Chapter Text
It was supposed to be a simple funeral, too bad nothing is ever simple for Aemond. He never imagined that this night would end with him gaining a dragon, but not just any of them at that, but the mount of Visenya herself. Neither Aegon nor his nephews will be able to make fun of him again! And yet, this victory feels shallow.
A scream threatens to spill out of Aemond's mouth as he feels the needle pierce his eyelid. Aemond is unsure how the event exactly transpired. He knows that Rhaenyra's sons and Daemon's daughters ambushed him after he claimed Vhagar and was walking back to his room. He knows that after throwing insults around they attacked him while he was unarmed and alone, simply because they couldn't accept that Aemond claimed a dragon for himself. They even accused him of stealing her! How dare they?!
Everything loses its clarity after that. One moment, he has Jacaerys pinned to the ground, Aemond's hand holding tightly to the rock he picked up when his cousins started the assault. Next, the dagger in Lucerys's hand slashes across his eye.
The rest of the incident passed in even more of a blur. He heard people screaming and felt somebody carrying him somewhere. He faintly recalls feeling the blood drip down his face and onto his clothes. When they finally reached the maesters, Aemond was close to losing consciousness.
Unfortunately, that was the moment they started sewing his eye shut. After what felt like a never-ending nightmare filled with pain, the maesters finally allowed him to drink the milk of the poppy. And so, Aemond's mind slips into blissful slumber.
A slumber that will change his life forever.
As he sleeps, memories of a boy not unlike himself fill his mind—a prince who is equal parts kind and arrogant. Aemond dreams about the boy's family, which is similar yet different from his own: a weak yet strong mother, a cruel father, and a manipulative liar for a sister.
The boy's country is at war, and Aemond sees him try to join the war council, he watches on as he speaks up against the foolish plan of a general, and a challenge is issued, but it's not the old general that the prince fights. It's his father, he caresses his son's (and Aemond's?) face, and then-
PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN-how can that man light his hand on fire?!?!?!
He is banished and forced to wander, searching for the avatar, a one-way journey meant to humiliate and destroy him mentally and physically.
Fascination fills Aemond's mind when he sees the fire that dances at hi-Zuko's hands, as well as the powers of other warriors. The water, which is destructive, but can also heal wounds he once believed impossible to survive. The air that's docile as well as powerful, capable of splitting the lava of volcanos. The ground that sings and breaks when naked feet stomp on it.
He chases his honor, and his uncle follows him on this journey, advising the boy despite him rarely listening. Aemond grows and learns about foreign lands. Only for him to betray the true family he had and return to his country, yet he finds himself yearning for something more. Zuko (and Aemond) stand up to his father. Zuko (and Aemond) leave to help the Avatar.
In the end, the Avatar wins, and Zuko does too.
He dreams of ruling his nation after the 100 year-war, of bringing back the flourishing culture and wealth of before. He sees himself marrying the love of his life despite their many break ups, sees as they bring up their daughter together as the next Firelord (lawfully, women can inherit before their male relatives here?). He sees her ascension and then the birth of his grandson.
It was such a nice dream. Aemond doesn't want to wake up, doesn't want to come back into the world that has abandoned him, where he was all alone, with no friends, surrounded by uncaring, egoistical and ambitious family members. But something calls to him. The images vanish and Aemond becomes surrounded by darkness.
He doesn't see anything at first. Then, his surroundings become engulfed by the tornado of colorful fire. He recognized it instantly, they were the same flames the dragons had shown Zuko and Aang. From the tornado, a small spark flew towards him.
Instinctively, Aemond reaches out with his hands. The spark ignites and settles over them slowly, almost lazily, only to abruptly fly into his chest. At once, his body becomes surrounded by dragon fire, yet he feels no pain, only warmth. It lightens up his mind and over 70 years of knowledge becomes engraved upon Aemond's soul.
Slowly, the first tendrils of consciousness tug at the edges of Aemond's restless sleep, but the warmth never leaves him, and neither do the memories.
He is Aemond, but he is also Zuko. The Firelord, Avatar Aang's fire-bending teacher, the first dragon rider in a hundred years, the great-grandson of Avatar Roku, the council member of the White Lotus, and the only human to bend the dragon's colorful fire.
At that moment, the future of House Targaryen and that of Westeros was forever altered.
From the dragon fire, the scarred prince rises again.