Kinslayer | Aemond Targaryen ☾

I. The Tides of Fate

Mist cloaks the view ahead in a soft veil. The clouds part for us, their shape breaking as we dance between them. I grip the ropes tighter, my legs adjusting around the saddle. It has not been long since the cries of Arrax and Vermax faded into the wind. They cannot be that far behind.

I need to go faster.

We flew past Duskendale's Harbor and the Dun Fort right before I parted from Jace and Luke. If my timing is precise, we ought to be above the apple orchards of Rosby, meaning King's Landing lies a short distance to the north. I have to make it to the Dragonpit before either of them does.

Determining their location is nearly impossible with no other lead than my own perception of time, but it wouldn't be the first instance I manage to pull off the trick.

They already know how it's done.

The aim is to gradually ascend as high as reachable while maintaining the right path set forward, unknown to other riders. The weight and size of the dragons are crucial factors at play, that coupled with the relative youth of both, are not in their favor. The fact that neither matches mine is already a shortcoming. Now, the time between reaching the desired height and the free fall to the target destination is nothing but a gamble—one that I always win. It is no fair game to them, most definitely. But then again, nothing truly is.

I could be a good sister and let them taste victory, if only once. And I might.

But not today.

For ten long years, I have avoided returning to the capital of the Realm, despite being born and raised underneath the shadows of its towering spires.

Ever the lonely girl, I drifted through the castle halls with a book in hand, seeking a hidden spot to devour its pages. Inked words on paper became my dearest friend, a hollow replacement for the bond I desperately longed for. My dragon egg never hatched. Void of life, its iridescent scales remained cold on the hearth by the cradle. Instead of spending my time with winged creatures, I soared through history with the ancestors that rode them. From the Doom of Valyria to The Conquest and every reign until Viserys, I had memorized every passage ever written. Nothing seemed to satisfy my need for knowledge, though in truth, all I craved was experience.

The Red Keep's training yard is where my heart belonged. Between dull blades and rounded arrows, I stood with a wooden stick, fighting off the giant that threatened to push me down with bare hands. The mock sword has now become sharp steel, and the giant was none but my father. The man who taught me to aim for the guts, or preferably, the groin.

His memory still lingers, a cut that never mends.

Every other night, in my sleep, The Stranger takes him away from me. And soon, his ghost will chase me through the walls of the place where I last saw him alive.

It was at Aunt Laena's funeral that I learned he had left for Harrenhal. A day of loss, in more ways than one, that showed me for what I truly was. Just another card in our deck, pulled to patch the damage I had not caused.

At only four years old, my brother Luke took Aemond's eye, leaving him half-blinded and scarred. As the second son of King Viserys and his second wife, Queen Alicent Hightower, such a maiming could never go unpunished. An eye for an eye, she demanded. No hesitance, even as his son's actions were laid bare.

Laena's remains had only been buried under the waves of the narrow sea when Aemond risked his life in a desperate attempt to claim her dragon, and astoundingly, succeeded. Vhagar chose him, before her late rider's youngest daughter could be given a chance. Rhaena and her older sister Baela, refused to accept the outcome. They slipped out of bed and into the corridors of Driftmark to confront him—and we followed.