Chapter Text
Chapter One
I’m a Cool Mom
Everyone knows to revere Westeros Academy. Throughout the years, more than a few world leaders in politics, business, and medicine have been forged within its walls. Even its fellow elite academies admire Westeros for its peaceful governance, which has not changed in over 26 years. And, as their brochure widely advertises, they are the only school with dragons. Not that most students can ride them, but the allure – the chance to see the only real, living dragons remaining in existence – remains so strong that even the worst students still beg their parents to produce enough money to pay its exorbitant entrance fee, and the fights for need-based scholarships are fierce.
All this to say, Westeros Academy is supposed to be the pinnacle of excellence. Which is why tonight has been such a disappointment.
Alicent Hightower, advisor to the school board and wife to President Viserys Targaryen, surveys the damage. A shattered wine glass stains the table and carpet red. A chair is knocked on its side, and a cracked plate lies on the floor.
What should have been a nice family dinner to celebrate Viserys’s return from a lengthy hospital stay had rapidly devolved into bickering and fisticuffs.
All because of their pride and joy: their students. Her children .
Specifically, the dragon riders. Only those of the Targaryen bloodline can ride dragons, and as luck would have it, Westeros High boasts sixteen dragon riders – three teachers, thirteen high schoolers.
(Well, Alicent has half a mind to say there’s only twelve dragon riders because Joffrey shouldn’t count, since he’s technically in Westeros Middle School, but his nasty stepfather and foolish “father” were all too willing to train him early. As to the real father, well, of course he’d also voted to allow Joffrey access to the dragonpit).
Alicent bends over to lift the broken plate. Someone has to clean up this mess, and as always, it’s her.
Her eldest sons were all too willing to devolve into fighting with their foppish nephews, and at the end, it took their head of security, Criston Cole, to step between the snarling Aegon and smirking Aemond, and her dear stepdaughter’s bastard kids.
Bastards Alicent knows not to trust. She is a staunch believer in the Faith of the Seven, and those born out of wedlock are monstrous by nature. They are born in sin, and sins they will rain upon those unlucky enough to encounter them.
If only Aegon and Aemond took the same caution! No, they would rather raise a fight in front of their precariously ill father. Viserys always had a weak heart even in his prime, and he is far from healthy now.
The door to Viserys’ room opens. Helaena, Alicent’s only daughter, steps out with a large tank. Inside the tank scuttles a creature that sends shivers down Alicent’s spine: a cobalt-blue tarantula.
“How does he seem?” Alicent forces a smile. She hates that crawling thing, but Aemond and Aegon saved up for months to buy it for Helaena, and she’d been so relieved to see her kids treating each other well that she allowed the creature to stay.
“He likes Jaehaerys.” Helaena’s eyes are dreamy, as they always are, and if she notices her mother’s distress, she doesn’t say it. She merely returns to her own room, murmuring, “He’ll go soon, he will.”
Alicent sighs.
He will indeed. Viserys, her husband of 23 years, is not long for this world.
And after tonight, she’ll need to press harder that he not allow his daughter, and especially his brother, anywhere close to the presidency. Yes, Alicent is no Targaryen and certainly no dragon rider, but she could be a seat-warmer for Aegon.
You see, the second Rhaenyra and her husband rise to power, they’ll uncover Aegon’s records, and they won’t hesitate to expel him before he graduates in a few months. In the aftermath they’ll easily be able to cast out Aemond for whatever retaliation he decides upon, even though he’s on the path to valedictorian of his class!
They’ll probably make something up against Helaena and Daeron and kick them out too.
None of her kids’ futures will be compromised by these degenerates disgracing their family.
Alicent decides not to face Viserys just yet. He took his milk of the poppy; he should be comfortable. She busies herself cleaning the dining room and then she’s preparing tomorrow’s lesson, and before she knows it, it’s almost midnight.
She rises and tiptoes into their bedroom. “My love?”
He makes no noise – good. He ought to be sound asleep.
But something is off. Their room is quiet, yes, but more than that, it’s silent .
Alicent reaches for Viserys’ hand. Her voice comes sharper than intended. “Viserys?”
His fingers are cold.
Poor circulation, she tells herself, as her shaking fingers press into his wrist. No, she can’t feel anything.
His neck, then. She presses against his carotid artery or maybe it’s his jugular vein – who cares – but nothing. He’s cold there, too.
“Viserys?” She shakes him. Her jaw quivers. “Viserys!”
No, he just recovered –
This can’t be happening –
Was it their conduct this evening?
I never got to talk to you –
I wanted to say –
It’s their fault! His vile brother, his entitled daughter, her brood of bastards!
Alicent backs away, her hand pressed against her mouth. Even as her heart shatters, she is no fool. She fumbles to lock the door, to lift her phone.
“Dad?” She tries not to cry; Otto Hightower believes tears weak. “Dad, he’s gone.”
Aemond drifts to sleep enjoying the rising-and-falling sensation his brain gives him. It feels as though he’s still riding Vhagar. He’ll have to wake at 4 am to train with Criston. Mr. Cole is head of security at their school, but he took a special interest in training Aemond after he lost his eye six years ago, and for that, Aemond is most grateful. He can utterly demolish Aegon in swordplay, and even though Daeron is quite talented, Criston has remarked that Aemond’s work ethic will keep him ahead of his younger brother as well.
Which is why sleep is so important. He can’t focus as well if he’s tired.
Suffice to say, Aemond’s less than thrilled when his door is thrown open. Light from the hallway scalds his skin.
“Aemond!”
“Mother?” Aemond scrambles up, shoves his long hair before his scar. It’s uncomfortable to sleep with an eyepatch, but Mom doesn’t like the sight of his scar, and he doesn’t want her or anyone else’s pity.
Mom’s chest is heaving. Her eyes are bright with what might be tears. “Where is your brother?”
“I’d surmise the answer is ‘not in his room.’” Of course, there’s no question as to which brother she speaks of.
“Well, he’s needed here at once, and he’s not answering his texts!” Mom runs a hand through her fading brunette curls.
Aemond’s lips purse. He tilts his head. “Did the president die?”
Mom scowls. “Yes, Aemond, your father is dead, and if your half-sister is elected, you and Aegon will be kicked out!”
First, the man is father in sperm only; he’s never cared a whit for any child who isn’t Rhaenyra. Okay, maybe Not-Father likes Helaena’s bugs. Second, and more importantly:
“ Me ? I’ve done nothing.”
Mom huffs, then marches closer to him, grabs his shoulders and he can’t prevent her from seeing that hideous scar where his eye used to be. “Do you think your grudge against Luke is unnoticed? How do you think your track for valedictorian reflects on her little bastard? Do you think your special training by Criston will reflect anything but nepotism?”
Aemond wants to say that special training after the loss of an eye is not favoritism of any kind, but he also won’t admit the eye ever bothers him.
“Take Daeron to find your brother and haul him home. Seven help us if he’s drinking again –”
“He is,” Aemond says with a toothy grin, upsetting her just enough that she releases her grip on him. His hair falls once more before that scar.
Daeron already hovers in the door. “Any chance he told Helaena where he is?”
“No. All she knows is her bugs,” Aemond says, but it’s not an insult. If anyone bothered to pay attention to his tone, they might detect wistfulness, an envy of his sister’s ignorant bliss.
He hops to his feet, grabs a pair of pants, a T-shirt. A hat to hide his hair, and as always, that eyepatch.
“He’s not stupid enough to drink on campus again. He’s probably in town.” Silk Street, Aemond knows, but he’d like to spare his mother this knowledge right now.
You see, Aegon and Helaena are officially dating, at Mom’s urging and to Not-Father’s approval. But even though Mom has snuck Aegon condoms – which he promptly bragged wouldn’t fit – Aemond, who is not a gambler, is willing to bet Vhagar herself that Aegon uses less than half of his supply with their sister.
This is one of the thousands of reasons Aemond has fantasized about smashing Aegon’s head in. Daeron is more mild-mannered, but after the condom remark, even he promised that he’d buy a shovel for Aemond should he need it.
“Fine. Go. I’ll call you when I hear from the board.” Mom bites her lip hard enough to draw blood.
“Aren’t you overreacting?” Daeron dares to ask. He wipes drops of red from her mouth, concern on his kindly face.
Mom laughs with disbelief. “You’ll understand when you’re older. No matter what, boys, your mother will always fight for you.”
Unlike Not-Father . Aemond hears what is unspoken. How very loving of his mother. If only he felt it in any way, shape, or form.
Across campus, Rhaenyra Targaryen lounges in her bedroom atop Dragonstone Hall. But she’s far from relaxed; her stomach is cramping, and it’s too early for even Braxton-Hicks contractions.
“You’re sure you don’t need a hospital?” She’s quite certain Daemon has never known calm, but he’s more tense than normal tonight. He’s spent the last hour either pacing or cracking his knuckles or rubbing her back.
“I’ll call Dr. Gerardys in the morning.” Five children in, she’s never had a single complication from pregnancy before.
But she knows Daemon can never forget Laena, and to be fair, neither can she. After Rhaenyra divorced Laenor, she, Daemon, and Laena considered themselves married.
And then Laena miscarried. Placenta detached, the doctors said. Despite their best efforts, she developed sepsis, and in a matter of hours she was gone.
Daemon blows out his breath. He’s not thrilled, but he knows better than to argue with a pregnant woman. “Our daughter will be a true hellion.”
“Taking after her father,” Rhaenyra says.
“I beg to differ.” Daemon smirks. “She’ll be the gods’ vengeance upon us both. Someone to give me as much hell as you gave my brother.”
Rhaenyra muffles a laugh. “And if she runs off with her uncles? Aegon or Aemond?”
Daemon’s expression freezes. “I’ll kill your brothers myself.”
“I’ll help.” She flicks her fingers at him.
Daemon presses a hand to her stomach, then slides it up to her breasts. His fingers toy with her nipples, and Rhaenyra represses a moan. She’s no longer the lithe beauty she was, but Daemon has no less appetite for her.
Just then, her phone rings.
With a frown, Rhaenyra hastily checks Caller ID. “It’s from Erryk.”
Erryk Cargyll is, to her mind, their most dependable security guard. Is there an issue with the dragons? No, Daemon is in charge of the dragon-pit, and he ensures its safety every night.
“Erryk, what’s wrong?”
Erryk whispers furtively into his phone. “Rhaenyra, Cole’s ordered us to wake up the board immediately. There’s to be an emergency meeting before dawn.”
“For what?” She twirls her rings around her hand as her anxiety spikes, and she knows the answer even without him speaking it.
“He wouldn’t say, but I can confirm Otto Hightower was seen entering your father’s house. And,” Erryk hesitates, “Cole asked Arryk to look for coroners who could be ‘subtle.’”
“Coroners?” Rhaenyra sits up straight. Her stomach cramps harder. “Is – is my dad –”
A text interrupts her call. It’s from her cousin Rhaenys, informing her that she believes the board is moving to put Alicent in charge of Westeros Academy.
“But I was appointed president-to-be!” Rhaenyra exclaims.
“But Alicent served as interim during his hospital stays.” Daemon leaps to his feet. “He just got better – did that bitch poison him?”
“I –” Rhaenyra hangs up from a now very-confused Erryk as tears course down her cheeks.
Dad is dead.
Dad is dead, and her witch of a stepmother couldn’t even wait until he was cold to screw over his daughter, to maximize her inheritance.
But it’s not her dad’s money Rhaenyra wants. It’s to be the first female president over Westeros Academy, it’s to be worthy of leadership, it’s a chance –
She doubles over. “Fuck!”
Daemon spins to her at once, and he pales at the blood leaking onto her nightshirt. “I’m calling an ambulance.”
“But!”
“I’ll handle it!” he says harshly as his fingers punch 9-1-1 into his phone.
Silk Street is positively pulsating with club music, even though it’s a Sunday night. The only quiet building is the crisis pregnancy center at the street’s end.
Aemond hasn’t been here for three years, when he swore he’d never return. Too bad his brother’s idiocy has made a liar of him at least half a dozen times since.
“Is this legal? This isn’t, right?” Daeron hisses as they pass a massage parlor that trades something a little more fleshy than massage.
“That’s where he wanted to bring you for your birthday last year,” Aemond replies instead.
Daeron blanches.
His younger brother is more principled, yes, more noble than he, Aemond thinks sourly. When he was thirteen, all he’d thought was that he needed to keep up with Aegon.
“Maybe we should ask if someone was bragging about a gold-scaled dragon?” Daeron murmurs.
“Oh, that’ll find him, but that will also give away our identities.” Aemond dismisses the idea. No, they need to look for the wildest party. Preferably with a brawl.
Not that Aegon will participate in a brawl. He knows he’d lose, so he just sits back and watches for his own entertainment.
The door to the parlor opens, and to Aemond’s dismay the woman who emerges stares at him with recognition. Sylvenna Sand, her name is.
“Excuse me, have you seen a boy with pale hair tonight?” Daeron asks eagerly.
Aemond suddenly finds the pavement most intriguing.
“Pale hair? No. But…” she reaches towards Aemond, “I also haven’t seen you in years.”
She smiles, and Aemond can feel Daeron’s shock, so he spins around and stalks away before any questions can be asked.
“ Aemond ?” Daeron follows on his heels.
He can picture the stubborn, grotesque care on Daeron’s face, and he can’t face it, doesn’t look at him at all. “Say a word to anyone, and I’ll feed your Blue Queen to Vhagar.”
“Oh ho, look who showed!”
They find him, of course, when a glass of Arbor Red pours onto Daeron’s head from the balcony above.
With his sixth or seventh glass in hand, Aegon is busy trading insults with Ulf White. The one student with a worse disciplinary record than Aegon, who got in solely for his ability to ride a dragon. Known for his wild ragers.
Now Aemond knows why Aegon was in such a foul mood at dinner. Naturally. His brother wanted to get shitfaced. Suitable for the boy who only applied to schools for the frats.
Two months ago, when applications were due, Mom had demanded Aegon apply to more schools with academic rigor. In response, Aegon threatened to have Uncle Daemon write his recommendation. He’d only backed off when Aemond pointed out that Daemon would be more likely to serve a different sort of revenge: profusely recommending Aegon, just to watch him flounder when he arrived at classes above his level.
Mom had been almost proud of Aemond then, but there’s an unease when she looks at him, always has been since he lost that eye. Like she doesn’t know what he’s thinking, and she mistrusts him, fears him.
While Aemond wants to be feared, there’s something rather disturbing about one’s mother fearing one.
“Daeron, tell him! Shunfyre ish prettier!” Aegon insists. He wobbles to and fro. “Shilverwing ish jus’ shilver, Shunfyre’s gold !”
“I know a Sunfyre, but what is a ‘Shunfyre?’” Ulf laughs, not so nicely.
These bastards are quite arrogant, Aemond thinks, now that four of them are officially capable of riding dragons. Westeros has Daemon and stupid Rhaenyra to thank for that.
Aegon takes a swing towards Ulf. He misses by at least two feet.
Ulf readies his fist when long, icy fingers fold over his.
He spins around to see that Aemond has climbed the porch, stares down at him. Daeron seizes the opportunity to hoist himself over the fence, squeeze in front of Aegon.
“Oh shit.” Aegon stumbles back, turns to run.
“Not a chance!” Aemond releases the suddenly meek Ulf to tackle Aegon off the porch.
“Let me go! I’s jus’ having fun,” Aegon whines. He’s giggling too, uncontrollable giggles – that’s how you know Aegon is blasted.
“You’re one infraction away from expulsion, that’s what you are,” Aemond growls into his ear.
“But I –”
“Something happened, Aegon.” Daeron shakes him.
“What?” Aegon’s brow furrows. He starts. “Did –”
“Yes,” Aemond cuts him off. Now is not the place to have this conversation.
Aegon’s eyes flicker, but more with confusion than grief. Most likely, he knows he should feel grief, but he doesn’t, because none of them really knew the president well enough.
“Mom and Grandpa are saving your ass,” Daeron mutters. “And we’re hauling it home.”
Aegon’s belligerent drunk comes out. “What if I don’t want s-sh-shaving? Jus’ let me go! What do I care if I’m expelled?”
His phone vibrates, and Aemond shoves the screen before his stupid brother’s eyes. The texts are, of course, from Mom.
The board agreed (once the treasurer was fired). She might sue, but for now, you are all safe.
“Beesbury was fired ?” Daeron seems concerned.
“Oh, he’s already buzzed off?” Aegon laughs a little too hard at his own joke.
Aemond yanks his still-cackling brother up by his collar. He may be the younger of the two, but he is significantly taller, and Aegon strains to look up at him. “Come home with us now, or I’ll tell Mom exactly who logged in to change your High Valyrian grade last quarter.”
Aegon pales.
“What’s going on?!” Jace storms into the living room, where he finds his stepfather pacing as he leaves increasingly volatile messages for lawyers. “Where’s Mom? What were the sirens?”
“In the hospital?” says Daemon.
“Is she all right?” cries Luke.
Daemon scans their brood. Great, even little Viserys and Aegon are up. Named after Daemon’s brother who died as a baby – not his uncle, as that presumptuous bitch likes to declare – Aegon is pale as milk, while Viserys Jr. slips his hand in his brother’s to comfort him.
“Is the baby all right?” Rhaena is ashen; Baela’s hands have balled into fists. Daemon can see their mother reflected in his girls’ eyes.
Would you choose your wife or your child ? The doctor had asked.
Both , he’d said instantly.
“Let’s hope so. Your grandfather passed away,” he says tersely. “The shock has sent your mom to the hospital.”
Baela gasps, Joffrey begins to cry.
And images keep flying through Daemon’s mind.
Laena too weak to scream, to hold her girls’ hands in her yellowing hands.
Rhaenyra kissing her cheek like a sister-in-law and not the wife she was.
He really should be kinder with this news, but Daemon is not one for sentimentalities.
“Fine. I’ll drive.” At sixteen, Jace is their only child old enough to have a license. He fishes in his coat for their keys.
“Not a chance unless you want to crash.” In another second, Daemon’s ripped Jace’s wallet from his hand.
The boy’s expression twists savagely. “I can’t just stay here!”
The usually stalwart Corlys collapsing into Rhaenys’ arms when he realized his daughter’s breathing had slowed.
Laenor and his beloved Qarl bursting into the room too late.
“I’ve got my permit. Please, Dad, let me drive,” offers Baela.
Daemon draws in a deep breath. Of anyone he would trust to keep her head enough to drive safely, it might be Baela, but like hell is he risking her.
The way Vhagar stopped eating for a week, glaring at Daemon with her mysterious green eyes.
Even Laena’s dragon knew to blame him for putting that child in her, for asking for a boy too, because he sure blamed himself.
He could help nothing with Laena, but he can now. The Greens are not going to have Rhaenyra’s right to leadership. He will make sure of it.
“There’s nothing we can do but wait. Allow me to make several phone calls. Then, in an hour, I’m driving.”
Why aren’t you here?
Rhaenyra screams. When she arrived, they told her it was too late for an epidural, and the heartbeat is slow, but –
Dad is dead, her position is in jeopardy, and her baby – her baby can’t die too –
I have Laena’s girls , Daemon had said with that irresistible, incorrigible grin, but I want yours too .
“Please live,” she gasps. “Please!”
“Push,” says the nurse. Her name is Elissa and she’s quite kind, and maybe it’s hormones but that makes Rhaenyra, who is not much of a crier, cry harder.
Finally something slides out of her, and she hopes, she begs the Seven above for a cry.
Nothing.
Doctors rush in with a crash cart, and Elissa is using her fingertips to give CPR to her little girl.
She’s so alone.
Rhaenyra reaches for her, begging. Please. Please.
“If she’s going to die, let me hold her, fucking dammit!”
The doctors ignore her, too focused on life-saving measures that don’t seem to be working. Elissa turns to her to deliver the placenta, and Rhaenyra can’t focus, can’t focus on anything except whether little Visenya lives.
Finally, the doctors turn to her, one by one. “There’s too many birth defects. I’m sorry.”
Rhaenyra holds out her hands anyways.
Elissa wraps the baby in white cloth, hands it to Rhaenyra.
It’s too late, but Rhaenyra entertains the fool’s hope that her touch will revive Visenya. She clutches the babe to her chest, weeping.
Visenya doesn’t make a sound. Her lips are blue, eyes unseeing.
But she’s not alone, no, somehow, Rhaenyra is convinced that Visenya can feel her mom’s touch, knows just how loved and wanted she was.
Just this evening they’d been making plans for her future. She could have her pick, marrying Aegon the Younger or Viserys Jr. She would ride a dragon from the deep purple egg Baela and Jace so carefully chose for her. Rhaena was looking forward to dressing her baby sister, and Luke and Joffrey wanted to teach her swordplay.
Visenya was supposed to torment Daemon, drive her father crazy. Rhaena and Baela are too compliant, he once said; someone needed to make up for it!
Now that’s all never to be. Those graspings, those hopes and dreams, are just shadows faded under harsh, garish hospital lighting.
If only she’d come to the hospital sooner.
If only Alicent hadn’t decided to take over Westeros Academy when Dad’s body wasn’t even cold!
If only Dad was here – he’d gone through it with Mom and Baelon. He’d hold her, know what to say. He did back then, when they lost Laena. Closed himself in a room with Daemon and whatever he said, Daemon walked out of that room with the softest expression Rhaenyra had ever seen on her uncle.
The door bursts open now.
He’s here.
For a moment she sees the hope in his eyes, but she shakes her head. She doesn’t trust herself to speak a word.
Daemon crosses the room, leans over baby Visenya’s too-tiny body. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t touch her at all, just places a hand on Rhaenyra’s shoulder.
He doesn’t weep – it’s not his nature – but she sees the simmering in his eyes. He’s blaming Alicent and good, he should.
As they haul their brother’s drunken, stumbling ass home, Daeron murmurs quiet praise to the Seven that aside from Silk Street, no one seems to be outside.
“We’re not home yet,” Aemond snaps, and sure enough, just as they approach campus, a tall and lanky figure appears under the dim streetlight. His fingertips tingle, as if she’s an ominous apparition, an omen of evil.
No, he needs to be rational. Smoke billows out from her lips, and her expression is neutral, inscrutable. With her miniskirt and tall boots, she might be a hooker.
But there’s something oddly familiar about her face, and when he squints, her eyes fix entirely on him.
He feels a jolt, as if Vhagar has burned him. He’s not sure why, but the word “checkmate” leaps into his mind.
Aegon chooses this moment to slump to the ground, spewing vomit down his shirt. Daeron yelps.
Cursing under his breath, Aemond crouches down to hold Aegon’s hair back as his brother finishes retching. He hoists Aegon’s left arm around his neck.
“Wrap his right arm around you,” he orders his younger brother. Daeron quickly obeys.
He’ll need to threaten this girl, yes. Whomever this bitch is, she won’t speak a word.
But when the three brothers rise and Aemond looks once more towards the lamp post, she is gone, as if she were never there in the first place.