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kckt88 · 6 months ago

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Scorched Hearts - Younger I

Summary:

'We loved with a love that was more than love - Edgar Allen Poe'

A glimpse into the past of Aemond and Valaena.

Warning(s): Angst, Drama, Mild Violence, Reference to Violence Against A Child, First Kiss, Seperation, Blood, Eye Injury, Self Loathing.

AEMOND x O.C Niece

Word Count: 8730

A.N -

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon or Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are very much appreciated, do not copy/post to other sights without my permission.

Tag List - @jasminecosmic99 @kaelatargaryen @yesterdayfeelings-blog @immyowndefender @0eessirk8 @darylandbethfanforever9 @killua2dot0 @msassenach @xcharlottemikaelsonx

The sun shone bright over the training grounds of the Red Keep, casting long shadows as the clash of wooden swords echoed in the air.

Valaena stood by the weapons chest, her small fingers brushing the cool edge of the lid as she watched her brothers, Jace and Luke, sparring against their uncles Aegon and Aemond.

Their laughter and the occasional grunt of effort filled the space, each of them engrossed in the mock battle.

Valaena’s heart ached as she stood there, longing to join them. She clenched her small hands into fists, frustration bubbling in her chest.

Why couldn’t she pick up a sword too?

She might be able to fight as well as any of them if only she were given the chance.

But no, she was a girl, and the training ground was no place for her. Her days were filled with embroidery, memorizing the names of lords and castles, and practicing the graciousness expected of a Queen.

She glowered at the thought.

If duty meant being left on the sidelines while everyone else had fun, she didn’t want it.

Valaena’s gaze lingered on Aemond as he stepped back, his wooden sword poised with precision. His movements were sharp and deliberate, his focus unwavering.

He didn’t carry the same careless energy as Aegon or the easy camaraderie Jace and Luke shared. There was a quiet intensity to him, one that fascinated Valaena.

But more than that, there was something else—a sadness she couldn’t quite name.

While the others sparred, Aemond often stood alone. Even when he fought alongside them, he seemed apart, an island unto himself.

It made her chest tighten to see him that way, isolated in a way that felt deeply unfair. She wanted to approach him, to talk to him, to ask him why he seemed so distant, but the words never came.

Instead, when their eyes met across the training yard, she gave him a small, discreet wave.

To her surprise, Aemond smiled and inclined his head in return. Her cheeks warmed, a blush creeping across her face as she looked down quickly, pretending to fiddle with the edge of her sleeve.

Her mind raced.

What could she do to make him happy?

She wanted to see him smile again, to banish that loneliness from his expression. A thought struck her—a simple, childlike solution that made perfect sense.

Sweets!

Everyone liked sweets, didn’t they? Surely, a treat would lift Aemond’s spirits.

Resolving herself, Valaena turned on her heel, leaving the training grounds behind. Her sandals slapping against the stone floor as she made her way toward the kitchens, excitement bubbling within her.

She imagined the look on Aemond’s face when she presented him with the treat. Perhaps he’d laugh, or perhaps he’d speak to her more. Maybe he’d even thank her and tell her she was clever.

And just maybe, in some small way, he’d like her.

Valaena tiptoed into the Red Keep’s kitchens, her heart racing with the thrill of her small rebellion.

The air was warm and smelled of freshly baked bread, spiced pies, and the faint tang of roasted meat.

Long wooden tables were cluttered with pots, bowls, and rolling pins, and in the corner sat a tray laden with sweets—golden tarts, sugar-dusted biscuits, and small candied fruits that glistened like tiny jewels.

Her eyes lit up as she approached, her hands twitching with anticipation. She glanced around to make sure no one was watching and then reached out, snatching a handful of the treats. Just as she stuffed them into her hands, a shadow loomed over her, and she froze.

“Ahem-”

Valaena turned, her breath hitching as she looked up at a plump older woman with flour-splattered cheeks and a wooden ladle clutched in her hand like a weapon. The cook stared down at her, raising an eyebrow.

“What do we have here?” the woman asked in a stern tone.

“I-I was-was just-” Valaena stammered, quickly hiding her hands behind her back. Her lip wobbled as she tried to think of an excuse. “Please don’t tell my mama-”

The cook crossed her arms, her gaze steady. “Stealing is wrong, little Princess.”

“I’m sorry, cooky lady,” Valaena whispered, her cheeks reddening. “I-I’ll put them back. I just wanted to cheer up my uncle-he seems very sad and-and-”

The cook’s expression softened at her words. She sighed, shaking her head before putting her ladle on the side. “Go on, then. Take them. But next time, you ask, do you hear me?”

Valaena’s face brightened with a smile, and she nodded eagerly. “I will! Thank you, cooky lady!”

The cook chuckled softly, the corners of her lips twitching into a smile. “Go on, get out of here, Princess. Wouldn’t want you getting caught wandering where you don’t belong.”

Valaena paused, turning back to the cook with a puzzled expression. “Where I don’t belong?”

The cook let out a weary sigh, brushing the flour from her hands. “You’re a Princess, and I’m a servant. We belong to different worlds, little one. One day you’ll understand. People like me aren’t meant to mix with people like you.”

Valaena tilted her head, her brow furrowing. “But why?”

The cook chuckled softly, though there was a hint of melancholy in her voice. “That’s just the way things are, child.”

“But why?” Valaena pressed, her frown deepening.

The cook exhaled, her patience waning. “You’re young. You’ll see when you’re older.”

“But we all live—and someday, we’ll all die. Isn’t that the same?” Valaena asked, her head tilted in earnest curiosity.

The cook paused, her voice carrying a note of quiet sorrow. “The lives we lead couldn’t be more different.”

“Why?” Valaena insisted, pursing her lips.

“It just is, Princess,” the cook murmured, her words heavy with resignation.

Valaena looked down at the sweets cradled in her hands.

After a moment of thought, she picked the most delicious-looking one—a tart with golden glaze—and held it out to the cook.

“Here. Sweets always make everything better.”

The cook’s eyes widened in surprise, and she smiled, taking the tart carefully. “Thank you, Princess.”

Valaena beamed, but then asked, “What’s your name, cooky lady?”

The cook raised an eyebrow, bemused. “Flora,” she said after a moment.

“I’m Valaena,” the young princess replied proudly, her head held high.

Flora laughed softly, shaking her head. “I know who you are, Princess.”

Valaena frowned, shaking her head firmly. “No, I’m just Valaena.”

The cook smiled, her eyes crinkling with affection. “Very well, Valaena.”

“Thank you, Flora,” Valaena said with a grin. “But I must give these to my uncle now. Perhaps I shall come to see you again.”

“I would like that,” Flora said, her voice gentle.

With a final smile, Valaena turned and darted out of the kitchen, racing back to the training yard with the sweets clutched in her hands.

Valaena arrived back at the training yard, her hand clutching the sweets she had carefully pilfered, only to be greeted by the chaotic sight of Ser Harwin Strong reigning punches down on Ser Criston Cole.

The sound of fists connecting with flesh echoed around the grounds, Ser Harwin’s booming voice shouting, “Say it again! Say it again!”

His anger reverberated like thunder, and it took three Kingsguard to pull him away.

As Ser Harwin was escorted past her, his face a mixture of fury and frustration, Valaena’s gaze met his.

On impulse, she reached out and gently squeezed his hand, a silent gesture of comfort.

Ser Harwin looked down at her, his stormy expression softening for a moment, before he was pulled away.

Valaena let go, her attention turning toward Aemond.

She approached him, her steps light, and held out one of the sweets in her hand. “For you, Uncle,” she said softly, her violet eyes shimmering with quiet warmth.

Aemond stared at her, his features momentarily unreadable. Then, he nodded and reached for the sweet, his fingers brushing hers as he took it.

“Thank you,” he muttered, his voice low.

“I saw you earlier,” Valaena said, her tone brightening. “You’re very good with sparring.”

Aemond’s lips quirked into a small smile, but before he could reply, Aegon sauntered over, his usual smirk plastered across his face.

“What’s this, little niece?” Aegon asked, his tone mockingly sweet as he reached for the sweets in her hand.

“Not for you, Uncle,” Valaena snapped, pulling her hand back protectively. “Get your own”

Aegon scoffed, his pride clearly pricked. “How rude.” With a flick of his wrist, he slapped her hand, sending the sweets tumbling to the dirt.

Valaena’s lips wobbled, her breath hitching as Aegon laughed cruelly.

“Aww, are you going to cry, little girl?”

“You’re mean!” Valaena blurted, her voice shaking.

Aegon shrugged nonchalantly. “So? What are you going to do about it? Nothing. That’s all you ever have—nothing. No friends, no dragon. Makes you wonder if you’re even a Targaryen at all.”

His words struck deep, and Valaena glanced at Aemond, whose scowl mirrored her own pain. Aemond, like her, was without a dragon, and Aegon’s taunts seemed to cut them both equally.

Aegon’s laughter only grew as he shoved Valaena, sending her sprawling to the ground.

“Leave her alone!” Aemond snapped, his voice sharp as he moved to help her up.

Aegon stopped laughing, only to sneer at his younger brother. “Oh, look, the dragon less wonder comes to the rescue.”

But before Aegon could continue his mockery, Valaena surged forward, her small fist connecting with his nose in a satisfying crack.

Aegon’s eyes widened in shock as he stumbled back, blood trickling from his nostrils.

“You little shit!” Aegon snarled, lunging toward her, but Aemond stepped in front of Valaena, his arm outstretched as he pushed his older brother back.

“That’s enough,” Aemond said coldly, his voice steady and commanding.

Aegon wiped the blood from his nose, his face twisting with fury. “You two losers deserve each other,” he spat before stomping off, Jace and Luke following close behind with uncertain expressions.

Valaena brushed dirt from her dress, her cheeks flushed with anger and shame. “Thank you,” she murmured, glancing at Aemond.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his tone casual as he turned away to begin placing the wooden swords back on the rack.

Feeling disheartened, Valaena turned to leave the training grounds. But just as she reached the edge, Aemond’s voice called after her.

“Good punch, by the way.”

Valaena stopped, turning to see him looking at her with a faint, approving smile.

A smile broke across Valaena’s face, and she nodded. “Thank you.”

For the first time that day, Aemond’s smile lingered, and Valaena left the training yard with a newfound spark of courage in her heart.

Valaena sat cross-legged on the cool stone floor of her chambers, her fingers tracing the smooth, polished edges of her wooden dragon figurines.

Each one was meticulously carved, the detail of their scales and wings so lifelike that she often imagined they might come alive in her hands.

She loved her toys, but as her gaze lingered on the little wooden figures, a heavy question began to press on her heart.

Would these carvings be the closest she ever came to having a dragon of her own?

The thought sent a pang of doubt through her chest.

What kind of Queen would she be if she never had a dragon?

Her mother had Syrax, her grandsire had been the last to claim Balerion the Black Dread, and Old King Jaehaerys, whom the bards still sang of, had commanded Vermithor.

Would the realm see her as weak?

Would they whisper behind her back that she was unworthy to sit the Iron Throne because she lacked the fiery majesty that defined her house?

People already whispered about her, she knew. Valaena wasn’t deaf to the hushed voices in the corridors of the Red Keep or the side-eyed glances as she walked by.

“She doesn’t have silver hair like her mother,” they would murmur. “-Or any Targaryen.”

Her hair was dark, like her brothers’, like Ser Harwin’s.

That truth loomed over her like a shadow she couldn’t escape, but Valaena didn’t want to dwell on it—not the way the courtiers and gossips did.

Her mother, Rhaenyra, always sidestepped such questions with the poise she could muster.

“You are a Targaryen,” her mother always said. “And that is all that matters.”

But without a dragon, Valaena didn’t feel much like a Targaryen. She felt ordinary, just like everyone else in the castle who didn’t have wings to carry them into the sky or fire in their blood to set the world alight.

Her fingers tightened around the figurine, her nails digging into its wooden sides. She wanted to believe her mother’s words.

She wanted to feel the power and pride of her house coursing through her veins, but without a dragon, it was hard to hold onto that feeling.

She sighed, letting the little wooden dragon drop onto the floor with a soft clatter.

For now, all she had were these toys and her dreams of what might be.

But dreams, no matter how vivid, couldn’t chase away the doubt.

Valaena picked up the shiny silver dragon figurine and cradled it in her hands.

“Maybe someday,” she whispered to the little dragon, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire in her hearth. “Maybe someday, you’ll be real.”

For now, though, the wooden dragons were all she had, and as much as she tried to imagine otherwise, they weren’t enough to fill the emptiness that burned inside her.

Valaena was skipping along the corridor, her little satchel of sweet treats that Flora had given her bouncing against her hip, when she saw Aemond rush past her.

His face was streaked with soot, his silver hair dishevelled, and his eyes red and swollen.

She hesitated for a moment, clutching the strap of her satchel. Aemond wasn’t always the easiest to approach, especially when he was upset.

But something about the look in his eyes pulled her forward. She quickened her steps, following him down the winding hall and out into the gardens.

She found him hunched near the ancient weirwood tree, his shoulders trembling as he furiously wiped at his face.

Valaena stopped a few paces away and called his name softly.

“Aemond?”

His head snapped up, his violet eyes glaring at her through strands of silver hair.

“Get lost,” he snarled, his voice thick with anger and embarrassment.

Valaena paused, unphased by his outburst. She reached into her satchel and pulled out one of the treats.

“Would you like a sweet?” she offered, holding it out in her palm. “I got them from the kitchens this morning.”

Aemond scowled, his face twisting in frustration, but after a moment, he nodded stiffly.

Valaena smiled. “Follow me.” She turned and led him to a thick bush near the edge of the gardens.

Parting the branches, she revealed a hollow space beneath, just large enough for the two of them to sit.

“This is my secret hiding place,” she said with pride, stepping inside and settling on the soft grass. She patted the ground beside her. “No one will find us here.”

Aemond hesitated, casting a wary glance around, but then he sighed and crawled in after her. He sat beside her, his knees drawn up to his chest.

Valaena opened her satchel, pulling out a handful of treats. “Which one do you want?”

Aemond pointed to the one in her left hand, and she handed it over without hesitation. They sat in companionable silence, munching on the sweets.

The tension in Aemond’s shoulders seemed to ease as he chewed, though his gaze remained fixed on the ground.

When they finished, Valaena broke the quiet. “Why were you so upset?”

Aemond’s face darkened, and he looked away, his cheeks flushing pink. “They all laughed at me,” he muttered.

“Who?”

“Aegon,” he said bitterly, wiping at his eyes again, “and your brothers. They gave me a p-pig.” His voice cracked on the last word, and he clenched his fists. “They called it the Pink Dread”

Valaena’s heart ached at the pain in his voice. She reached out and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Aemond. That was cruel of them.”

He glanced at her, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and squeezed her hand back.

They sat in silence for a long moment before Aemond spoke again, his voice low but resolute.

“I vow,” he said, his tone filled with determination, “-that one day I will claim the greatest dragon alive and they will never dare to mock me again-”

Valaena’s lips curled into a small smile. “Maybe that’s why your egg didn’t hatch,” she said thoughtfully. “Maybe your dragon is already out there somewhere, waiting for you.”

Aemond turned to her, a flicker of hope sparking in his eyes. “Do you really think so?”

She nodded. “I do. We weren’t meant for hatchlings. Our claims belong to the dragons of old. I’m certain of it.”

Aemond stared at her for a moment, his expression softening. “I hope you’re right, Valaena.”

She grinned and leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “And maybe, just maybe, I’ll claim one of my own, too.”

For the first time that day, Aemond smiled, and it was enough to warm Valaena’s heart.

Together, they sat beneath the canopy of the bush, their shared hope for the future quietly binding them in a way that neither of them could yet put into words.

Over the next few weeks, Valaena and Aemond grew inseparable.

While the others flew with their dragons, Valaena and Aemond found solace in each other’s company.

They spent hours in the gardens, their laughter echoing beneath the shade of the weirwood tree, or lost in the library, devouring books on history and philosophy.

One sunny afternoon, Valaena skipped along the stone path, humming a cheerful tune. She was meant to be in her lessons with Septa Wella, but her heart led her elsewhere.

The weirwood tree was her sanctuary, and Aemond, sitting at its base with a book in hand, was waiting for her.

She spotted him ahead and quickened her steps, but her foot caught on an uneven stone. She tumbled to the ground, scraping her knee.

Tears welled in her eyes as she sat up, clutching her injured leg.

Aemond immediately rushed to her side, dropping to his knees. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.

Valaena whimpered, pointing to her knee. “It hurts.”

Aemond examined the scrape. It was bleeding slightly but not severe. “It’s just a small scrape-” he said, his tone soothing. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”

Before he could say more, a shadow loomed over them. Septa Wella stood there, her face a mask of fury.

“Princess Valaena,” the Septa said sharply, “-you have important lessons to attend”

Valaena glared up at her, still clutching her knee. “I don’t want to go. I want to play with Aemond.”

“That is not your choice,” Septa Wella replied, her voice tight with disapproval. “As future Queen, there are values you must learn. The crown works closely with the Faith of the Seven. These lessons are vital.”

Valaena’s scowl deepened. “But what about the Valyrian gods? Shouldn’t I learn about them too?”

The Septa scoffed, unimpressed. “The Faith of the Seven is what matters in the realm. You will understand this in time.” She reached down and grabbed Valaena’s arm, trying to pull her to her feet.

Valaena, with fire in her eyes, leaned forward and bared her teeth, snapping them in the Septa’s direction.

Septa Wella shrieked, recoiling. “You vicious little beast!”

Aemond stood abruptly, his violet eye flashing. “Perhaps my niece would be more cooperative if you spent less time scolding her,” he said coldly.

Septa Wella straightened, smoothing her robes. “But, my Prince, the Princess is stubborn and belligerent. Such attitudes are unbefitting of a future Queen.”

Aemond tilted his head, a faint smirk curling his lips. “Hmmm. And perhaps you should have more respect for the future Queen.”

The Septa narrowed her eyes at him but bowed, her politeness clearly feigned. “I shall endeavour to correct my behaviour, my Prince.”

Aemond gave a curt nod before turning his attention back to Valaena. “Are you all right?”

Before Valaena could answer, Septa Wella interjected, her tone clipped. “Oh, do not worry, my Prince. The Princess will be fine.”

With that, the Septa grabbed Valaena’s arm once more, dragging her away. Valaena’s eyes filled with fear as she looked back at Aemond, silently pleading for help.

Aemond watched them go, his fists clenching at his sides. He knew the Septa’s strictness was part of her duty, but the sight of Valaena’s terrified face lingered in his mind long after she disappeared from view.

He vowed to find a way to protect her—not just from Septa Wella, but from the suffocating expectations that seemed determined to stifle the bright, fierce spirit he had come to admire so deeply.

Valaena lay curled up in her bed, her small body trembling as tears soaked her pillow.

Her back throbbed where Septa Wella's whip had left its stinging marks, each stripe a cruel reminder of the words that had been flung at her like daggers.

"Creature born of sin and depravity," the Septa had hissed. "You are no true Targaryen. Your egg didn’t hatch because you were never meant to be one of them."

The words echoed in Valaena’s mind, sharp and cutting, tearing at the fragile sense of self she had tried to hold onto.

She hugged her stuffed dragon tightly to her chest, its worn scales damp from her tears. The maids would come soon; she knew they would.

They always did, hovering around her like bees to honey, eager to report back to her mother if anything seemed amiss.

Valaena didn’t want that. She didn’t want anyone to see her like this.

As she lay there, staring into the dancing flames in the hearth, the truth settled over her like a suffocating weight.

It was a truth she had somehow known deep down, even as she had tried to ignore it, to wish it away.

Harwin Strong was her father. Not Laenor Velaryon, the man who was supposed to be her father, who the realm believed was her father.

Her mother had lain with Harwin instead, and Valaena, like her brothers, was the proof of that indiscretion. She hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t asked to be born into a web of lies and whispers. Yet here she was.

The pointed stares, the quiet murmurs in the halls, the sideways glances—they were her fault.

She was the reason her family carried this burden, the reason her brothers were mocked and ridiculed. It was her existence that cast a shadow over them all.

And in that moment, Valaena hated her mother.

She hated her mother for her choices, for the shadow she had cast over their family, for the pain and shame that Valaena and her brothers endured every day. If it weren’t for her grandsire, the King’s wilful blindness, Valaena knew she wouldn’t even be here.

None of them would.

She wiped her nose on the edge of her bed sheet, sniffling as she tried to quiet her sobs. The maids would come soon, and she couldn’t let them see her like this.

Gingerly, she climbed out of bed, wincing as the movement pulled at her sore back. Her fingers trembled as she changed into her nightclothes, the soft fabric brushing against her raw skin and making her wince.

Once dressed, she climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to her chin. She burrowed deeper into the blankets, the stuffed dragon clutched tightly in her arms as she stared into the fire. The flames flickered and danced, their light casting shadows across the walls of her chamber.

Valaena watched the flames until her eyes grew heavy, her tears drying on her cheeks. But even as sleep tugged at her, the sting of Septa Wella's words and the ache in her heart refused to fade.

Only thoughts of Aemond offered her solace: the warmth of his smile, the way his eyes sparkled with laughter, the delicate freckles scattered across his face, and the way he would sometimes hold her hand as they read together.

He was her friend—her only friend. And maybe, just maybe, one day Valaena prayed that he would be something more.

The Red Keep buzzed with a flurry of activity as trunks were packed, maids hurried back and forth with Rhaenyra issuing instructions with a strained voice.

Valaena stood off to the side, her heart sinking as she watched her life at the castle being dismantled before her eyes.

They were leaving for Dragonstone, her mother had said, a place of safety and tradition, far away from the whispers and stares of King’s Landing.

Valaena barely noticed. Her world was shattering. She wasn’t just leaving the Red Keep; she was leaving him.

Aemond.

The thought of parting from him made her chest ache in a way she couldn’t fully explain.

Without him, what was she? Just a lonely girl with no dragon, trapped by the weight of her name.

She couldn’t let it end like this.

Slipping away from her chambers, her small feet barely made a sound on the stone floors as she ran through the familiar corridors.

She didn’t care if her mother found out she’d vanished. She didn’t care if the maids scolded her for disobedience.

All that mattered was seeing Aemond, one last time.

She found him sitting beneath the weirwood tree, his head bowed, his shoulders tense. He didn’t look up immediately as she approached, but when he did, the sadness in his eyes mirrored her own.

“I’m leaving for Dragonstone-” Valaena said, her voice trembling.

“I know,” Aemond replied, his tone clipped but hollow.

“I don’t want to go,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened as he looked away, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. “What choice do you have?” he said quietly, bitterness seeping into his voice. “What choice do we ever have?”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she stepped closer, her small hands trembling as she reached for his. “But I’ll miss you. So much.”

At that, he turned back to her, his expression softening as his fingers intertwined with hers. “And I’ll miss you,” he admitted, his voice cracking.

They stood there for a moment, hand in hand, the silence between them heavy with unspoken words.

“I wish we could stay together,” Valaena finally said, her tears spilling over.

Aemond looked up at the weirwood tree, its carved face gazing down at them with an ancient, solemn expression. When he spoke, his voice was low but firm. “Then we will.”

Her brow furrowed. “How?”

“When we’re grown,” he said, his eye meeting hers with fierce determination, “I vow to you. That I will marry you. And we will never be parted again.”

Her breath hitched, his words both a comfort and a wound. “You promise?”

“I promise,” he said, his voice unwavering.

She tried to smile through her tears, but it broke into a sob as Aemond reached out, brushing a tear from her cheek.

Then, with a trembling hand, he leaned in and kissed her.

It was a fleeting kiss, soft and hesitant, but it was full of all the things they couldn’t say—longing, fear, and a desperate hope that the future might somehow be kinder.

“Valaena!” Rhaenyra’s voice echoed through the gods wood, sharp and commanding.

Valaena flinched, her time running out. She clung to Aemond in a desperate hug, her tears soaking into his tunic. “Don’t forget me,” she begged.

“I could never forget you,” he whispered fiercely, his arms tightening around her. “Write to me.”

“I will,” she promised, her voice breaking as she pulled away, taking one last look at him before turning to run back toward her mother’s voice.

Aemond stood frozen beneath the weirwood tree, his fists clenched at his sides, his heart shattering as he watched her go.

With one last look, Valaena turned and ran back toward the Keep.

Aemond remained by the weirwood tree, standing alone as he watched her disappear from sight.

A single tear slipped down his cheek, falling into the grass below.

Aemond sat cross-legged in the small hollow beneath the bush in the gods wood, Valaena’s hiding spot.

It was his refuge now, the only place where he felt close to her. The faint rustle of leaves and the soft chirping of birds surrounded him, but all his focus was on the crinkled parchment in his hands, her familiar handwriting filling the page.

He had read the letter so many times that he knew it by heart, but still, he traced each line as if committing it to memory anew.

Her words were a balm to the ache in his chest. She missed him, she said, just as much as he missed her.

But her life on Dragonstone sounded better, freer.

There are no whispers here, no pointing fingers or cruel laughter as I pass. It is... peaceful. I think you would like it, Aemond. The air smells of salt and the sea, and when the sun sets, the world looks like it’s made of fire and blood and the library is filled with ancient books and scrolls from old Valyria.

He smiled faintly at her description, imagining her sitting by the sea, her dark hair whipped by the wind, the light of the setting sun casting her in hues of crimson and gold.

But then his smile faltered, and the ache in his chest deepened. She was so far away.

But one letter had arrived just days ago that had shaken him from his melancholy. It was different. Brimming with excitement, the words practically leapt off the page:

Aemond, you won’t believe it! I have my dragon at last!

His heart had raced as he read those words, a mixture of elation and jealousy coursing through him.

Silverwing! She is mine now. The dragon keepers said she was unclaimed for so long, but when I approached her, she came to me without hesitation. She is beautiful, Aemond, with shining silver scales and the gentlest eyes I have ever seen. They say she is the gentlest of all dragons, and I believe it. When I am with her, I feel… whole.

Aemond couldn’t help but feel a pang of envy, though he quickly pushed it aside. Silverwing.

The dragon of Queen Alysanne, one of the most revered dragons in Targaryen history. Of course, Valaena would be the one to claim her.

There was no other dragon in the world more suited to her, no bond more fitting than the one they shared.

He read the next part again, the words filling him with hope:

I know you will claim your dragon too, Aemond. I am certain of it. Perhaps, like me, your dragon waits for you somewhere out there, ready to find you when the time is right.

Her faith in him stirred something deep within his chest. He could almost hear her voice, warm and unwavering, soothing the insecurities that had plagued him for so long.

If Valaena believed he could claim a dragon, then perhaps he could.

For now, he found joy in her triumph. He was proud of her—so proud he thought his heart might burst with it. She had done what he still had yet to do, and she had found her place in the world.

But still, he missed her terribly. The letters were his lifeline, and as he folded the parchment carefully and tucked it into the small pouch he kept at his side.

Leaning back, Aemond looked up through the branches at the sky, his mind filled with images of Silverwing and Valaena soaring together above the waves of Dragonstone.

The thought brought him comfort, and for the first time in weeks, he smiled—a true, genuine smile.

Someday, he promised himself. Someday he would claim his own dragon, and he would join her in the skies.

But for now, her happiness was enough.

Aemond leaned against the rain-specked window of his cabin, his gaze fixed on the endless expanse of gray-blue sea.

The ship’s rhythmic creaking and the distant crash of waves filled the air, but he barely noticed.

His thoughts were elsewhere, consumed by the one person who had occupied his heart and mind since the day she had left the Red Keep—Valaena.

He let out a soft sigh, his fingers idly tracing the glass. Somewhere ahead, past the horizon, she was waiting.

They had written to one another faithfully, sharing every detail of their lives and thoughts, but letters could only go so far. He yearned to see her again, to hear her voice, and to feel the warmth of her presence.

Aemond’s lips twitched into a small smile as he thought of her, but guilt tugged at him immediately. They were sailing to Driftmark for a funeral—a solemn occasion, a time for mourning.

Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had lost their daughter, and his duty was to offer respect and condolences. Yet, no matter how he tried, his heart thrummed with excitement at the prospect of seeing Valaena again.

He closed his eye and rested his forehead against the window. Sunfyre and Dreamfyre flew in graceful arcs alongside the ship, their powerful wings cutting through the sky.

Normally, the sight of dragons in flight would have captivated him, but not today.

Today, his mind was filled with Valaena.

When the announcement came that Driftmark was on the horizon, Aemond was one of the first to ascend to the deck. He stood at the bow of the ship, gripping the railing tightly as he stared out into the distance.

The imposing cliffs of Driftmark loomed closer, and the towering structure of High Tide came into view, its stones gleaming under the faint sunlight.

Sunfyre and Dreamfyre roared as they soared ahead, joining the dragons already circling Driftmark—Syrax, Meleys, and Caraxes.

But then, among them, he spotted her—Silverwing.

Aemond’s breath caught in his throat. She was even more magnificent than he had imagined.

Her scales shimmered like molten silver, catching the sunlight as she glided effortlessly through the sky, she was larger than the other dragons.

For a moment, he could only stare, mesmerized by the beauty and grace, of the hundred year old dragon.

But it wasn’t just Silverwing, it was Valaena. She would be there, so close now, just beyond the horizon.

“Just a little while longer,” he murmured to himself, his voice barely audible over the wind and waves.

As the ship drew nearer to Driftmark, Aemond stood resolute, his eyes never leaving the sight of Silverwing.

The anticipation burned in his chest, mingling with a thousand unspoken words and a longing he could scarcely contain.

Soon. Soon, they would be together again.

All throughout the funeral, Aemond’s gaze found its way to Valaena. She stood with her brothers, her head bowed, her dark hair falling like a curtain around her saddened face. She looked so small, huddled between Jace and Luke, her hands clasped tightly before her.

Aemond’s heart ached to see her like this, yet he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The sombre words spoken by Vaemond, the weeping of loved ones, even the low roar of the waves against Driftmark’s cliffs faded to a dull hum in his ears.

All he could focus on was her—the tilt of her chin, the way she fidgeted with her fingers, the faint sheen of tears in her eyes.

When the funeral came to an end, Aemond found her standing alone by the water’s edge. The sun had begun to dip below the horizon, painting the sea in hues of amber and crimson.

Her arms were crossed, and she stared out across the waves, her expression distant.

He approached her cautiously, his footsteps muffled by the damp earth. When he stopped beside her, Valaena turned her head slightly and looked at him.

Without a word, she reached out and took his hand, her fingers cool but firm as she squeezed gently.

“I—I’m sorry about your aunt,” Aemond said, his voice soft but sincere.

Valaena nodded, her gaze returning to the water. “Thank you,” she whispered as she leaned her head against his shoulder, seeking comfort in his quiet presence.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the only sound the gentle lapping of the tide.

But then, a mournful cry split the air, low and resonant, echoing across the cliffs and stirring the quiet.

Aemond’s head snapped up, his eyes scanning the sky. A shadow passed through the clouds, vast and imposing, and his breath caught in his throat.

“Vhagar,” Valaena said softly, her voice tinged with awe.

Aemond nodded, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the great dragon emerge from the cover of the clouds, her wings blotting out the light as she circled high above. “She is without a rider now,” he murmured.

“I know,” Valaena replied, her voice heavy with the weight of what that meant.

Before either could say more, Rhaenyra’s voice cut through the air. “Valaena, Jace, Luke—it’s time to go to bed.”

Valaena turned, her brow furrowing. “But, Mother—”

Rhaenyra’s attention was elsewhere, her gaze fixed on Daemon as he lingered near the pyre.

Without looking back at her daughter, she repeated firmly, “Bed. Now.”

Valaena sighed, knowing better than to argue. She glanced up at Aemond, her reluctance plain on her face.

“Goodnight,” she said softly, releasing his hand and retreating towards the keep with her brothers.

Aemond watched her go, the warmth of her touch still lingering on his skin.

As she disappeared into the shadows of High Tide, he turned his attention back to the sky.

Vhagar’s massive form was still circling above, her cries reverberating through his chest.

He took a deep, steadying breath, his heart swelling with a mix of fear and determination.

This was his chance.

If Valaena could find her dragon, so could he.

Without another thought, Aemond descended the stone steps, his footsteps resolute as he disappeared in search of Vhagar.

Aemond returned to High Tide, his heart soaring higher than it ever had. Vhagar was his.

The largest, oldest dragon in the world had accepted him, and their flight together had been nothing short of breathtaking.

The new bond thrummed in his chest, warm and vibrant, and he felt invincible, as if the entire world had shifted into place. He couldn’t wait to tell Valaena—she’d be so proud of him.

But his elation was short-lived. As he made his way back through the castle, he was ambushed.

Jace, Luke, Baela, and Rhaena appeared from the shadows, their faces contorted with rage.

"You stole her!" Rhaena shrieked, her voice breaking with grief. Tears streamed down her face. "Vhagar was mine to claim!"

Aemond opened his mouth to defend himself, but before he could speak, the four of them lunged at him.

Fists rained down on him, their collective fury overwhelming him. He tried to shield himself, but it was too much.

Suddenly, a new voice screamed, “Stop it!”

Valaena came racing toward them, her dark hair flying as she threw herself into the fray. She grabbed Baela and Rhaena, pulling them off Aemond.

“Leave him alone!” she cried, her voice breaking with desperation.

Baela snarled and elbowed Valaena in the side of the head, sending her staggering backward.

Valaena stumbled, her vision swimming, and leaned against the wall for support.

Jace grabbed Aemond, pinning him to the ground. Aemond, panting and bloodied, managed to pick up a rock and swing it, connecting with Jace’s head and knocking him down.

Luke rushed forward, and Aemond punched him square in the face, the crack of his nose breaking echoing in the night and he fell back with a whimper, clutching his face.

"You’ll die screaming in flames, just like your father did," Aemond snarled, his voice dripping with venom.

“My father’s still alive!” Luke whimpered, tears mixing with the blood running down his face.

Aemond loomed over him, his chest heaving. “He doesn’t know, does he? Lord Strong.”

The words cut through the air like a knife. Jace, enraged, pulled a blade from his sleeve and lunged at Aemond.

Aemond kicked him to the ground, the rock still in his hand, raised high above his head.

But then, a soft, trembling voice broke through his fury.

“Aemond”

He froze. He turned his head and saw Valaena, leaning against the wall, her hand pressed to the side of her head where Baela had struck her.

Her wide, tear-filled eyes pleaded with him, her voice raw with emotion.

His anger drained away, replaced by a deep concern for her. He dropped the rock, taking a step toward her.

“Are you hurt?” he muttered, his voice soft, almost breaking.

Valaena opened her mouth to respond, but Jace, taking advantage of the moment, threw a handful of sand into Aemond’s face.

Blinded, Aemond staggered back, wiping at his eyes, when Luke lunged forward.

The blade slashed across Aemond’s face, and he screamed, the pain white-hot as blood began to pour from the wound.

“AEMOND!” Valaena screamed, her voice high and panicked.

She rushed to him, dropping to her knees beside him. Tearing strips from her nightgown, she pressed the cotton to his face, trying to staunch the flow of blood.

Her hands trembled as she worked, her face pale with horror.

“V-Valaena. I-I-” stuttered Luke, his hand still clutching the blade.

“LUKE. WHAT DID YOU DO?!” screamed Valaena, her voice shaking with rage and despair.

Aemond then whimpered her name, his voice weak, and she immediately took his hand in hers.

“Iksan lēda ao,” Valaena whispered. (I’m with you)

The sound of armoured footsteps broke the moment as Lord Commander Westerling and several members of the Kings guard rushed onto the scene, their shouts of alarm ringing through the air.

Valaena held onto Aemond’s hand tightly, her body trembling as she looked up at the guards. “Help him! Please!” she cried, her voice breaking.

The chaos swirled around them, but all Aemond could focus on was the warmth of Valaena’s hand in his, her whispered reassurances grounding him as the world seemed to fall apart.

The room was dark, save for the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the high window.

Aemond lay motionless on the bed, the left side of his face swathed in thick bandages. Pain radiated from the wound—a constant, throbbing reminder of what had been taken from him.

Tears slipped from the corner of his right eye, silently trailing down his cheek as he stared at the ceiling.

His world was half gone, lost to the darkness where his left eye once was. Now he was deformed, a scarred monster who would forever bear the mark of last night.

But worse than the physical pain was the ache in his chest, the unbearable weight of his father’s indifference.

Viserys had never truly cared for him. Not for Aegon, Helaena, or Daeron either.

His father’s love had always been reserved for one—Rhaenyra, his precious firstborn.

Even as Aemond sat in agony before the fire, his face being stitched back together, his father’s attention had been consumed by Rhaenyra.

The accusations, the demands for apologies, the placating of her Strong bastards.

That was all that mattered to Viserys. Not his son, who had lost an eye.

Aemond’s throat tightened at the memory of the hall. The arguments, the chaos, the raging voices, and the utter dismissal of what he had endured.

Even Valaena’s small, determined voice had been drowned out in the tumult. She had valiantly tried to defend him, declaring that Vhagar was not some possession to be inherited, but a creature of free will who had chosen him.

Her words had meant the world to him, but they had been brushed aside like nothing.

Viserys had demanded apologies. Reconciliation and gestures of goodwill.

None of it mattered.

Only Alicent and Valaena had stood by him. His mother had demanded justice, her fury manifesting in the blade she had wielded against Rhaenyra and her brood.

Still, Aemond had tried to be brave. He had stood tall in the Hall of Nine, declaring, “Do not mourn me, Mother. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

It had been true, and yet the truth did little to comfort him now.

The divide in their family had widened, and Aemond knew where the lines had been drawn. He was on one side, and Valaena was on the other.

The thought of being apart from her—truly apart—twisted the knife in his heart.

The soft creak of a door interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Aemond turned his head slightly, just enough to see a familiar figure slipping into the room.

“Valaena,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I don’t have long,” she said softly, closing the door behind her, “but I had to check on you.”

He turned his face away from her, his voice bitter as he muttered, “You shouldn’t be here. Leave me be.”

Valaena crossed the room and knelt beside his bed. “I will never leave you, Aemond.”

“You should.” His voice cracked. “You’ll do well to stay away from me. I’m nothing now. Just a scarred monster.”

Valaena reached out and took his hand. “You’re not a monster,” she said firmly. “You’re brave. And that scar—it shows you’re a survivor. Vhagar chose you because she saw your strength.”

Aemond hesitated, then slowly turned his face toward her. His visible eye glistened with unshed tears. “How can you stand to look at me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Valaena smiled gently, her eyes soft. “Because you’re my Aemond. And you always will be.”

Her words unravelled something inside him, and his lips trembled as he smiled faintly. “You saw what happened last night,” he said. “How can we-how can we still be friends after this?”

Valaena’s hand tightened around his. “Because we’re more to each other than that.”

Aemond's chest ached at her words, a mixture of relief and longing. “I don’t want to be alone again,” he admitted quietly.

“You’ll never be alone,” she whispered. “I will always be there for you.”

Valaena leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. It was soft and lingering, her warmth melting through his pain.

When she pulled back, her cheeks were tinged with pink, but she held his gaze, steady and unwavering.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “For defending me.”

“It’s okay,” she replied softly.

Aemond then let out a huff of laughter, a shadow of his usual confidence returning. “I did it,” he said. “I claimed the greatest dragon alive.”

Valaena’s face lit up with a small smile. “You did. I’m so proud of you-”

Her words struck something deep within him, a warmth stirring in his chest that he hadn’t felt before. No one had ever said they were proud of him—not like this.

It filled him with a quiet joy, a sense of belonging he’d never known. For the first time in a long while, he felt truly seen.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps and voices in the corridor drew their attention.

Valaena glanced toward the door, her expression regretful.

“I think I have to go. I’m not sure your mother would like me being in here.”

Aemond nodded, his heart sinking. “You’ll still write to me, won’t you?”

“I will,” she promised.

Before leaving, she pressed another kiss to his lips, fleeting but full of feeling.

Then she slipped out of the room, leaving Aemond alone once more. But this time, the emptiness didn’t feel quite so suffocating.

She was still with him, in her own way. And that was enough. For now.

Valaena sat in her chambers, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her gown as she stared out the window. The sea breeze ruffled the curtains, but she barely noticed.

It had been weeks since she last heard from Aemond, and her worry had grown unbearable.

The thought that he might no longer want to be her friend gnawed at her heart, leaving her feeling hollow and uncertain.

A soft knock at the door broke her reverie. She shot up from her seat, her chest tightening with anticipation.

“Come in!” she called, her voice breathless.

Maester Gerardys entered, his robes swaying as he carried a sealed letter in his hands. “A letter for you, Princess,” he said with a warm smile.

Valaena practically darted across the room, taking the letter from him with trembling hands. “Thank you, Maester”

“It is my pleasure, Princess,” he said with a slight bow. “When you have a response, come and find me in my chambers, and I will see to its delivery.”

“I will,” she promised, her voice steady despite her pounding heart.

The Maester left, and Valaena closed the door, turning the letter over in her hands. She recognized Aemond’s handwriting immediately, though it was not as neat as usual.

Anxiety twisted in her chest as she carefully broke the seal and unfolded the parchment.

Her eyes scanned the words, her heart sinking with every line.

Aemond’s neat script had turned to a shaky scrawl.

He apologized for the delay, explaining that he had suffered a bad infection where his missing eye had been.

The Maesters had eventually been forced to remove the eyelid, leaving the wound even more exposed and painful, and his scar itchy.

He wrote that he had spent most of the past weeks dosed on milk of the poppy, drifting in and out of consciousness, and that his recovery was still slow and excruciating.

He also mentioned the headaches that plagued him now—sharp, debilitating pains that made even the smallest movements unbearable.

But amidst the pain and despair, he thanked her for the handkerchief she had stitched for him, saying he treasured it deeply.

Valaena’s hands trembled as she lowered the letter, pressing it to her chest.

Tears pricked her eyes as she thought of him enduring such agony. She wanted nothing more than to be there, to sit by his side and soothe his pain.

Her mind raced as she clutched the letter. There had to be something she could do.

Perhaps Maester Gerardys could create a salve to help with his scar, or at least provide some comfort.

If not, maybe there was something in Dragonstone’s extensive library—a book, a recipe, anything that could offer a remedy for his pain and headaches.

Yes, that’s what she would do. She would go to the library and find answers.

Valaena carefully folded the letter and slipped it into her special hiding place beneath her bed—a small box where she kept Aemond’s letters and other treasures she held dear.

Then she hurried to the door, determined to help him.

As she stepped into the corridor, she almost collided with Luke, who was running toward her, grinning.

“Valaena! Come play with me!” he said, his voice full of eagerness.

She froze, her expression hardening. “No,” she said coldly, sidestepping him.

Luke’s face fell. “Why not?”

“I don’t want to,” she said sharply, not stopping to explain.

The truth was, she couldn’t look at him without seeing Aemond’s face—the blood, the pain, the tears.

Luke was her little brother, and a part of her still loved and cared for him, but the anger she felt toward him had not yet faded.

She hated him for what he had done, for the harm he had caused Aemond, who had done nothing to deserve it.

And though she knew forgiveness was supposed to come in time, she wasn’t sure it ever would.

Pushing past Luke, she hurried toward the library, leaving him behind with his crestfallen expression.

Her focus now was Aemond. She would find something—anything—that could ease his suffering.

He needed her, and she would not fail him.

TBC

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