Aemond Targaryen

After Lady Laena's funeral, Aemond had tried to claim Vhagar, only to be caught by his horrid cousin, the eldest child of Daemon from Rhea Royce. You'd stopped him, telling him off. So what if it was a funeral? Vhagar was right there, riderless!

But his chance was gone. The only plus side was that Aemond got to watch Rhaena get rejected by her mother's dragon. It amused the young boy to no end.

Yet still, he and you, and now Rhaena, remained dragonless. So after the funeral, by the convictions of his mother and Daemon (done separately, of course), the King had them stop at Dragonstone, allowing the three children a chance to claim the free dragons there.

Rhaena got no dragon, but an egg had hatched for her when she was given a new one. Aemond had sneered, knowing he was about to claim a big dragon. He could feel it in his bones.

And he did. Aemond at only ten years old had claimed the Bronze Fury, the dragon of the Old King Jaehaerys. Vermithor was beautiful, fierce and big, covered in bronze scales and sharp, intimidating spikes and horns. That first flight lived on in his dreams for years after.

He'd landed his new mount near the castle, preening as his family witnessed him finally claiming a dragon, proud and smug.

Until you landed your mount.

Silverwing. The dragon of Queen Alysanne, Jaehaerys' wife, and the mate of Vermithor.

His hated cousin now had a dragon equal to his own. And then, as if that wasn't bad enough, his father saw it as a sign from the gods, declaring you two would be betrothed and married when you were grown. A day of joy turned sour with the knowledge he'd be stuck with his stupid cousin for life.

Obviously, he was aware it was an advantageous match. You were Daemon's daughter, and you now had a massive, capable dragon, one bigger than Rhaenyra's Syrax or Aegon's Sunfyre– hells, Silverwing was bigger than your father's dragon Caraxes! And you were an heiress. Aemond couldn't forget that. When the time came, you'd inherit Runestone, your uncle currently ruling it in your stead. When Aemond– ugh– married you, he'd become its Lord as well. It was certainly a good deal for a second son like himself with three older siblings.

Years went by, and Aemond grew. Though his mother said he should, he kept no correspondence with you. He had no interest in writing to you in learning about the woman he'd be stuck with. While he lived at the Red Keep, you flew between Dragonstone where your father and sisters were, and Runestone, where you'd one day live; not at any point did you or Aemond visit one another.

Yet Aemond felt Vermithor's yearning to be with his mate and felt some pity for his mount. Despite his hatred for you, he at least was glad that this union would make someone happy.

Years went by, the both of you now grown, man and woman of age, and finally, it was time that the two of you would be wed. It didn't go as planned.

On that day, Aemond decided to go for a flight, Vermithor having been oddly energetic that day. He could barely control his bronze mount as he swiftly flew out to sea. And then Aemond saw why.

You, atop Silverwing.

The dragons were practically wild as they passed each other, roaring and trilling to each other; it was like they were deaf to all but each other, his and your commands carried off by the wind. The two beasts circled one another, singing to the other in greeting and endearment. Aemond couldn't help but look at you astride Silverwing, seeing the equally surprised expression there; he quickly schooled his own, not wanting to appear caught off guard.

He should've expected this. The two were a mated pair, after all, and they'd been separated for nearly ten years.

Abruptly, the dragon swooped down, causing Aemond to yelp. He clung to the saddle and reins, closing his eyes as the wind whipped his face. An island came into view, and the dragons circled it, landing together as one.

Finally, he could breathe, heart hammering in his chest. Yet before he could get off, Vermithor moved closer to his silver mate, rumbling an affectionate greeting, nuzzling the beautiful dragon. Silverwing likewise greeted him, purring and screeching a sweet tune as she licked his snout.

Aemond hurried off his dragon and found himself standing beside you as the two of you watched the dragons catch up. Aemond swallowed, glancing at you. The prince didn't know what to say or do, unsure of what to do in this situation; this wasn't supposed to happen! The first meeting between the two after all these years was supposed to take place in the Red Keep, a rehearsed play where he'd be the dutiful Prince greeting his betrothed, and you'd have been his ‘sweet love’, greeting him with a fond, chaste kiss as all the courtiers looked on.

It was what was supposed to happen. But obviously, when it comes to dragons, nobody can predict a thing. Instead, you two were stranded on an island, hairs a mess from the wind, dressed in riding leathers that were hardly appropriate considering you two were alone, without chaperones, and unmarried.

“Seven hells,” he cursed, looking at you briefly before turning to the dragons. “Vermithor!” He called, then blinked, flushing red as he realised the dragons nuzzling had become more… sensual. Aemond wasn't even aware that dragons coupled. Nobody had ever witnessed it, after all.

Though… They've been separated for a long time. Perhaps they don't care for privacy or if we watch? He thought, considering it. Then, realising he was watching his mount… well, prepare to mount Silverwing, he turned away, facing you.

“This wasn't how it was supposed to go.” He muttered, scowling. He shoots you an angry look. “This is your fault.” He said, even if it wasn't. The moon could turn to dust, and Aemond would still find a way to blame you. “Gods, and now we're stuck here until they…!” He glanced back before quickly looking away. Gods. Could today get any worse?