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Aemon 'the brave' Targaryen

Summary:

Corlys Velaryon died; that is where the story of Aemon 'the brave' Targaryen, son of Rhaenys and Daemon Targaryen, started.

Notes:

Changes!
In this story, Laena didn't claim Vhagar. And she isn't dead; instead, she is married to someone else and has different children.

Aemond still loses his eye because, in this story, a fight still occurs between Jacaerys, Lucerys and Aemond.

Laenor lives.

Aemon claims The cannibal, in 122 AC, gets banished in 124 AC and returns in 128 AC.

I sped up the war a little. for it to work better.

I also want to clarify that The Cannibal isn't going to be some almighty beast like Balerion; Aemon runs the very real risk of being killed by larger dragons like Vermithor and Vhagar, so in size terms you have 1: Vhagar. 2: Vermithor and then at 3: The Cannibal (Shrykos)
Aegon the younger and Viserys don't exsist in this story and will never exsist.
 

*All characters except Aemon, Rhaella, Jaemon, and Alysanne are owned by their respective owners.*

Chapter Text

It was in 105 ac that Lord Corlys Velaryon 'The sea snake' Was assassinated by the triarchy, it was only a month later that prince Daemon descended upon the Stepstones with his dragon, Caraxes 'the blood wyrm', A hard war followed sponsored by prince Daemon and princess Rhaenys, Who was regent of her son, Laenor Velaryon. For three years hard battle were fought on the sandy islands of the Stepstones. Until in 108 AC when prince Daemon killed Craghas Drahar, the prince-admiral of the Triarchy, A year long after the princes death did Daemon hold the Stepstones from continous attacks.

Until a letter came from Princess Rhaenys, her sons lordship was being challenged, and her regency was under threat from Vaemond Velaryon, her late husbands nephew. In exchange for his support, Rhaenys would Marry him. As the prince had been freed from the Lady Rhea Royce, who had died in a unfortunate hiking incident, no love was lost between husband and wife as it was reported that the prince celebrated long and hard, and so it was in early 109 AC that princess Rhaenys and Daemon married in a private cerimony on Driftmark.

Late that same year, Prince Aemon was born, who received said status as a gift from his uncle, the king. It was in 122 AC that the boy claimed the most volitile of the dragons, the Cannibal. Two years later he was banished from the Seven kingdoms, with the death as his punishment should he return, The boy left, and the man returned four years later in 128 AC when Viserys 'the peaceful' died in his sleep.

-

A buzz filled his ears as he reached out his hand to Joren; Aemon pulled his friend up from the bloodied dirt. "One left, my friend," Aemon told Joren with a smile. "Aye, one left. You take his left, I take his right," Joren said as he picked up the first sword the man could find. "We better not lose Joren; I bet a lot of Golden Dragons on us." Joren looked at him with a raised eyebrow as their opponent, 'Urako the Bloody,' roared at the crowd. "You bet money on us? My, my, A bit arrogant, aren't you?'' Aemon snorted and twirled his sword in his hand. ''I think I can afford it; 'tis one of the benefits of being a Targaryen.''

 

Joren giggled, "Of course, my prince, that is why you are banished?" Aemon snorted and pointed his sword at Urako, who had turned his attention to them. The crowd began cheering, "DRAGON! DRAGON! DRAGON!" They yelled in Valyrian to him, that was his name in the ring, Aemon the dragon. The Meereen fighting pits knew his worth, but his own family didn't, yet hearing his name being called soothed whatever salted wound remained.

 

He liked it. Joren smiled and began his attack at Urako. Aemon roared and attacked the man from the left, trying to stab the man in his calves. Aemon’s blade sank into flesh—but Urako only grinned, dragging his massive frame forward, blood running down his calf like it was nothing. Joren's sword was thrown away as dread rose in him. The man threw Joren after his sword and picked Aemon up by his throat. He moved his hand and grabbed his Valyrian steel dagger, driving it deep into Urako's head. The man twitched in shock and fell on the ground, letting Aemon fall on his knees as he hurried over to Joren, who was laughing in denial. ''Almost thought he had you. Guess I was wrong.''

 

Aemon laughed, yet his laugh got interrupted by a need to gasp for air; it sounded more like a cough, yet he continued laughing anyway as they stood up. The crowd yelled as they raised their hands in victory. He put his dagger in his scabbard and began walking side by side towards the entrance to the arena. Four of his men stood there with icy cold expressions. The other four Meereenese men opened the gates for him as both Joren and he walked through. "My prince."  Red Rat greeted him with his title, and The Unsullied’s gaze was unblinking, as cold as his spear tip.

 

Gods, these were soldiers, Aemon thought—not men, but steel given flesh. As he looked at the heavily built man, Red Rat had gotten the name from his former master. Yet he had decided to keep the name even after being bought by him; he'd bought two dozen of them, all of them to guard his friends and himself in whatever place he visited during his travels.

 

Red Rat spoke up just as Aemon wanted to continue walking towards his mansion. "Princess Rhaenys Targaryen arrived on her dragon an hour ago and has requested an audience." Aemon stopped in his tracks and opened his mouth to reply to the man in Valyrian as they all spoke. "Tell the princess that I shall visit her in a short while. Ask if she needs anything and have a maid attend to her; additionally, if we know where her dragon is, bring it three fattened sheep.'' The Unsullied nodded and began executing his orders, with the other Unsullied following shortly behind. "Did I hear that correctly, or did Red Rat say 'princess' and 'Rhaenys' in the same sentence?"

 

Aemon nodded, and Joren began humming, "So, your mother finally decided to visit you in your banishment? I guess it was time. I wonder what she wants, except for maybe a talk to her dear so-'' Aemon growled and spoke up, "Shut up! Go home, fuck some whore of yours or something, let me do my thing and you do yours!'' Joren grinned in joy at getting a rise out of him and nodded with an extravagant bow. "Of course, Your Majesty!" Joren spoke in a mocking tone as Aemon grunted.

 

He watched Joren go, the laughter still in the younger man’s walk, and felt his chest tighten. He smoothed his hair back and made for the mansion he’d bought with prize coins and hard-won rewards. It was not grand—not by Westerosi standards—but it was his. He’d argued over tiles and bled for its stones; he’d helped the masons set the foundation and had chosen the curtains himself. It was cozy. It was home.

 

Two Unsullied stood at his gates, two more inside the courtyard; the rest kept the house’s perimeter. Meereen treated him as a special guest, but he refused the masters’ gifts. He accepted one offer, though: in return for protection from threats not of the Seven Kingdoms, his dragon could roost in the largest pit. Shrykos' shadow over the city was the cost of his sovereignty here.

 

A warm bath was waiting in his chambers. He shed bloody clothes, slid his blades onto the nearest table, and sank into the steaming water. For a moment he let himself drift back to the night he was banished. “Aemon Targaryen is hereby banished from the Seven Kingdoms, with death to follow should he return.” King Viserys’ voice had been a scream, more madness than law. Aemon had cried and begged. The king had not budged.

 

He rose, scrubbed the salt and blood off his skin, and dressed in comfortable clothes. He left the weapons where they lay and crossed into his solar, where a dark chestnut desk waited. Red Rat remained, always, should illness strike. He ordered the Unsullied to fetch the princess. A knock. His heart picked up pace, hammering at his ribs.

 

“Let her in,” he said, swallowing and squaring his shoulders. Rhaenys entered like a queen born of grace, the light catching her dark hair. “My son,” she said, her eyes full of something like sorrow. He felt the old hurt flare—a familiar burn. He gestured to a chair and watched her sit.

 

“You have decorated this house well,” she said, scanning the room. “Practical, yet beautiful. The windows let light in.” He inclined his head. “I take it you are here for more than a social visit?”

 

She looked away for a moment, then back, the pain vanishing from her face as if she had practiced the expression. “King Viserys passed a week ago.” The words hit like a fist. He pinched himself, hoping it was a lie. She went on, voice steady. “Otto Hightower has crowned his grandson king, and Rhaenyra has been crowned queen by your brother.” He felt the word "brother" drag through him like sand. He kept it to himself.

 

“She asked me to bring you back—to kneel, to lend your strength to her cause. Your father has already sworn. He rides to war.” Aemon laughed—a sharp, bitter sound. “The whore of Dragonstone expects me to bend my knee after I was banished for defending her sons? Ha! Tell your queen I have my own kingdom here.”

 

Rhaenys’ eyes flickered with hurt and a hint of suspicion. “And what does his grace do in this kingdom of his? Fight in pits and risk his life for coin? Come with me, Aemon. The queen will welcome you if you bend the knee.” He leaned forward. “No, Mother. I have nothing to fight for in Westeros. Why should I?” Her face crumpled a fraction; his heart, traitorously, tightened.

 

“Do you not love your mother?” she asked softly. “Your father? I am sorry, Aemon. I am sorry we could not persuade the king.”

 

He fixed his lilac eyes on her dark ones and let the hurt show. “I do love you and Father,” he said slowly. “But what would I sacrifice my life and my coin for? Who’s to say she will not banish me again when she is done with me, simply because my claim is stronger than her bastard’s?” She gazed upon him as he looked out the window, seeing the sun fall in the west. "I will not let her, Aemon. I promise you.'' His heart bled as he desperately tried to keep some control over it. "Did you not promise the same when I was banished? No, Mother, I have nothing there except for you and Father and everything here.''

 

She looked on the verge of tears. "Please, Aemon, for me and your siblings." He sighed and stood. Slowly he walked around the desk and knelt down so that he looked up to her like when he was young. "Stay the night, Mother; it will be too dark to fly. You will be cared for; I hope Irri was a good maid.'' Irri was a girl of fifteen whomhe had pulled off the streets to work under him as his maid.

 

His mother cupped his face; Aemon swore to the seven that he resisted the urge to lean into his mother's warm touch. "Alright, my child, and yes, she was wonderful." He smiled. Standing and helping her up, Irri waited outside and guided her to her chambers. Darkness had long set when he finally entered his own chambers; a small debt collection issue had arisen with the profits of the bets. Yet as he lay in his nightshift, twisting and growling himself to sleep, his mind kept falling to when he was banished. "Father! He attacked my children!" Rhaenyra had yelled out, yet Aemon hadn't; he'd tried to separate the bastards and One-eye.

 

He still did not know why Aemond had attacked the bastards; perhaps it was the bullying? Perhaps jealousy? He didn't know and did not want to know; what he did know was that Aemond One-Eye fell on the ground with Lucerys Velaryon's knife in his eye and that Aemon was blamed. Because why not him? He was not that high in the line of succession, but a threat to Rhaenyra's claim nonetheless. Aemond had just pointed at him, while Rhaenyra's bastards had told the king that he'd punched them.

 

Why should he help? They had cast him away like dirt; even his father had said nothing except stare daggers into the king's back. Laenor hated him for not being blood of the late Corlys Velaryon, his mother's first husband. Laena was civil at best and outright violent at worst. His mother and father were the only two things he had. If he helped them, he would be dragged into a war he didn't want to be in, yet what choice did he have? Wait? Until he got a raven, his mother and father were dead?

 

Aemon growled, throwing his sheet off the bed and dressing. "Fuck it," he thought; it was almost morn anyway. He ordered a table of fresh foods to be prepared and set up in his garden facing the west. It was only when he saw that the table was complete that he entered his mother's room; she lay sleeping in her bed as he slowly rocked her shoulder. "Mother... Mother...!" He whisper-yelled until her eyes opened. "Aemon...?" seemingly confused, "Come, Mother, it is morn; we must break our fast." She swallowed and nodded, sliding out of bed.

 

He left the room as she began brushing her hair; entering his garden, the Essos heat instantly hit him. He poured himself some wine and began eating some grapes. After half an hour his mother entered the garden in a beautiful black and red riding dress. "Good morrow, mother. I hope my rooms were adequate?'' She nodded with a slight smile and took her place at the seat opposite of his. He had spent the night debating whether he would fight or not, if he even had a choice. ''Mother... I will come with you, but I have no desire to be played like a weapon or simply just another general in the whore's little war.''

 

Her head snapped up from the bread she was cutting as her eyes began to tear up. "Wh-Why...?" He sighed, rubbing his face. "I have nothing either way; I can try to make sure you and Father survive this war or stay here and pray to the gods I do not receive a raven that you are dead." He picked up a piece of white bread and broke it in two, spreading some butter on it. "Thank... Thank you, my child... but what about all of this?" She said, gesturing at the mansion, He'd thought about that too. "Do we not have valuable people in need of refuge, the queen's children? Laena's?'' His mother blinked and then slowly nodded.

 

"Indeed... that is smart of you." He smiled slyly and took a bite of his bread. "I shall be leaving in a few hours." He announced as she looked at him with surprise painted all over her face. He continued, "I assume you shall leave at the same time?" She nodded, and Aemon smiled. "Where did you hide Meleys? I haven't heard reports of her in the neighborhood?'' She smiled sadly. "Corlys held one of the larger estates in the city, a garden large enough to suit Meleys, though I wonder where you have stored yours? He is almost as large as Vermithor; I cannot imagine that he would be easy to hide.'' He laughed, putting a drape in his mouth. "I have a deal with the great masters; I defend this city sometimes, and in return Shrykos can stay in the largest fighting pit, the one next door." Thinking of his dragon, the Cannibal. Made him smile; it was his one steadfast rock in his life.

 

Rhaenys raised her eyebrow at him and smiled. "Shrykos?" He shrugged. "Had to give him a new name; the Cannibal sounds so antagonistic, and it's fitting. Shrykos is the god of new beginnings, and for me. Banishment was a new beginning.'' She nodded with a smile. ''Good name. And that is a smart agreement you have with the masters.'' He grinned.