Enigmas | Aemond Targaryen

NINE

Now came the days when we had dwelt on the isle of Dragonstone three years, far from the court, far from the constant scheming and persecuting of the queen and her adherents. We were happier here than anywhere else, in our own little rocky, smoky kingdom amidst the great salt sea. Many called it a haunted place, night and day veiled by fogs and mists, and pale grey steams rising from the hot vents of Dragonmont, which had held and supported our black citadel like a mother her child for all of time. But it was not true in the slightest. Rather the lesser men failed to detect the magnificence of this ancient fortress. In our ebony stone castle lingered still the old magic of Valyria. In our mighty walls, and dragon-shaped spires and towers flowed power and authority beyond grasp. The thousands of gargoyles whispered in the everlasting crash of the sea, but only to the worthy.

Our dragons thrived, growing twice fast as they did in King's Landing. I'd no doubt Vermithor shall outsize Vhagar given more years. And I grew taller, body hardened in armor, hands callused by Blackfyre, mind sharpened by the knowledge of the old ways. The lighter hours of the day I spent in my laborious training of sword fighting, the darker I immersed myself in the great library with more vellum books and scrolls of Valyrian glyphs than others could imagine existed. Though very tired, I felt so very enriched like never before. I was happy, truly happy.

Yet, nothing happy lasted forever.

We were summoned to Driftmark to attend my aunt Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral, who, if rumors proved true, was consumed by the dragonfire of her own mount Vhagar after a disastrous childbirth. It was not the first tragedy we had to endure this particular year, as Lord Lyonel and Ser Harwin Strong were taken from us by Stranger due to a mysterious fire at Harrenhal. We all terribly missed my mother's erstwhile sworn shield, who was ever so affectionate toward us.

The day we departed for Driftmark on our dragon backs, Blackfyre was restless in its scabbard.

It sounded beyond stupid to imply a weapon had a will of its own, but I could feel it. Blackfyre yearned for its long-lost Dark Sister.

With the return of Lady Laena's ashes to Westeros, so was Prince Daemon Targaryen and his twin daughters Baela and Rhaena to be released from their life banishment.

Years passed, I did not resent Daemon any longer as I knew he was not mine to hate or forgive. My mother would be the sole judge for that. Rather I felt a thrill scrape my spine, an itchy curiosity sweep through my entire body. When a larger-than-life enigma finally, finally came to lift its magical cloak, would he disappoint me? Would I disappoint him?

Soon enough I had my answer.

Daemon Targaryen in the flesh, standing tall and proud in his black leather tunic and boots, he was not what I imagined him to be. He was so much more.

The moment I locked my eyes on Daemon, I was almost petrified by the uncanny resemblance we shared. Daemon had my perfectly straight silver hair without a hint of curl and deep-set pale lilac eyes, or should I say more accurately and logically, I had his hair and eyes, and the same high cheekbones and aquiline nose. The truth was so plain to see there's no denying it.

For a long time I couldn't tear my gaze away from Daemon. Astonished and horrified, I stood transfixed like a stone sculpture. Until Daemon saw me.

With a sudden turn of his head as if he sensed my attention on him, Daemon's piercing gaze caught me completely off guard, drawing me inward as though I was a helpless little insert, doomed to be trapped within his purple amber cages. I sliced my nails into my palms, urging myself to turn around and flee, but I couldn't as my tremulous legs refused to take orders from my tangled mind.

Helplessly, I watched Daemon stride toward me. His steps were agile and confident, with the grace of a big cat. In a fraction of a second, Daemon towered over me like a terrifying Valyrian god reborn, one hand he had on the pommel of his Dark Sister, the other reached out, brushing against my blooming red cheek as he took one silvery lock of mine into his hand.