the bear and the dragon fair - hotd au.

act one, part one : hatchling and cub.

authors note: im crossposting this fic from ao3, where I already have 6 chapters posted. the existing chapters will be posted here over the course of this week, which acter that, the chapters will be posted as I write them. hope you enjoy :]

Aemond Targaryen was many things. A prodigy swordsman, at just one-and-ten, a dedicated student, well versed in all his studies from Valyrian epics to Westeros' economic history. A good brother, if you asked Heleana, always willing to sit and listen to her gush over her insects, even letting them crawl over his hands (hiding his cringes). An even better son, if you asked his mother, or so he'd like to think. He always sat next to her at meals, helped brush her hair in the mornings, and read with her in her chambers as his siblings chased each other on dragonback.

Yes, Aemond was good at many things. But one thing he could never claim to be was very popular among his peers.

He had been introduced to hundreds of children his age by now, all the lord's sons and budding squires shoved at him in some droll attempt at friendship. None lasted. If they matched him in studies, they couldn't spar with him. If they could meet him at the sword, then they were as intelligent as a rock. Either too dull, too cocky, too slow, or a horrible mixture of all. Even his brothers weren't free from his scrutiny: Aegon was more interested in serving girls than sparring or studying with him, and while Daeron was shaping up to be a whip-smart boy, he was only 7, and preferred Grandsire's company to Aemond's.

Sometimes, he was allowed to socialize with Heleana and her circle of friends and handmaids, all young daughters of various lords. He didn't loathe their company as much as he expected, he was often requested to recite the ballads and poems he had memorized or strum a tune on the harp, and he liked that they showed a genuine appreciation for his skills. However, afterward, Mother or Grandsire (or on a very rare occasion, Father) would try to pry him for details on which girl he found most endearing, which one had the best prospects, and he would flush and clam up tighter than a lockbox.

Any interaction with a girl even remotely his age always made dread crawl up Aemond's throat, any friendship he could have would be tainted by the overhanging shadow of marriage and political advantages and whatnot. All things he couldn't care less about. The duty of a second son.

It seemed there was only one person in the whole damn keep worth talking to, without the weight of a romance or the boredom of a dull mind.

This section of the castle was always ice cold this time of year, especially this early in the morning, with the wind blowing off the bay and slithering through the stones. The torches gave off a slight warmth, yet Aemond let a shiver rack through him as he climbed the steps. Eventually, he came to the door he was looking for. Dark wood, with a rusted bronze bear nailed to the front. It clanged against the door as Aemond knocked, followed by a few muffled curses.

Aemond bit back a small smile as he waited, scuffing his boot along the stone floor before the door burst open.

Gwyn Mormont, even though he was only a year older than Aemond, was already half a head taller and far wider in the shoulders. A thick mane of wine-red hair fell to his elbows, and the smattering of freckles on his cheeks bent and creased as he smiled. "My lord!" He gave a short bow, more for the theatrics of it than anything, "What can I do for you?"

Aemond placed a hand on the hilt of his sword, brushing back his heavy winter cloak to show the movement. "Thought of going out for a quick spar. Care to join?" Gwyn nodded readily, ducking back into his room.

"Come on in— I just need to grab my things!" He grabbed a thicker shirt lying on the floor, warmer than his current sleepshirt, and Aemond lingered in the doorway as Gwyn danced around.