The Dragon's Dilemma

Aemond I

Aemond

Aemond Targaryen sat atop Vhagar, his jaw clenched, his mind a storm of rage. News of Rhaenyra's rising power had crept through his mind like poison, each word stinging sharper than the last. Sixteen dragonriders, they had said. Sixteen. Each one was a dagger pointed at his brother's claim, and each one a symbol of Rhaenyra's growing threat. She had crushed the Triarchy in one sweeping blow, and now, as far as he knew, she was amassing warriors for the fires of war.

With a snarl, Aemond tightened his grip on Vhagar's reins, his vision narrowing into a crimson tunnel as they hurtled toward the coastal village of Seagard. Vhagar rumbled beneath him, her breath like a distant earthquake as she cut through the air, her ancient scales glinting beneath the sun. Aemond could feel her bloodlust matching his own, an echo of the fury that had simmered in his veins since he first heard the whispers of Rhaenyra's strength. Today, Seagard would pay for every disloyal murmur, every whisper of doubt that threatened Aegon's crown.

As Vhagar descended, the modest sprawl of Seagard came into view—a cluster of thatched roofs, fields rippling with crops, and people moving like ants beneath the looming shadow of Vhagar's wings. The air was calm, idyllic even, as if the people below had no inkling of the storm approaching.

Aemond felt a dark thrill at the sight, savoring the calm before the chaos. He raised his hand, and Vhagar let out a thunderous roar that shook the land itself. The villagers' heads turned upward, their faces twisted in horror as they beheld the dragon silhouetted against the sun, a living nightmare. They scrambled, some falling to their knees in prayer, others screaming as they tried to flee. Aemond's gaze was cold, detached, as he surveyed them. There was a satisfaction in their fear, a savage pleasure that simmered beneath his cold veneer. He wanted them to tremble, to feel the weight of their betrayal in every bone.

"Dracarys," he whispered, his voice a caress to the beast beneath him.

In an instant, Vhagar unleashed her wrath. Flames poured forth in a fiery torrent, consuming the village in a blaze so fierce it blotted out the morning sun. The thatched roofs caught first, their dry straw sparking instantly, the fire licking upward with eager hunger. The wooden walls of houses crumbled as flames roared over them, walls and beams igniting like kindling. Columns of smoke rose, curling into the sky as villagers screamed, their voices shrill and desperate.

Aemond watched as people scrambled to escape the inferno, some sprinting toward the nearby river, others throwing themselves to the ground in a futile attempt to shield themselves. He watched their clothes ignite, their skin blister and burn as they thrashed and writhed in agony. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, a thick, nauseating stench that clung to the inside of his nose.

He steered Vhagar lower, her wings slicing through the smoke as she circled the burning village, her shadow a harbinger of death. The cries of the villagers grew weaker, muffled by the crackling of fire and the roar of collapsing buildings. Aemond's mouth twisted into a cruel smile as he thought of Rhaenyra. Let her see this, he thought. Let her understand that no amount of strength would protect her from the wrath that was coming.

Amid the chaos, he spotted the village keep—a modest stone structure, not large but fortified enough to withstand raiders and bandits. It stood defiant amidst the inferno, though the flames licked hungrily at its base. Aemond directed Vhagar toward it, his gaze locked on the structure as he urged her onward.

With a roar, Vhagar unleashed another torrent of fire, the flames splashing against the stone like liquid fury. The heat was blinding, a wall of unbearable intensity that melted the iron gates and charred the heavy oak doors. Aemond leapt from Vhagar's back, landing with a hard thud among the smoldering rubble, his sword drawn. His boots crunched on the scorched ground as he approached the keep, his expression a mask of cold determination.