenged his nephew to a mortal duel. Perhaps, now that the weight of the war had lifted from his shoulders, Aemond could admit to himself that he was tired too.
Rheanyra's embrace was... soothing. Why didn't you hug like that when I lost my eye? He thought, painfully. The words of a child, mine were only the words of a child, and your indifference crystalized them in the most dreadful reality.
“Rhaenyra, I think I just had a dragon dream.”
“What did you see, uncle?” she asked with intense eyes.
Dreams and dragons. It would have been such a better motto than Fire and Blood. More alliterative. And Dragon were Fire, while Dreams always demanded a price in Blood, one way or another.
Luckily, Rhaenyra was so ensnared in her obsession with her kepa that she would have swallowed lies bigger than that. But was it really a lie?
“Before I tell you, I must ask you a question. It's important.” Aemond said, slightly confused by how different his own words sounded. With Daemon's voice, but not quite: he was hearing it from the inside of his head.
“Ask me, uncle.” Rhaenyra sighed. She sounded almost annoyed by the delay, but placed her hand on Daemon's in a comforting way.
Aemond unsheathed Dark Sister with apparent nonchalance. A little voice in his head smitten at the idea of holding the precious Valyrian blade. But that wasn't the time for fawning over a blade. Even a Valyrian one.
"If one of the Tower's spawns were to die without suspicion, what would you do, dear niece?”
Dear niece slapped him in the face. Not too hard: just a sting that drew a roguish smile to Aemond's mouth. Am I smiling like that arrogant prick? Aemond wondered internally. He fought the temptation of using Dark Sister as a mirror. Well, if Daemon was an arrogant prick, he was one too.
“Uncle, when years ago I forbade you from taking Otto's head, I should have made it abundantly clear: if that snake lives, innocent children are totally off-limits.”
“Even the one that drank himself to a stupor at my wife's funeral?” Aemond taunted.
Rhaenyra blissfully ignored that the outraged look on that violet eyes saved her head from being separated from the neck.
“Your... sense of humor is as unsettling as I remembered, uncle.”
So it was a lie. She didn't want them dead, not at this point of the story, at least. Good to know that.
“Listen to my vision and you'll understand why I asked. - Aemond took a deep breath, and at Rhaenyra's nod, he continued in an inspired tone - The great grieving dragon will take the green hatchling under her wings, making him fly for the first time. But right at that moment four other hatchlings appear, two red, two bluish. They corner the green one, which fights fiercely until the littlest of the runt plucks his eye with pointy claws.”
Rhaenyra widened his eyes.
“The grieving dragon. Do you mean Vaghar?”
“Positively. Yes, Vaghar.”
Aemond took Rhaenyra by the wrist, walking with her away from the beach. It was time: if young Aemond had claimed his dragon again, he would soon land back on solid ground.
“I don't understand the second part of the vision. - admitted Rhaenyra, the woman who should be the best option for the throne - Unless... my little brother Aemond? Do you think that Aemond has bound himself to Vaghar?”
The man nodded, almost disappointed by her tardive intuition. “Let's go. Before the other hatchlings find him.”
“Damn.” Rhaenyra muttered.
“Do you still want him alive? - Aemond probed - Vaghar is the largest dragon surviving, and if the worst happens, she would be right in the hands of...”
“No child killings. - Rheanyra reiterated - Especially not Vaghar-bonded children.”
“As my Queen wishes.”
Rhaenyra sighed.
“It's good for Aemond to finally have a dragon. I suspect the other children tease him a little too much about it. But Vaghar...”
Tease his arse a little too much! Aemond gathered all his composure to avoid screaming at his sister. But Rhaenyra didn't notice his mood shift. Perhaps she attributed it to the uncertainty of the situation.
“Vaghar is a dangerous dragon, - the woman admitted - but what really irkes me is that I offered Alicent an egg for my brother, when I proposed to marry Jace and Helaena. Maybe if I had gifted the egg without strings attached, things would be simpler right now.”
Aemond stilled, pale in his face.
“You did what?” he screamed, raising his voice by an octave.
“Don't criticize me for something that bore no consequences. Helaena will marry Aegon. Because our customs are queer only until they aren't.” Rhaenyra mumbled, once again misunderstanding the real reason of the false Daemon's rage.
Aemond gripped his hand over Dark Sister's hilt. An egg for him. Spurned in order to grant Aegon a wife whom he would neglect with methodical constance. Althought Aemond suspected that his brother saw this arrangement as the best solution for Helaena. Because they weren't meant to be happy. None of them was.
“Alicent is a fool.” the man said with a cracked voice.
“You called her worse, I suppose.” Rhaenyra scoffed.
Mom... an egg for me... Maybe being Daemon has its advantages, he could punch Alicent in the nose and try to escape the consequences. But this would have to wait. There were more pressant matters. I want to punch Alicent in the nose. She defended me when I lost... an eye that I wouldn't have lost at all, if only she didn't use us as pawns on her sire's board.
It was a strange sight. When Rhaenyra and the false Daemon reached the place where Aemond lost his eye, the children were already there. But they weren't brawling. No. Young Aemond was playing with the Valyrian steel, keeping Lucerys close, caressing his little head absentmindedly. The kid didn't seem aware of the implicit threat, and to be honest young Aemond was nothing but... gentle.
“So, if you think that claiming Vaghar right now was improper, you should ask your father Daemon how he acquired Caraxes...”
The older Aemond hoped that his expression wasn't too dumb at that moment. Because the young Targaryen, scrawny and delicate as his counterpart couldn't remember himself... that boy had a glint in his eyes that made the false Daemon shiver.
“Luke! Came here immediately!” Rhaenyra exclaimed, sensing the implicit danger in the air.
Young Aemond let the little kid go, after placing a kiss on his hair. Then he gave back the knife to Jacaerys with a little sneer. “Next time, maybe I will teach some tricks with this kind of blade, nephew. I know that Ser Crisp... Ser Criston isn't the best teacher to you, but this doesn't excuse laziness.”
Jace blinked his eyes confused. “You're different, Aem...”
“Sometimes happen, after the dragon bond. - the other boy interjected without missing a beat - You can't understand because you had Vermax practically from the crib.”
Jace made a little nod and moved towards his mother and Luke. Rhaenyra was clutching Lucerys with all her strength. Lucerys made a stupid giggle.
“Uncle Aemond is funny, today!”
No. Thought older Aemond. That brown haired cub was too stupid to have maimed him on purpose. This consideration made Aemond's chest ache. Then something tugged at his tunic. Little, grabby hands...
“Kepa, kepa... Aemond stole Mother's dragon!” one of the curly haired girls whined. One of Daemon's twins. But which one? The false Daemon stiffened, it would be highly suspicious if he didn't recognize his own children.
“Dragons can't be stolen, my love.” he said, trying to sound sweet rather than resentful, as he really was.
“Please Baela, don't push it anymore. - Rhaena interjected - You heard what he said. He didn't plan to take Vaghar for himself: he was called!”
“And you believe him? - the other sister insisted - He's a traitorous cunt, like father always says of his grandsire!”
The false Daemon looked at young Aemond. The boy was smirking! Instead of being offended, he was smirking, as if he found all this charade incredibly funny! The older man flexed his knees, lowering himself to Baela's height.
“What should I do, my dear? Tell your father, and I'll do it. - he paused - If it's a reasonable request.”
“The reasonable Rogue Prince – young Aemond commented – what an oximoron. Someone could say that you're not respecting your role.”
“Do you respect yours?” the man asked.
“Not to the point of being maimed.” the boy covered his eye with his hand.
The fake Daemon stiffened, and also Rhaenyra became pale, remembering what the man said.
“The grieving dragon takes the green hatchling under his wings...” she muttered.
“Really? - commented young Aemond, with amused sufficiency – The prophecy is a nice touch, I suppose.”
The false Daemon took a deep breath. He was... unsettled but he had to answer Baela. He wouldn't be a neglectful father like his own. Even if the child wasn't truly his.
“My heart, what's done cannot be undone, and if you hurt him, you will hurt Mother's dragon. Is this what you want? Make her suffer?”
Baela was uncertain. Young Aemond sneered.
“The night is coming, and it's too cold for all of you. - Rheanyra said suddenly – So, hurry, everyone inside now!”
“Save Aemond. - the false rogue prince added - If he has the responsibility of such a dragon, there are things that he needs to know, the sooner, the better.”
So the four kids went away. The man looked at his younger self uncertain.
“How much she knows?” the boy asked, nodding at Rhaenyra.
“Are you really...” the false Daemon began.
“The one that lived too much? - the other one retorted, with cruel elation and a mocking bow – At your service... Kinslayer.”