"A dragon might not be the only thing you ride tonight."
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Where the Dance of Dragons is stopped before it truly begins-with Rhaenyra as the Heir to the Iron Throne, Daemon Targaryen decides to stick it to Alicent and Otto Hightower one last time...
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i miss you, i'm sorry —gracie abrams
"Where is he?" Aemond Targaryen was furious.
The soldiers had one simple job, to make sure Daemon stayed on Dragonstone in his exile. It was something so easy to do and yet they had managed to mess it up.
Before heading out on his search for his beloved sister, he'd wanted to end his uncle for what he had done to Daenaera. His plan had been simple.
He would arrive, slit Daemon's throat, feed Caraxes to Vhagar, and then give Daemon's severed head to his mother and sister as a gift.
He wanted Daemon to pay for ever touching Daenaera.
Revenge was miles away though, carried off into the winds where Daemon had gone.
"Where is Daemon?!" he asked the soldier, his fury boiling.
The soldiers shook, and it was the Captain who stood in front of him now. They had their heads down in shame and fear.
All of them standing in a line while Vhagar was behind Aemond, her mighty jaws of saliva and rows of sharp teeth staring at them.
"We don't know, my Prince," The Captain said. "Please...mercy."
"We don't know." Aemond spat as if disgusted at the answer. "You have one last chance."
They could give no other answer to the merciless prince.
Their answer was enough for Aemond to see the truth, that they really didn't know where Daemon was. The next question that came to mind now was just how incompetent were these men?
"Are all men in this kingdom as weak and incompetent as you are?" He asked as he looked from man to man. "Or are you the special lot?"
Aemond was not a merciful man. No mercy was in his blood. So when he saw their failure, there was only one thing to be done. He spoke one word.
"Dracarys."
The dragonfire engulfed them, their screams drowned out by the fury of the flames. No quarter was given to those who failed in their tasks. They would be made an example of and a lesson to the rest.
As they burned to crisps on the ground, Ser Criston had stood many feet back watching it all. His eyes on the Prince with a firm stare.
"Your father won't be happy you did that, my Prince."
Aemond did not answer Ser Criston at first, the flames still raging as the soldiers burned to ash in the hot flames. After a few more moments he finally spoke to the knight, a cold and ruthless look on his face.
