An icy suffocation preceded the awakening.
Aemond Targaryen opened his eyes to find himself lying face down on cold, damp stone.
A dull throb pulsed behind his forehead, and the thick, metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils.
Memories that did not belong to him pierced his mind like ice picks.
He was in the midst of a violent storm, holding on for dear life… Vhagar…
"Aemond! You thief! Coward!"
"What right does a thief like you have to call us bastards?"
A youthful, furious roar dragged him back to reality.
Aemond propped himself up, knuckles white as he clutched the hilt of a stolen wooden sword.
Standing before him were three boys and two girls.
The leader was Jacaerys Velaryon.
His brown hair and eyes, so unlike a Targaryen's, were twisted by rage. Behind him stood his younger brother Lucerys and the smallest, Joffrey.
All three glared at him with deathly intent, their faces bruised and battered from the scuffle that had evidently just occurred.
Flanking them were two girls with silver-white hair and violet eyes: Baela and Rhaena, the daughters of Prince Daemon.
And he was Aemond, the second son of King Viserys I and Queen Alicent Hightower.
They were all soaking wet, covered in the mud of the High Tide dragonpit. The marks on Aemond's body made it clear: this had been a five-on-one ambush.
The scratch on his left cheek burned, a stinging reminder of a fingernail's path.
Aemond tightened his grip on the wooden sword.
"Say something, you wretch!" Lucerys stepped forward, fists clenched at his sides.
"You thief!"
"You stole what belongs to us, Velaryons!"
"That was our mother's dragon!" Baela shouted.
"Vhagar does not belong to you!"
Two minds collided violently within him: the detached awareness of a traveler from another world, and the raw, burning memories of the boy, Aemond.
He understood instantly. This was Driftmark.
His original self had just mounted Vhagar, the oldest living dragon in the world, and soared through the storm.
But the traveler knew what came next. He knew the history. A fight, an accident, a knife… and an eye.
Seeds of hatred would be sown here tonight, growing into a poisonous tree that would eventually tear the Seven Kingdoms apart. In the original timeline, this is where he was maimed.
What do you think about now?
"I didn't steal her," Aemond said.
His voice was hoarse but calm, carrying a chill that did not belong to a twelve-year-old boy.
"The dragon chose me."
The group fell silent, stunned by his composure.
"Vhagar chose me," he repeated, rising to his feet.
"Furthermore, a dragon never belonged to a Velaryon. Dragons belong to us, Targaryens. Do not forget who gave you the right to ride them in the first place."
He paused, dusting off his tunic.
"As for calling you bastards just now… as your uncle, I apologize for my lack of decorum."
The children stood frozen. Aemond's sudden shift from panic to articulate rebuttal left them unsure of how to react.
Jacaerys was the first to snap back to his senses.
"You twist words!" he yelled.
"Thief! You should be ashamed! His Grace, King Viserys, gave Rhaena the right to claim her mother's dragon!"
Aemond fell silent. Strictly speaking, the boy was right. The King had granted them priority.
But a dragon is not property to be inherited; once a dragon bonds, the bond holds until death.
Seeing him hesitate, the children's faces twisted into triumphant sneers.
Lucerys, emboldened, pushed his luck.
"You're just like your mother," Lucerys spat.
"A graceful, thieving whore! Trying to steal the throne, steal the dragons, stealing everything that belongs to my mother!"
The insult landed like a physical blow, igniting something deep within Aemond.
This wasn't the traveler's emotion. It was the accumulated humiliation, anger, and loneliness of the boy who had lived this life.
Years of being mocked by his own brother Aegon and these Strong boys; years of being called 'pig-rider' and 'freak.'
And now, they insulted Queen Alicent, the only person who had truly loved him.
The lingering humiliation erupted. No matter how rational the traveler tried to remain, the boy's rage could not be suppressed.
"You mongrel."
Aemond straightened to his full height. He was half a head taller than Lucerys.
Wet strands of silver hair clung to his face, framing violet eyes that burned with unconcealed murderous intent.
"I dare you to say that again."
Lucerys flinched at the sheer weight of Aemond's aura, but the word 'mongrel' had struck a nerve. The boy's hot-blooded temper clouded his judgment.
"I said, you and your.."
Before he could finish, Aemond moved.
Lucerys tried to guard, but Aemond sidestepped the clumsy punch and drove a heavy elbow into the younger boy's ribs. Lucerys let out a muffled groan and doubled over.
Seeing his brother hit, Jacaerys roared and charged.
Aemond didn't retreat. He grabbed Lucerys by the shoulder and shoved him hard into Jacaerys.
The two brothers collided in a tangle of limbs and stumbled back.
"Get him!"
Rhaena, Baela, and Joffrey scrambled for loose stones on the dragonpit floor.
They hurled them desperately. Aemond couldn't dodge them all; rocks struck his shoulder and chest, bruising bone, but he refused to buckle.
'I have to end this, ' his reason whispered.
'If this continues, blood will be spilled. I will lose my eye.'
He didn't want to escalate this, but he wouldn't let them walk over him.
"How dare you!" Lucerys gasped from the ground, his eyes bloodshot with tears and rage.
Jacaerys, seeing his brother hysterical, abandoned all form and lunged again. The three boys crashed into a heap, rolling across the damp floor.
They knocked over a heavy bronze candelabra against the tunnel wall; it hit the stones with a deafening crash, the flames sputtering out and casting long, distorted shadows across the cavern.
Rhaena and Baela screamed, their shrill voices echoing off the walls, hoping to summon the guards of High Tide.
In the chaos, little Joffrey tried to jump into the fray to help his older brothers.
Aemond, blindly fighting off four hands, lashed out with a kick that sent Joffrey rolling across the dirt. The youngest boy began to wail.
"You damn bastard!" Lucerys shrieked, seeing Joffrey crying.
Jacaerys's eyes were wild.
A sense of helpless fury rose in Aemond's throat. He hadn't wanted this.
'Why did they have to force my hand?'Fists, fingernails, knees, the children had lost their minds.
It was no longer a scuffle; it was a desperate, feral brawl.
A fist smashed into Aemond's cheekbone, setting his ears ringing. Instinct took over. He grabbed Lucerys by the hair and slammed the boy's head against the ground.
Once. Twice.
"You son of a bitch! Let him go!" Jacaerys charged from the blind side, tackling Aemond.
Aemond was thrown back, his spine colliding with the stone wall with a sickening thud. His vision swam.
Through the haze, Aemond caught a glint of metal in Lucerys's hand.
It was a dagger. A blade inlaid with obsidian and pearls.
Sharp enough to slice through flesh, cartilage… and eyes.
Lucerys scrambled up, wiping blood from the corner of his mouth.
He raised the knife, charging once more.
On that youthful face, nothing remained but pure, hatred.