Afternoon.
The royal ship sailed away from the harbor, escorted by a golden dragon soaring gracefully through the skies.
"Won't you stay a few more days?"
Rhaenys stood on the castle's cliffside, attempting to persuade her young nephew.
"No."
Aemon shook his head. "As long as I'm here, Cousin Laenor won't step outside."
At that, Rhaenys sighed, reaching out to ruffle his silver hair.
Sea Smoke had been gravely injured. It would take a long time to heal, and Laenor couldn't overcome the shame and guilt of his dragon's defeat, choosing to remain in seclusion.
"Very well, as you wish."
Though reluctant to see him leave, Rhaenys wasn't one to impose. She gave a final word of caution. "Take care on your journey back. I'll have Laena escort you part of the way."
Aemon wanted to refuse—he would rather keep a distance from the mischievous Laena Velaryon.
But seeing the sincerity in her gaze, he swallowed his words.
"Come visit again when you can."
"I will, Aunt."
After all, no gathering lasts forever—especially between two families with strained ties.
Moments later.
Rhaenys leaned against her husband's shoulder, both gazing out at the vast sea.
Suddenly, a powerful gust stirred the air above them.
Without looking, they knew what it was: a massive bronze dragon perched on the edge of the cliff.
With a single, mighty leap, it spread its wings and took to the skies.
"Screeeech!"
Vermithor roared as it soared toward the distant royal ship, its massive form casting a heavy shadow over the sea.
Aemon sat firmly on the saddle, his silver hair billowing in the wind.
One rider, one dragon—an awe-inspiring sight.
Unlike the sleek, nimble Syrax, Vermithor's colossal frame loomed like a thundercloud, its wide brown wings blotting out the sun as it flew over the royal ship.
From afar, the scene was truly majestic.
Rhaenys watched, her expression solemn yet filled with relief.
At last, the royal family had begun to rise from their decline.
If nothing unexpected happened, House Targaryen would flourish for another century.
"They've left. Let's go back."
Corlys sighed heavily, a hint of melancholy in his tone.
From this day forward, no one could manipulate the royal family as they pleased.
His plans to get closer to the Iron Throne had once again failed.
Suddenly—
"Screeeech…"
A sharp, ear-piercing cry echoed from the cliffside.
Corlys frowned, turning to see a massive crimson dragon with a serpent-like body climbing along the cliff's edge.
Caraxes's keen eyes glinted, its long neck stretching out like a snake as its wings cast shadows over the cliffside.
Its eerie appearance exuded a menacing aura.
"Daemon, you broke your word."
Corlys stepped protectively in front of his wife, turning to face the lean figure approaching from the shadows.
"Oh? When was that?"
Daemon emerged from the archway, a faint smirk playing on his lips.
He didn't recall making any promises.
Corlys's face darkened. "You said your brother treated you unfairly, and we agreed to take back what rightfully belongs to you."
"We?"
Daemon's expression instantly hardened, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous light. "Who's 'we'?"
Corlys was taken aback, staring deeply at the man before him.
Clearly, Daemon had gained a new advantage and was now burning bridges.
Rhaenys quietly observed, refusing to intervene in the men's power play.
Daemon glanced at her briefly before issuing a warning.
"Aemon is my son. Anyone who dares to target him should be prepared to lose their claws."
Daemon didn't care about titles like "The Queen Who Never Was."
If someone dared to make a move against his son, he'd stop at nothing to crush them.
Too many Targaryens had met early deaths.
"Heh."
Rhaenys turned her head, crossing her arms.
When people were speechless, they often resorted to laughter.
Corlys, on the other hand, remained silent, feeling increasingly helpless with his chosen ally.
No politician likes someone who flips the table.
And Daemon? He was precisely that kind of person.
"Enough. I have a kingdom to manage in the Stepstones."
Daemon turned to leave but paused briefly at the doorway, murmuring, "My brother is a coward, but he's lucky."
His brother might be weak, but neither he nor his son would ever be.
Daemon didn't say it out loud—he didn't need to.
The bitterness he felt from years of neglect and mistreatment lingered.
He quickened his pace, leaving Corlys to ponder his words.
To Corlys, Daemon's exit was nothing short of contemptuous.
Moments later, Caraxes spread its wings and took flight, its forked tail slicing through the waves as it headed toward the Stepstones.
Corlys clenched his fists before letting them go slack, his frustration mounting.
Just then, a soft hand reached out to hold his.
Looking up, he saw Rhaenys smiling gently.
"Brooding isn't like my husband."
For a moment, Corlys was stunned.
Her words sent warmth through his weary heart.
"Come on, let's head back. The children should be returning soon."
Rhaenys patted his shoulder before striding back toward the castle with steady steps.
Though she disapproved of his futile schemes, her love for him was unwavering.
The Sea Snake may have lost some of his bite, but he still belonged to the bloodline of dragons.
Watching his wife's commanding figure disappear into the distance, Corlys chuckled softly, feeling unexpectedly at ease.
Blackwater Bay.
"Screeeech!"
A massive, dark green dragon suddenly changed direction mid-flight, its growl like rolling thunder as it turned back toward Driftmark.
On its back was a graceful figure with long, silvery-gold curls billowing in the wind.
"Roar!"
Vermithor glanced at the returning dragon. Its throat glowed faintly, molten bronze fire ready to erupt.
"Quiet down, Vermithor!"
Aemon leaned forward on the saddle, patting the dragon's bronze scales to calm it.
Vermithor raised its head in acknowledgment of its rider's command, slowly closing its massive jaws.
Then, it sped up, soaring over Blackwater Bay with powerful wingbeats.
Boom!
The dragon's wings stirred fierce winds, causing the royal ship's sails to billow and the vessel to rock violently.
Aemon sighed, placing a hand on his forehead.
Old dragons had one flaw—they were temperamental and difficult to train.
Understandable, really. After all, Vermithor wasn't originally his.
"I need to spend more time mastering dragonriding."
Aemon made a mental note.
Initially, he had planned to return to the Vale.
But his uncle, King Viserys, had other ideas.
Dragons were powerful, chaotic creatures capable of razing entire cities.
Every dragonrider, whether bonding with a hatchling or a full-grown beast, was required to stay in King's Landing's Dragonpit to learn dragonriding techniques.
The dragonkeepers—caretakers who had served dragons for generations—were the best teachers.
"It's safer that way. A rampaging dragon is a disaster waiting to happen."
Aemon gently stroked Vermithor's back, growing more attached to the beast.
House Targaryen's history was filled with tales of dragons going rogue.
Take Princess Aerea Targaryen, for example.
She once rode Balerion the Black Dread, only for the dragon to take her back to Valyria, where she was attacked by firewyrms and died a gruesome death.
Then there was Daenerys Targaryen, whose dragons—especially Drogon—were notoriously disobedient.
Without achieving true unity between dragon and rider, a dragon's full potential could never be realized.
"Roar!"
Vermithor let out a low growl, its massive body dipping slightly, causing turbulence.
The dragon could sense its rider's thoughts—and felt offended by them.
"Sorry, big guy."
Aemon chuckled, adjusting his position in the saddle.
"What a temperamental beast!"
Comparatively, Vhagar seemed much more composed.
At least Laena didn't have to deal with such antics from her dragon.
"Sigh. I've got a lot to learn."
Aemon realized they were still in the bonding phase.
Over time, they would grow closer.
"I can't wait to grow up."
The sooner he matured, the sooner he could truly master dragonriding.
And then, he could finally begin his grand vision for the realm.
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Aemon grows up!