The Stronghammer - CH - 72

The sky above King’s Landing darkened, as a colossal shadow loomed over the city.

People screamed in terror, some pointing at the massive bronze dragon that soared above the rooftops, its wingspan casting the streets into darkness. Merchants abandoned their stalls, mothers grabbed their children, and even the city watch scrambled for cover.

Vermithor, the Bronze Fury, was approaching the Dragonpit.

But what terrified the people of King’s Landing more was the fact that no one knew who rode him.

The Targaryens had not sent out any orders for Vermithor to be brought to King’s Landing. For years, the dragon had been wild, without a rider, content to nest in Dragonstone. The sight of a rider upon the Bronze Fury’s back sent waves of panic and confusion across the city.

Inside the Red Keep, the royal family stood on the balcony, their eyes wide with disbelief.

“Is that—?” Queen Alicent gasped, her hand clutching her chest.

King Viserys, frail and weary, leaned forward with a strained look, his face twisting in shock. “No… it cannot be…”

Even Prince Aegon, who barely ever cared about anything but drinking and whoring, looked stunned.

The beast landed with a thunderous impact, its claws gripping the stone floor of the Dragonpit, sending tremors through the ancient structure.

The dragonkeepers, clad in their traditional leather armor, stood frozen, unsure if they should bow or run for their lives. The Royal Guard, stationed around the Dragonpit, hesitated with their hands on their weapons.

And then, as the dust settled, they saw him.

Aemond Targaryen, dressed in Essosi leather, looking far more seasoned and hardened than the boy who had left.

He didn’t need to say a word—his very presence, atop the great Bronze Fury, spoke volumes.

But that was not the only surprise.

Behind Aemond, sitting firmly on the saddle, was a woman. Cassandra Baratheon, her black hair wild from the wind, dressed in torn garments, her face streaked with dirt but still proud and unbroken.

Aemond hopped down from the dragon’s back, his boots landing with purpose on the stone. The dragonkeepers hesitated, still too afraid to approach Vermithor, who let out a deep growl, his golden eyes scanning the crowd with suspicion.

Cassandra slid down as well, stumbling slightly, but before she could fall, Aemond caught her hand, steadying her.

That simple action made the crowd gasp.

Aemond walked forward, his face calm, his eye burning with intensity. He had changed. He was no longer the insecure spare prince.

He was a dragonrider now.

Aemond looked at the guards who rushed forward, weapons half-drawn, unsure if they were meant to protect or capture him. He smirked, as if daring them to try.

“You all look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Aemond and Cassandra were escorted back to the Red Keep, and the moment they entered the throne room, chaos erupted.

Lord Borris Baratheon, who had arrived at court weeks ago, stepped forward, his face a mix of anger and relief. “Cassandra!” he bellowed. “Gods be good, girl, you had us all worried sick!”

Cassandra barely had time to react before her father crushed her in a bear hug, holding her as if she would vanish again.

Queen Alicent, however, stared at her son—her hands trembling slightly, her eyes filled with a mix of relief and fear.

“Where have you been?” Alicent demanded, her voice sharp with barely contained emotion.

Aemond met her gaze, but his smirk was gone. He wasn’t the same boy anymore.

“I was rescuing Lady Cassandra,” he said simply.

Ser Otto Hightower took a step forward, his voice calculated. “And where, exactly, have you been all this time?”

Aemond didn’t answer immediately. His gaze swept over the gathered nobles—all of them waiting for his explanation, waiting to hear if he had truly betrayed them, if he had truly gone rogue.

And then, he answered.

“Essos.”

King Viserys tensed, his fingers gripping the arms of the Iron Throne.

Prince Aegon, who had been watching silently until now, suddenly laughed. “Of course.”

Alicent looked horrified. “You mean to tell me you have been traveling with that— that—Dragon”

Aemond cut her off. “I have been learning, Mother.”

He stepped forward, standing right in front of the Iron Throne, facing his father.

“I have seen war. I have seen what it takes to rule.” His single violet eye burned with passion. “And now, I return to you as a man, not as a boy.”

There was silence.

King Viserys simply studied his son. For the first time, he truly saw him.

Aemond was no longer the overlooked spare. He was a dragonlord now.

And that changed everything.

The arrival of Vermithor and Aemond Targaryen’s return sent waves through the realm.

In Storm’s End, news of Cassandra’s rescue was met with celebration—though Lord Boremund Baratheon still wanted answers about where she had been.

In the Free Cities, merchants and spies whispered about the young Targaryen prince who rode the oldest living dragon besides Vhagar.

King’s Landing was alight with celebration.

Trumpets blared from the walls of the Red Keep. The smallfolk gathered in droves to catch a glimpse of the newly returned Prince Aemond Targaryen, the forgotten son who had returned as a dragonlord and a hero.

Banners of House Targaryen and House Baratheon were hung along the main streets, while royal messengers announced the triumphant return of the prince who had claimed one of the greatest dragons in the realm and rescued Lady Cassandra Baratheon from a fate worse than death.

But while the common people cheered, the nobles merely observed.

Aemond had always been a spare, an afterthought. The court had spent years vying for influence over Aegon, the Crown Prince, and had never wasted their time on Aemond. He had been just another second son, a prince without a dragon, someone unworthy of their attention.

And yet now, he had returned atop Vermithor, a dragon whose might was second only to Vhagar.

The political landscape had shifted.

The Iron Throne loomed over the gathered court as King Viserys sat with a proud smile, watching as his second son walked into the hall.

Aemond carried himself differently now—his gait was confident, his chin high, his single violet eye burning with the fire of ambition. There was no hesitation in his step, no sign of the boy who had once been ignored.

And by his side, stood Cassandra Baratheon, regal and strong despite her ordeal, her golden hair neatly tied back, her Baratheon-blue dress embroidered with storm crows.

As Aemond approached, the court fell into murmurs.

Lord Borris Baratheon stepped forward, his face a storm of emotions. He had spent weeks demanding action from the crown, furious over the lack of urgency in retrieving his daughter.

But now, his daughter stood before him, rescued not by the King’s forces, but by a prince he had never considered important before.

“Cassandra,” Borros spoke, his deep voice shaking slightly. “Come here, child.”

Cassandra rushed forward, and Lord Borros enveloped her in a crushing embrace, his large hands gripping her shoulders, as if afraid she would vanish again.

Alicent Hightower, meanwhile, watched her son with narrowed eyes, her mind turning over the implications of this sudden change.

Aemond had disappeared as a forgotten prince.

He had returned a hero.

And that made him unpredictable.

As Aemond knelt before his father, King Viserys beamed with pride.

“My son,” Viserys said, his voice warm, filled with something Aemond had never truly heard before—approval. “You have done a great service to the realm.”

The courtiers watched closely, waiting for Aemond to explain where he had been, how he had done it, who had helped him.

But Aemond gave them nothing.

He simply replied:

“The pirates have been dealt with.”

His voice was calm, measured. There was no mention of Stormrage, no mention of Eddard Stormrage, no mention of the Blackstone Legion.

The courtiers exchanged glances, some expecting him to say more, others waiting for him to make a mistake.

But Aemond remained stone-faced, revealing nothing.

Lord Corlys Velaryon, standing near the King’s council, raised an eyebrow. “Dealt with?” he echoed. “How?”

Aemond turned to look at him, his gaze icy cold.

“With fire and steel.”

It was an answer, but not one that told them anything they wanted to know.

Otto Hightower leaned forward, his calculating mind working quickly. “Did you have allies in Essos?”

Aemond gave a thin smile. “I had my dragon.”

If there had been any doubt about Aemond’s position in the family, it was erased the very next morning.

At dawn, Vermithor rose into the skies of King’s Landing, his mighty wings blocking the sun.

The city watched in awe as the massive dragon soared over the streets, its sheer size and power a terrifying spectacle. The dragonkeepers, who had spent their lives tending to the royal dragons, stood paralyzed with disbelief.

Because, compared to Vermithor, the dragons of the other royal children looked like infants.

Prince Aegon’s Sunfyre, though golden and beautiful, was dwarfed by Vermithor’s size.

Prince Jacaerys’ Vermax, though nimble, was no match in pure strength.

Even Baela’s Moondancer, though quick, was nothing more than a speck compared to the mighty Bronze Fury.

Aemond had not just claimed a dragon—he had claimed a behemoth, a dragon that had once belonged to King Jaehaerys the Wise, the greatest ruler House Targaryen had ever known.

And every noble in the city saw it.

Prince Aegon, used to being the center of attention, looked annoyed. His squire had vanished and returned with his brother, who was now stealing all the attention.

Princess Helaena, as always, spoke in riddles, whispering, “The storm watches the fire. The fire follows the storm.”

The Velaryons exchanged quiet whispers, as even Rhaenyra’s sons seemed shocked at the sight of Vermithor.

Otto Hightower stood silently, watching Aemond as if trying to gauge just how much of a threat he had become.

But the most interesting reaction came from Alicent Hightower.

She had spent her entire life pushing Aegon to be king, ensuring that he would take the throne instead of Rhaenyra.

Now, for the first time, she looked at her second son and saw a possibility she had never considered before.

Aemond had returned to King’s Landing as a different man.

And the court didn’t know what to do with him.

He had secured the loyalty of the smallfolk, who now whispered of his heroism.

He had claimed a dragon that made half the royal family nervous.

And he had proven that he could survive in a world beyond the Red Keep.

He was no longer the ignored prince.

He was a dragonlord. A warrior. A player in the game of thrones.

And everyone knew it.

Aemond Targaryen stood atop the Dragonpit, watching Vermithor stretch his mighty wings. The city of King’s Landing sprawled before him, the streets teeming with life, yet in his mind, it all seemed so small, so insignificant compared to the vastness of the world.

It had been ten days since his return, ten days of endless celebrations, courtly whispers, and his mother’s constant scheming. But none of it satisfied him.

After traveling with Eddie, after seeing the world through his eyes, Aemond had begun to understand something profound—something no other prince of Westeros had ever truly grasped.

The world was too vast to be confined to one castle.

He had spent his entire life in a gilded cage, believing that his entire future was limited to King’s Landing, Dragonstone, or the battlefield against Rhaenyra’s sons.

But now?

Now he had a dragon, a real dragon, a beast that could take him anywhere in the world.

He remembered Eddie’s words, spoken so casually one evening beneath the open sky:

“The world is very, very big. Yet we create borders in our minds and live and die in a small place. Even when we have the means to go to places without any effort.”

At the time, Aemond had nodded, but he hadn’t truly understood.

Now, standing here, looking at the horizon stretching beyond the Red Keep, he did.

On the tenth morning, as the sun rose over Blackwater Bay, Aemond made his decision.

He would leave Westeros.

Not because he had no love for his homeland, but because he had seen what lay beyond the Narrow Sea, and he wanted more.

He had tasted adventure.

He had learned from warriors, not maesters.

He had flown Vermithor over lands untouched by Targaryens.

And now, he wanted to see more.

He walked into the throne room, where his mother, Otto Hightower, and King Viserys were already gathered.

“I am leaving,” Aemond stated simply.

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock. “Leaving? Leaving for where?”

Aemond smirked. “To see the world.”

Otto Hightower’s brows furrowed. “This is not the time for foolish adventures, boy. You are a prince of the realm.”

“And I will return as a man worthy of the throne.”** Aemond’s voice was unwavering.**

Viserys, frail and weak upon his Iron Throne, gave him a long, measured look. Then, to everyone’s surprise, he chuckled softly.

“I once wanted the same,” the king muttered. “To go beyond Westeros, to see the world beyond my books.” He sighed, as if remembering something long buried. “But duty kept me here.”

Aemond nodded. “And duty will bring me back, Father. But first, I must see what Westeros refuses to teach me.”

Alicent tried to protest, but she saw the fire in his eye, the same fire that once burned in Daemon Targaryen. She knew then that she could not stop him.

By midday, the city had gathered at the Dragonpit, watching Prince Aemond prepare to depart.

His departure was not met with fanfare, only quiet curiosity and whispers.

Some called him a fool for leaving power behind.

Some called him reckless.

But others saw it for what it truly was—a prince stepping into his destiny.

With one last glance at the Red Keep, Aemond swung himself onto Vermithor’s back.

The massive dragon roared, shaking the ground as its wings unfurled, casting a shadow over the gathered crowd.

Then, with a mighty leap, Vermithor ascended into the heavens, carrying Aemond Targaryen away from the scheming halls of Westeros and into the unknown.

The last thing the people saw was a prince who no longer belonged to a kingdom, but to the sky itself.