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AEMOND TARGARYEN House Of The Dragon | S02E08 - The Lord Of The Tides

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To Love a Dragon’s Shadow (Chapter One)

Fandom: House of the Dragon / A Song of Ice and Fire

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Original Female Character

Genre: Slow burn, angst, forbidden love, political tension, family drama, coming of age

Warnings: Canon divergence, emotional themes, mature content later

“They say Targaryens are born to rule — so why was I made to watch?”

Living in someone else’s shadow isn’t always the best way to go through life — especially when you’re a Targaryen. But I had no choice. I was born with hair as black as coal and, to make things worse, three minutes after my brother, the future king.

Not that I believe being born first would’ve made any difference to my sweet mother — the future queen. It’s her I mean when I speak of living in someone’s shadow.

Lucerys and Jace never matched the power or beauty I possess, and still, I love them. Especially my dear brother Jacaerys. I hold no resentment over him being chosen by our mother to be king. It was obvious. I know it wouldn’t have been fair, and I never had any desire to be queen anyway.

The truth is, I believe two queens in a row would be too much for the Seven Kingdoms to accept.

My dragon hatched the same day I turned four.

She was small — fragile even — with scales that shimmered like onyx in the sunlight. They said she wouldn’t last a moon’s turn. They were wrong. I named her Vhaelyx, after a lost Valyrian tale my mother used to tell us before bed. No one thought I’d bond with a dragon at all, not with hair like mine and blood that some dared to question. But Vhaelyx chose me.

And with her, I found a piece of myself no one could take away.

While my brothers trained with wooden swords and dreamed of glory, I spent hours with Vhaelyx near the cliffs, feeling the sea wind in my face and the fire in her breath. I wasn’t like them. I didn’t want to be.

Still, I watched. I listened. I learned.

That’s what shadows do. They observe — and they remember.

I was turning eleven — though technically, Jace turned eleven three minutes before me, and he never let me forget it.

The Great Hall at Dragonstone was filled with laughter, music, and the scent of spiced wine and roasted meats. But I wasn’t really paying attention to any of it. My eyes kept drifting to the corner of the room, where Aemond stood like a misplaced shadow, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He hadn’t spoken to anyone all evening, not even to his mother.

He always looked at me like that — like he wanted to say something but didn’t trust the words to come out right. And maybe I looked at him the same way.

There was something in him I recognized. A stillness. A hunger to be seen, but a fear of what being seen truly meant.

So I slipped away from the crowd, past the tables and servants and the prying eyes of the court, and ducked behind one of the stone pillars near the back — where the platters of lemon cakes and sweet tarts had been placed, mostly forgotten.

“Are you coming or not?” I called softly, not looking back.

I heard the shuffle of boots against stone. Then silence. And then, slowly, Aemond appeared beside me.

“We’ll get in trouble,” he muttered, though his hand was already reaching for a cake.

“Only if we get caught.” I smirked, handing him the softest one.

He took it without meeting my gaze, but I caught the faintest hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Just barely there — but enough.

We sat there in silence, the music of the hall muffled by stone and distance. I didn’t ask why he came. He didn’t ask why I invited him.

But I knew. And I think… so did he.

We didn’t speak again after that day.

It was strange — how easily silence settled between us. We looked at each other one last time, then turned and walked in opposite directions, as if the moment had never happened. But I remembered it. I remembered the warmth of the stolen cakes, the flicker of a smile, and how, for a brief second, I didn’t feel like a shadow.

Then came Joffrey.

Our mother, Rhaenyra, gave birth in the early morning, and by midday, the halls of Dragonstone were thick with whispers. The birth of a prince always stirred talk — but this time, it felt heavier, sharper. We knew what people were saying. Even at our age, we understood the looks.

Jace, Luke, and I walked together to our mother’s chambers. I remember the weight of the silence between us, broken only by the soft shuffle of our steps. Jace kept close to me, our shoulders brushing, and even though he tried to act brave, I could feel his hand twitch slightly, like he wanted to hold mine but wasn’t sure he should.

When we entered, the room was warm and dim. The scent of blood and lavender clung to the air. Mother was lying in bed, pale but radiant, cradling the newborn against her chest. Laenor stood nearby, a proud yet distant smile on his lips. He looked like a man doing his best to play the role expected of him.

And then there was Harwin.

He was at the edge of the room, arms crossed, eyes soft — the only man who ever looked at me like I was made of something more than duty or bloodlines.

“There she is,” he said when he saw me, his voice quiet but warm. “My little flame.”

I never asked why he called me that. I just liked the way it sounded — like I was something bright. Like I was his.

I hurried to Mother’s side, climbing onto the bed as gently as I could. She smiled at me, tired but glowing, and reached out with her free arm to pull me close. I leaned against her, careful not to disturb the baby. He was so small — red-faced and wrinkled, like a bundle of fire wrapped in soft cloth.

“Meet your brother,” she whispered to us, and I remember thinking he looked like a secret. One the realm would try to tear apart before he even had a name.

But in that moment, none of it mattered.

Back then, I still believed Mother could protect us from anything. That as long as we stayed close, no one could touch us.

The afternoon sun spilled through the stone windows, warming the cold floor of the smaller hall in Dragonstone. Jace, Luke, and I were sitting on the ground, surrounded by cushions, bits of bread, and fruits we had “borrowed” from the kitchens.

“You should’ve seen his face!” Jace was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. “He looked like a soaked little mouse!”

“I did not!” Luke snapped, cheeks flushing red. “The dragon only sneezed in my direction, that’s all!”

“You were covered in goo, Luke,” I said, trying to keep a straight face — and failing miserably. “It looked like someone dumped an entire soup on you.”

Jace fell back from laughing, nearly knocking over one of the bowls. Luke crossed his arms and tried to look angry, but with his hair still messy from the morning’s dragon training, it was hard to take him seriously.

“One day my dragon will breathe real fire,” he muttered, trying to sound dignified. “And then you’ll see.”

“Of course, of course,” Jace said, rolling his eyes. “First it spits slime, then fire. It’s in the growth phase.”

“You’re both insufferable,” Luke grumbled, though a smile was already tugging at the corner of his lips.

I laid down between them, staring up at the tall stone ceiling. Sometimes I forgot how good it felt to just be with my brothers like this — away from the judging eyes, from the whispers about blood and names, away even from the shadow of a war we didn’t yet know was coming.

In those moments, it was just us. Children laughing, teasing, and sharing stolen fruit as if the world outside didn’t exist.

After Jace and Luke had fallen asleep in the hall, tangled in cushions and crooked blankets, I slipped away in silence. I wandered through the stone corridors, guided only by the torches flickering on the walls. It was late, but I knew where he’d be.

Harwin always stayed a little longer, watching, guarding — as if protecting us was something that came naturally to him.

I found him in the courtyard, sitting on the stone steps with his sword resting at his side and his elbows on his knees. He turned his head the moment he heard my footsteps. He didn’t look surprised. Somehow, I think he always knew when I needed him.

“Can’t sleep?” he asked.

I shook my head and sat beside him, hugging my knees to my chest. We stayed quiet for a while, listening to the sea crashing against the rocks below the castle.

“Do you think I’m different?” I asked suddenly, not looking at him. “Different from Jace and Luke.”

He took a moment to answer.

“You’re all different,” he said finally, his voice soft. “But not in the way you think.”

I turned to him, and Harwin was looking at me with that calm, steady gaze — the same one he used when teaching me to ride or when breaking up fights between the boys.

“There’s a fire in you that you don’t understand yet,” he continued. “And that’s alright. You’ll understand when it’s time. But don’t ever think that makes you less. Never.”

My eyes stung, and for a second, I thought I might cry. But then he wrapped a strong arm around my shoulders and pulled me close, just like he used to when I was smaller. I rested my head on his shoulder and closed my eyes.

Lying in my bed, I stared at the ceiling for a long time, thinking about the “fire” Harwin spoke of. Sometimes I feel like he sees something in me that even I can’t understand. I feel comfortable around him. Safe. Something I never felt with Laenor.

Officially, he’s my father. But I’m not stupid. I’ve always known the truth.

I remember the day I caught my mother kissing Harwin. I was young, but I knew exactly what was happening. After that, she told me I wasn’t allowed to enter her chambers without knocking — “for decorum,” she said. But I knew better. From then on, I never needed further confirmation.

I like Harwin — he’s kind, warm, fun… but sometimes I wonder: didn’t my mother have other options? Someone, I don’t know, with white hair like hers? Not that hair defines everything, but with all the filthy things Aegon keeps saying, the city seems full of pale-haired bastards. If she wanted to hide something, she could’ve at least tried harder.

Like it or not, we’re marked. Everyone knows what we are. Aegon’s mocking looks, Aemond’s twisted little smirks, and most of all, Alicent’s cold gaze… they say it all.

She doesn’t like me. And believe me — the feeling is mutual.

She was the one who forbade me from training with the boys.

I remember the conversation well. I must’ve been nine.

“Princess,” she said, without even looking at me, her hands folded as she stood by the window offering a quiet prayer to the Mother. “Your place is not among swords and armor. A lady, especially one born a princess, must carry herself with grace. You should spend more time with Helaena. I’m sure she would enjoy sharing her readings with you.”

“But I don’t like just reading…” I dared to mumble.

That’s when she looked at me. Truly looked at me. Her eyes were sharp, as if every word that left my mouth offended her sensibilities.

“Whether you like it or not is irrelevant. You have duties. And your duty is to represent your mother with dignity. Imagine what they’d say, seeing you covered in dirt and bruises like some ordinary boy…” She paused, her voice sharper than ever. “There are already too many whispers surrounding you.”

She didn’t have to say anything else. I understood perfectly.

I even tried asking the king. I wanted so badly to train… But of course, Alicent spoke first and said he was far too fragile to waste time on “childish nonsense.” Nonsense. That’s what she thinks of anything that comes from me.

I had already asked my mother too, though deep down, I knew she would never allow it. “My daughter, my sweet and pure little girl, so beautiful…” I roll my eyes just remembering her voice, sweet and fake. As if she hadn’t gone through similar things when she was younger.

When I once questioned her about it, she simply said, “I wanted to be queen, not a warrior.”

But I am not her.

I wanted to be like Visenya. A true warrior — strong, feared, respected.

Why is it that everything I want always seems to be wrong?

I want to fly far away with my dragoness, protect her, defend my family, fight if I must. But my mother’s plans for me are quite different. She wants to turn me into a proper lady, a breeder of half a dozen children for some nobleman she’ll choose.

That’s what’s expected of me — to smile, wave, get married, and fade into the shadow of a name that won’t even be mine.

But I’m a Targaryen. And I was made for more.

Every morning, before the sun has fully risen, I walk toward the caves behind the Keep. That’s where Vhaelyx waits for me. Even though I’m now allowed to fly, I’ve never forgotten the first time.

It wasn’t long ago that we flew together for the first time. Vhaelyx grew quickly — much faster than Aegon’s or even Jace’s dragons. Even as a youngling, she was larger than the others her age. Wild. Powerful.

That day, no one knew. I felt it — every part of me knew it was time.

She looked at me.

It wasn’t just a look — it was like she called to me without a single word. Her eyes met mine, and suddenly, I knew. I knew Vhaelyx was born to be mine. And I was hers. The sky was waiting for us.

I climbed onto her back, my heart pounding so loud I could barely hear my own thoughts. When she spread her wings and took off, the world vanished beneath me. The wind on my face, the endless sky around us, her roar tearing through the clouds… I had never felt so alive.

I ran away that day. Left everyone in a panic, searching for me as if I had vanished. And in a way, I had — vanished from everything that held me down. In that flight, I found who I truly was.

Now, with everyone’s permission, I can fly. But I still dream of feeling that again — that absolute freedom. That joy that only exists far from the walls of the kingdom, far from judgment, far from the roles they try to force on me.

When we landed on the warm rocks near the Keep, one of my mother’s handmaids was already waiting, breathless.

“Princess, your mother wishes to see you in her chambers.”

I tried to hide my smile. I still felt the wind on my skin. My feet barely touched the ground.

I rushed toward Rhaenyra’s quarters. She was seated by the window, as if she already knew I’d come in smiling.

“Mother?”

She turned to me with that familiar look — equal parts tired and loving.

“I asked them to fetch you because… well, the king has granted permission for you to watch the boys’ training,” she said, pausing to watch my reaction.

“Really?!” I couldn’t hold back the joy. I ran to her and hugged her tightly. “Thank you!”

She brushed her hand through my hair and sighed.

“It was your grandfather’s request. The king believes it will be good for you… even if only as an observer. No swords, for now.”

I nodded, still holding her, my heart warm.

It wasn’t much — but it was a beginning.

The training yard echoed with the sound of clashing swords, shouts of encouragement, and the clink of armor. I sat in the shade of a stone gallery, hands folded in my lap, trying not to show how fast my heart was beating. It was my first time officially watching the training, with permission — and even if I couldn’t participate, just being there felt special.

Jace and Luke were sparring with wooden swords, laughing as if it were all a game. Aegon, a little farther off, showed off against another squire, overdoing his movements like he had an invisible audience to impress.

And then I saw Aemond.

He wasn’t laughing. He wasn’t seeking attention. His strikes were precise, focused — he moved with purpose, like each training session was a real battle. His silver hair fell over his eyes as he twisted his sword with practiced ease. It was impossible not to notice him.

Our eyes met for a brief moment. I couldn’t tell if he was looking for me, or if it just happened by chance — but his gaze locked onto mine. And for a second, the world around us went completely still.

He didn’t smile. Neither did I.

But something was there.

It wasn’t like the day with the hidden cakes. Now there was distance between us. A certain hesitation. Or maybe just too many unspoken memories of that innocent moment we never talked about again.

Still, he looked at me. And I looked back.

But then he turned away, returned to his training, pretending like nothing had happened.

And I did the same.

A few days before, Luke had told me what happened between the boys. About that so-called “gift” — a pig with paper wings tied to its back. A “dragon” for Aemond.

I thought it was awful.

Cruel.

Since I learned about it, I’d started seeing Aemond differently. Not with pity — he would never allow that. But with… respect. He had no dragon, yet still trained harder than any of them, fought with more determination.

Maybe that’s why I couldn’t look away.

The sun was already high when the mood of the training began to shift. What had once been laughter and light sparring turned into something… cruel.

Criston Cole walked among the boys like a king in his own court, his voice sharp, his gaze full of judgment. But not toward everyone. With Aegon, his words carried a sense of pride. With Aemond, encouragement. But when he addressed Jace and Luke, there was disdain. Subtle, almost invisible — but clear to anyone truly watching.

Like me.

“Advance with more strength, Prince Aegon,” Criston said with a smirk. “Show your cousin how to wield a sword properly.”

I looked at Jace, struggling to hold his stance as Aegon came at him with strikes far too harsh for a mere practice. I saw Luke tense beside me, his fists clenched, wanting to step in but unsure if he should.

And no one did anything.

“This isn’t training,” I muttered, turning to the king beside me. “They’re mocking him. They’re trying to hurt Jace.”

Viserys sighed, as if too tired to face any of it.

“They’re just boys playing,” he said weakly, the way he always did when avoiding ghosts of his own making.

I clenched my fists, my stomach twisting with anger.

Playing? This?

I felt the heat rise through me like fire in my veins. Jace stumbled from one of Aegon’s blows, and Criston didn’t even try to hide the satisfied look on his face. My brother got up quickly, trying not to show how embarrassed he was.

That’s when Harwin stepped forward.

“This has gone too far,” he said, voice firm, eyes blazing.

“Too far… why?” Criston asked, his tone dripping with mockery. “Because you’re concerned for the Prince? Or for your son?”

Silence sliced through the yard like a blade.

I held my breath. Everyone froze. All eyes turned to Harwin, who stood still for a second.

And then, he exploded.

The sound of the punch was sharp and brutal. Criston staggered, but struck back just as hard. Chaos erupted — guards rushing to separate them, the boys watching wide-eyed.

But me… I only looked at Jace. And at Luke.

They stood there, in the middle of it all, like they were to blame for something they never chose to be.

And in that moment, I made a silent promise: no one would ever hurt my brothers again. Not while I was around.

And then, almost without meaning to, my eyes drifted toward Aemond.

He hadn’t joined the laughter. He hadn’t mocked anyone. He stood still, watching the chaos, jaw clenched, a storm in his eyes.

And I wondered — what did he see when he looked at me?