THE 7TH MOON [Aemond Targaryen]

Thirteen - Fatherhood.

"Laenora... My daughter."

"Father?" The princess mumbled into the cold dark.

In the dim light for a simple second the heiress had seen the shadow of Laenor Velaryon; the father who had both raised and abandoned her, the father who she had loved so dearly his alleged death had very nearly almost destroyed her. She'd never come to know him again, nor would she come to know her trueborn father if her mother had any say, but just as quickly as she had shuffled Aemond's letter beneath her featherbed and her eyes adjusted did she see the only father who remained.

The one who she knew she was far too alike with for her own good. The same one who had posed as her great uncle for a half of her life.

"Daemon?"

She quickly found it was he who hung over her bedside, a lantern beneath his arm, his hooded cloak up, and her grandfather's dagger in his lap.

Gods.

"Where did you get this?" He asked, twisting the tip of the blade along his fingertip. "This was-"

"Viserys's, I know."

"Then how has this come to be in your possession?"

Cole gave it to me. She almost blurted but something in the bastards bones told her that any answer would resolve more than the truth ever could, especially when it came to her connections to the sworn shield. And so instead a lie slipped off of her tongue.

"Grandfather gave it to me. On his deathbed."

"And you are sure this simply was not a stolen gift from your betrothed?"

"No, Twas not. Aemond was with me, but it was never taken, only gifted."

Lae knew better than anyone that Daemon could see straight through her, so it came as a pleasant surprise when her untruths seemed to remain undetected. Instead, he chose the task at hand and climbed to his feet, clutching his own weapon divulged beneath his cloak.

"Bring it with you. Come now Laenora."

"Where are we going?"

"Here." He ignored her plea, instead he removed and wrapped his own cloak around her shoulders before tying it beneath her chin, just as any doting father would do.

But Daemon was anything but doting, and just as he could see straight through Laenora, she saw through him too.

"Do not make me scream for my mother." The princess hissed. "Where are we going Daemon?"

"To awaken the beast."

***

"What is this place?"

"Jahaerys, the king who gave our bloodline the right to the iron throne, the very same who laid that crown on your mothers head, once rode the most formidable beast the seven kingdoms has ever laid witness too. More agile than Balerion, perhaps fiercer than Caraxes."

"Vermithor."

"Yes." He nodded, eyes averting hers beneath the flickering flame of his torch. "One of the eldest living dragons there is."

"Besides Vhagar."

"Yes, besides that brute."

"Why did you bring me here uncle?"

"Do I have to say it?"

"You wish for me to claim him."

"Yes."

"No."

"He will be yours to claim and that is the last I shall hear of it Laenora."

"I have read of many dragons, near and far, a creature like Vermithor will not take me."