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Aemond kicks up white sand as he stalks along the edge of the beach. White moonrays illuminate the beach and ocean waves, as Vhagar roars mournfully in the distance. Lady Laena Velaryon, was a wonderful mother and wife according to all who knew her. A true lady, someone told Aemond in passing. But all Aemond truly cares about is that Lady Laena was Vhagar’s friend, her rider and with her passing, Vhagar is lost.  His blood burns in time of her cries. As the water laps over his brown boots as he stops to listen.

Sad mournful roars punches through the silence, and it stirs his heart to hear. Aemond might be ten, but even he knew that grief can break even the strongest of warriors. Vhagar, the Queen of All Dragons, is one of the greatest warriors in history. It was her claws and fire that ensured Targayren rule over the Seven Kingdoms. Yet, Vhagar lies on her throne of sand, her rider buried. She is lost within her grief and it worries Aemond beyond comprehension.

Aemond knows loneliness, the way it can shred your inside, until it leaves your head reeling and eyes watering. Aemond breathes out a shaky breath, as he continues to stalk closer.  He desires only to be close to Vhagar, to gaze upon the greatest dragon in history.  Secretly he hopes that his presence will annoy Vhagar enough to snap her out of her grief for a moment. Or maybe she might gaze into him and see a twin soul, maybe she will even let him feel her scales. Either way Aemond will take what he can get. It’s one of the first lessons Aemond has learned, to take what you are given and never dare ask for more. 

Aegon once drunkenly slurred to Aemond that Aemond was born too early. His mother had screamed in panic when he tried to make his way into the world. Her lovely emerald dress stained with blood as she tried to keep him inside, screaming for Rhaynera as she cried out. The maesters sighed out in relief as Aemond let out a war cry on the way out. Everyone thought that Aemond was not going to make it through the night. His mother held him the whole night refusing to sleep, staring at his body, too scared that if she were to close her eyes that she would miss his last breath. Yet, Aemond survived. 

Sometimes Aemond wonders if he was ever supposed to survive his birth. 

The wind picks up and a horrible roar fills the air, the world freezes.  As a dark creature breaks through the clouds, barreling onto the beach with viscous hunger. Vhagar roars back, straightening as she spreads her wings wide. The ground shakes as the wild dragon dives down onto Vhagar with open jaws. Sand flies all around as Aemond hits the ground, groaning as his body aches. For the first time in his life, Aemond hears the sound of dragons fighting. Violent roars tear through the peace, as their fighting shakes the ground. Gritting his teeth, Aemond pushes himself on his feet and rushes over the sandy dune. 

A great black dragon, his green eyes wild as he roars. A terrible cold sound that chills Aemond’s blood. The feral dragon was nearly bigger than even Vhagar, who was believed to be one of the biggest living dragons in the realm. It's dark scales glitter with pale silver scars catching under the light of the crescent moon. He tries to force Vhagar on her back with his heavy form and large claws. But the queen of dragons had survived a dozen fights, had killed more than twice that in men. She had the strength and skill of any trained warrior. 

Vhagar blew fire into the enemy dragon’s face, forcing it back.  Aemond had heard tales of a black dragon with green eyes who liked to feast on other dragons. One who was more feral than any other dragon to fly the skies. Cannibal shakes off the blow as he rears back. Cannibal skillfully retreats, surefooted even on the sand. The two dragons circle each other slowly, like cats ready to fight. 

Aemond’s hair rises on his arms as goosebumps break down his skin. The cold wind brushes over him, tugging at fallen strands from his braid. In the wind he can hear his Hightower ancestors screaming at him to turn and run away. Yet, he couldn’t bring himself to move. Cannibal snarls, as he flicks his heavy tail, one blow could level a village, as he bares his sharp teeth.

His heart drops as Cannibal fixes his predatory gaze on Vhagar. His lips curling back in a predatory smile. For all the tales of the hungry Cannibal who slays and feasts on dragons, big and small. Not one mentioned any survivors. No, what Cannibal lacks in training he makes up for it with the skills of a hunter. The warrior and the hunter face each other, large teeth bared as the wind scatters the loose sand across the beach. 

With a cry Vhagar hits the beach as Cannibal digs his teeth into her leg. Her red and orange flames light up the dark beach, nearly touching the stars. Aemond sprints forward. Aemond has little, only his mother, sister, and Ser Cole. No one else spares the second son a glance.

Every step forward he made gets him beaten back by his brother and cousins. Aemond Targyaren, second son of the King yet he could get no dragon egg to hatch for him. He was a failure in all but name. He was merely a short sentence to be written about in the history books. Perhaps if he gets lucky future generations will be quizzed on the second forgotten son of King Viserys. He is nothing.

The dark thoughts fuel Aemond forward.

Like Vhagar, Aemond had no friends to stand by his side. But in this dangerous moment, Aemond can try to stand by Vhagar’s side, to be her friend. Vhagar is an outcast like Aemond, never fitting in with the other dragons according to the history books. Yet her tale was what kept Aemond’s heart in his chest when his tears had yet to dry. Perhaps it was Targaryen madness, but he felt drawn even connected to Vhagar. Sometimes he even felt love for her.

“Vhagar” Aemond shouts as he nears the dragons. His heart racing as his hands begin to shake. Aegon taught Aemond to run fast at a young age, always chasing him with the intent to pummel or humiliate him while drunk on his wine. He almost slips as his boots slide on the sand, between the two dragons. He feels like nothing more than an ant between the two great dragons. Aemond grits his teeth as he dodges sand and readies himself.

“Lykirī” Aemond shouts blindly as the dragons pause.

 Be calm.

Aemond almost begs them. He’s too young for this, too small and foolish. Yet, here Aemond stands between two wild beasts. Vhagar rumbles behind him, recognizing the words. While the Cannibal stares down at Aemond, his cold green eyes piercing and calculating. Aemond was born too early, it only seems fair that he was meant to die too early to make up for his stolen time.

Aemond cannot ask Cannibal to obey, he is a wild dragon. Too many great Targaryens had died trying to force Cannibal to obey. No, all Aemond could do is beg the Cannibal to be calm. Aemond is not being brave. No, he is trying to protect Vhagar like a damned fool, he needs to buy her time.

He raises his head as his arm shakes as Cannibal rumbles, angered at this poor excuse of a Targaryen trying to interfere. Vhagar responds, the ground trembles under Aemond. But he plants his feet to stand tall, lifting his chin up in defiance. Her long neck brushes against Aemond as she bares her teeth at Cannibal. Aemond quivers, like a puppet getting its ties cut by a rusty knife.

“Dokimarvose,” Aemond says, voice strong. Focus. His other hand flies to touch Vhagar. While he steps toward Cannibal, his other hand outstretched. They both pause, as Aemond meets Cannibal’s gaze. No one is sure the age of the feral dragon.

Or who the feral dragon hatched for but everyone is certain that Cannibal has never had a rider. That the old dragon eats what it pleases, dragon or human but mostly dragon. The old books only mention the hunter in passing, as if even writing about him would curse them with his infamous hunger and fury. Aemond is just a child, yet he feels younger and small in Cannibal’s gaze. 

Who will mourn me when I die? Aemond thinks to himself in passing. His mother and sister will, and so will Ser Cole. Perhaps even Aegon and his grandsire, but no more than them. Aemond means so little to the world, he’s only a passing light in the grand scheme of things.

Who will mourn you when you die? Aemond questions gazing in Cannibal’s eyes. Compassion squeezes his heart at the thought, to die unmourned. Even worse, Cannibal’s death might stand to be celebrated, the thought is even sadder. Aemond aches to pet Cannibal, the same way he’s seen Aegon pet Sunfyre. The beach is silent now, Vhagar behind him and Cannibal in front of him. 

“Lykirī,” Aemond repeats, taking a step forward. Cannibal watches him, that makes a smile tug at his lips. For the first time in perhaps a week, Aemond smiles. Cannibal’s gaze is centuries old, heavy with the weight of all he’s seen. All dragons have great tales to tell, except Cannibal. Cannibal keeps all his stories close to his chest, a prized clutch. Aemond aches to know his stories, to know his pain and songs. 

“Gevī,” Aemond praises. Aemond’s hand brushes against Vhagar’s golden scales, warm and scarred. As he traces the shape of Cannibal’s snout with his eyes. White moonlight highlights a thin scar on his left nostril. A little dragon’s dying effort.

Aemond has never felt more alive or seen in his life, even with the stranger so close. His Hightower ancestor’s are screaming in the wind. Their voices begging for him to go home to his mother. Cannibal makes a low rumbling sound in his chest. Yet, Aemond does not feel scared as he peers into the dragon’s eyes.

Aemond is so little, but he wants to protect Vhagar with every fiber of his being. Vhagar, whose stories held him close on his worser nights. Vhagar, the dragon whose cries pulled him from his bed. The one he’s been dreaming of since he could recall. Perhaps that is why no egg ever hatched for him, because he has always loved her.

No one, not even a dragon, wants to be the second choice. But Aemond feels room being made in his heart for the feral dragon before him. The one who deserves a mourning cry as the Stranger comes to take him. Vhagar growls when Cannibal draws closer. The sand trembling beneath his boots with every step he takes. Aemond’s hand is still outstretched. 

Aemond gasps as he staggers back at the sudden pressure in his head. Two knocks on the same doors, requesting entry and Aemond can hardly comprehend the feeling. He brushes against Vhagar, as he rubs his head. His eyes fluttering shut in pain as his body shudders. Grunting as he breathes out slowly like his mother once taught him. Vhagar rumbles reassuringly as his knees shake under the pressure. The ground shakes under the light noise from the she-dragon.

Choose one, a cold voice whispers in his mind. Cannibal snarls at Vhagar, whose body flexes and tenses. Aemond’s eyes snap open as a new tension enters the beach with a careless grin. His mouth starts to form the words, before he is picked up by massive teeth. A shout rings out before Aemond realizes that it belongs to him, his legs kick out beneath him.

Vhagar gently places him on a distant sandy dune. Cannibal growls yet there is an echo of pleasure in it. Sand flies as Aemond gently hits the ground, scrambling to his feet in a mad flurry as Vhagar turns to face Cannibal with newfound hatred. Her long neck had placed Aemond more than a valley away. His heart sinking as the two dragons began to fight again. 

A curse slips from Aemond’s mouth, a foul word that he’s heard Aegon utter more than a few times. Yet it feels oddly appropriate. He scrambles down the sand dunes, his head heavy as he shouts at them. But like most beings, they fail to hear him. Vhagar knocks Cannibal to the ground. Yet, Cannibal’s tail slams into her with such force that Aemond stops to wince.

His breathing comes out too fast, as his heart pounds. He should count his blessings that he survived interfering once, he should let them fight until one dies. It was the natural process of things. Yet, Aemond runs forward. He could not let Vhagar die, especially because of him. No, he’d give his life a thousand times for her. 

“Daor!” Aemond shouts as when he draws near, his boots kicking up sand as stray dragon fire forms walls of glass. “Daor!” He keeps shouting. Stop. He almost cries in relief when he falls to his knees, as the ground trembles under the dragons fighting. He does not understand why they are fighting, not when they have already settled. His throat threatens to close up and his eyes string in the face of his failure. He imagines the voices of his Targaryen ancestors whisper to him. 

Stand up. Aemond could almost pretend that their ghosts line the beach and behind him. He stands and runs forward. He ducks to avoid the tail of Cannibal’s fire as he screams at them. “Daor!” His shout rings clear as Cannibal rears back.

But Aemond’s imagination won’t turn fiction to reality, there is no one here for Aemond. Once again, Aemond stands alone, only this time he stares a dragon in the eye. Vhagar rumbles in displeasure from behind him. His senses prickle and he ducks as she attempts to pick him up again. Cannibal chortles and gruffs as Aemond side steps her attempts.

“Daor!” Aemond yells at her. No! His voice seems loud on the quiet beach, loud in a way he’s never heard it. He raises his head to meet her world weary eyes. His heart aches for her, desperately he wants to comfort her. To hug her, and speak soothing words like his mother does to him. But Cannibal’s hiss of displeasure tears Aemond away from her. The younger dragon shifts, tail flicking impatient. He steps forward toward the other larger dragon. His heart slams against his ribcage as he takes in a slow breath. 

“Lykirī!” Aemond barks out. Don’t make me try to force you to obey, Aemond prays. Cannibal bears his teeth, agitated. This is where you are meant to be, the wind whispers to Aemond. At long last, the voices of his Hightower ancestors fade along with them his fear.

Aemond is the blood of the dragon, he was bred and born for this very moment. His mother was torn from the side of her companion for him to complete this singular purpose, to stop the fight between two mighty dragons. Even if it cost Aemond own life, it would be a fair price. It would at least give his life some worth beyond being a prince. Vhagar rumbles behind Aemond, a warning. In the distance, Aemond swears he hears his name being called. 

Rhaynera?

Aemond keeps his gaze on Cannibal as he creeps forward. A frown tugs at Aemond’s lips. Why aren’t you flying away? Why stay and try to fight? What is keeping you here? Are you truly that hungry? Aemond wonders. The wind carries a tattered whisper of his name making his back ache to turn around curiously. 

Cannibal growls, frustrated, and something tears down the door in Aemond’s mind. He gasps as he sways, the strength nearly leaving his body. Cannibal ransacks his mind for information, searching. He steadies when Cannibal retreats. Cannibal quietens, before turning and presenting his low back to Aemond.

The world stills, as Aemond feels his breath get caught in his throat. He stares as his throat closes up with emotion. Rhaynera shouts his name, desperately, as if his sister ever cared for him. A male voice joins in, familiar yet a stranger. Cannibal whirls on them with a wild roar.

Bright dragonfire cuts through the darkness of the night. Sand flies as it solidifies from the heat, Aemond covers his eyes. Rhaynera calls his name out louder. He could hardly make out her from screaming his name as Daemon hauls her away from the fire, still kicking and screaming for Aemond. Of all people, for it to be you seems like a dream.

Aemond lowers his arm once the heat dies down, Cannibal’s green eyes bore into his own. The dragon presents his bareback and Aemond almost cries. His chest twisting with emotion so sharply he fears he may collapse from it. Vhagar rumbles and he feels the light pull on his mind, and he’s tempted to turn back and climb onto her saddle. 

But Aemond can’t turn away from Cannibal. He meets Vhagar’s eyes, orange and world weary, through their faint connection he pushes all his love, and awe for her. He needs her to know that he loves her beyond comprehension or reason, that she is not alone. It will take time and healing, but Vhagar will find a rider, it just won’t be Aemond. He rushes forward and climbs up on Cannibal’s back, ignoring Vhagar’s roar of grief even as it tugs at his heart. 

Cannibal hardly waits, Aemond wraps his arm around a small spike in his back and they take off. Voices call his name again but he hardly hears them. The wind whips at Aemond’s hair and clothes as they fly far away from the ground. Aemond closes his eyes as the winds roam over him. A wild laugh bursts out of his chest as Cannibal roars loudly enough to wake the entire realm. If any were still asleep then they surely awoke at the great sound. 

Aemond whoops and laughs in a way he hasn’t done since Ser Cole used to carry him around on his shoulders; a near lifetime ago. Cannibal’s body rumbles as they straighten out. Aemond opens his eyes only to feel his breath get knocked out of his chest at the view. The world seemed to stretch on forever. The moon, still so impossibly large, gleams whiter than any pearl. Its image reflected off the ocean waves, and lights appeared in the castle. Impossibly, despite everything that has happened the world carries on like nothing has changed. 

Unlike Vhagar, the bond between Aemond and Cannibal feels unstable. More like a piece of rope flapping in the wind, barely anchored in place. He only needs to grasp it to secure their bond. He breathes out slowly, the way his mother taught him to handle his bouts of dread and worry. Drawing his attention inward to the flapping rope tying them together.

Once done, they will be rider and dragon until Aemond’s dying day. He catches it between his hands, he grasps it, ignoring the way it seems to fight him off. Despite everything, Cannibal is still a feral dragon. The dragon was born free. He has never had to anchor his life around a rider like other dragons. 

“Dohaerās Cannibal,” Aemond breathes out gently, the name rolling off his tongue naturally. Cannibal releases another roar as the bond snaps in place. Brimming with heat and raw emotions. Beware, the sound seems to say. The rope wrapping and burning itself around his soul. They were no longer two lonely beings.

No, now they are rider and dragon. Pure joy fills Aemond from Cannibal as he opens his eyes, a large grin playing at his lips.  There will be no more lonely days or nights now, if Aemond ever craves companionship he only has to seek out his dragon for comfort. There will be no more nightmares of Rhaynera cutting off the heads of everyone he loves, not with Cannibal to be his protector. No one will hurt him now. Cannibal gruffles in agreement, Aemond smiles. 

They flew for what felt like forever. 

At some point Aemond dozed off grasping the spike in Cannibal’s back. He was at long last proven to be a Targaryen beyond the simple coloring of his hair. No more can anyone tease or bully him for lacking a dragon. Even better, he was the first rider of the wild Cannibal, of all who tried, only he succeeded.

Cannibal was bigger than any other dragon in existence, and mightier than all but Vhagar. For the first time since Aegon’s first tease on his lacking, Aemond felt safe. He awoke naturally, blinking as Cannibal circles over the castle. Other dragons cry out, knowing a predator was drawing near. Vhagar echoes with a mournful cry, anew with new grief, and Aemond’s heart clenches; they were so close to bonding. But Aemond knew Cannibal needed him more, Cannibal is too fierce and hungry to let himself be taken by anyone but Aemond. 

“Geptot,” Aemond instructs Cannibal gently. They turn left and land on the beach, far from Vhagar. Cannibal lowers himself, and lets Aemond dismount without protest. Aemond’s legs shake and he crumbles with a cry of surprise that Cannibal echoes. Blindly, Aemond pats the top of Cannibal’s snout as he noses his body, easing the dragon’s worries without saying a word.

Laying in the soft sand and staring up at his great dragon, Aemond grins as he strokes Cannibal’s snout. He waits until the pins fade from his legs to try to stand again, Cannibal keeps his snout close in case Aemond falls again. Grinning, Aemond tries his best to hug his dragon. His arms barely cover a tenth of Cannibal’s leg, yet it does not discourage Aemond. No, for the first time in a long time Aemond does not feel discouraged. 

“I will shield your back,” Aemond starts in High Valyrian. He draws back to gaze into the eyes of his great friend. “And keep your counsel and give my life for yours if need be.” Aemond says, repeating the words that he has heard a dozen times in his father’s court. “I swear by the Old Gods and the New.” Aemond says. Cannibal blinks down at him, understanding floating through their bond.

Cannibal releases a soft noise, as he curls his neck to touch Aemond’s back with the tip of his snout. “I will always be your friend,” Aemond adds, hugging Cannibal again. “And love you fiercely and honestly.” He mutters into Cannibal’s black scales. But he knew the dragon heard him just fine. Impossibly, heart aching, Aemond pulls away from Cannibal. 

“I must see my mother now,” Aemond informs Cannibal. Absently he wonders if Cannibal remembers his own mother. Or was the memory so faded that he can hardly recall even being a hatchling. Cannibal pushed a faint memory of a soothing coon and the feeling of warmth making Aemond’s heart ache. “She must be worried,” he mutters beneath his breath, frowning to himself.

Everything from the fights between Cannibal and Vhagar to Cannibal’s claiming was far from quiet, no doubt everyone figured out that Aemond is missing. Aemond gives Cannibal one last pat, before starting the long trek toward the castle. His legs and back throb in pain, complaining about the lack of a featherbed. He grits his teeth and ignores the pain.

Two darkly dressed figures on the stone landing of the castle’s staircase linger in the distance. Their telltale Targaryen white hair gives away their identity long before Aemond gets close enough to lay his eyes on them.  Rhaynera and Rhaenys are standing near the railing, their eyes flying from Cannibal’s distant hulking form to him. Rhaenys eyes roam over his body searching for possible injury.

“Aemond!” Rhaynera calls out. His name sounds foreign to him to hear it come from her mouth. Her long Varlyrian blonde hair in one intricate braid going down to her hip. She’s still in the dark red dress that she wore last night. Something akin to worry pulls at her beautiful features.

But Aemond sees no reason why she is worried, she has always been sure to keep a carefully cold relationship between them. Princess Rhaynera has made it clear since Aemond’s birth with her total absence, that they were no more brother and sister than Dorne had snow in it.

“Princess,” Aemond stops climbing the white steps, to greet his older sister with a proper bow of his head. Manners first, Aemond. His mother's voice sounds out in his head. He could almost feel the ghost of her finger tipping up his chin so she could look him in the eye, to ensure that he was listening. Her dark red dress wrinkles as she approaches him. Her hands lay on his shoulders as she crouches in front of him.  Rhaynera frowns at his tone, and Rhaenys looks a cross between curious and concerned. 

“Are you hurt?” Rhaynera asks Aemond. Her touch was warm on his shoulders, still he itches to shake her touch away. “Not that I am aware of Princess,” Aemond answers truthfully. His head feels overly full, swimming in images of Vhagar and Cannibal on the beach fighting.

Rhaynera sighs in relief. Her eyes shut as she clutches his shoulders tighter, as if reassuring herself that he was whole and hale. She open them as she considers him with powerful emotions that close up his throat. She opens her mouth to speak. But the great doors fly with a bang and his mother rushes out and the world fades. 

“Aemond!” His mother calls out in joy. From her lips, his name sounds holy. Relief painting her beautiful face as she looks at him. His mother wore a blue nightgown, a hastily fashioned dark blue robe thrown around her shoulders, and her curly red hair was messy. Yet the smile on her face could stop a war march full of thousands of angry men.

For that smile, a dozen more would bend the knee without even needing to know her name. Aemond shakes out of Rhaynera’s hold, and breaks out into a run, crashing into her warm embrace. Her arms capture him, wrapping around him tightly, securely as if ensuring nothing could ever part them ever again. Her sweet perfume and incense fills his nose as she breathes into his hair.

“I was so worried.” His mother whispers to him. In reply, he can only hug her tighter. Cannibal did not make for a fine substitute for his mother when it came to hugs. No one ever will. It was the power of mothers to give the warmest hugs, to lift their children’s spirit with a mere touch. Aemond burrows himself closer in reply, clutching her desperately. He almost died last night just to be reborn in the morning sun on the back of his dragon. 

“Aemond!” Aegon shouts as he draws near. But Aemond doesn’t raise his head. He has no tolerance for any of Aegon’s taunts or harsh remarks. Aegon’s boots slide as he nearly falls to reach his brother, Aemond grunts as his brother clumsily wraps his arms around them, burrowing his face into Aemond’s neck like a snake seeking warmth.

Aegon must have changed and taken a bath because he cannot smell any wine on his brother. For the first time in months Aemond can smell his brother, incense and the sweet tang of lavender. Aegon lets out a ragged breath against the top of Wemodn’s hair. Cautiously, Aemond slips an arm around Aegon’s waist. Aegon only clutches him tighter, as if he loved him too. 

“What did you do?” Aegon mutters with a watery voice. He almost sounds worried. But Aemond does not reply, his throat is closed too tightly to let him speak.

 “Little brother!” Helena calls out, running to his free side. Wordlessly, his sister throws her arms around him. Aemond’s eyes burn but he holds back the tears as he lets himself be hugged, to be loved by his family. His mother releases him for a second, Aemond almost cries at the loss. But she throws her arms around her children, and pulls her children into a hug. Aemond sighs as he lets their warmth fill his skin and heart. They sit like that for several minutes, clutching each other so tightly that no great winds or tides could ever pull them apart. 

Yet the clinking of a cane makes them pull away, the king hobbles outside. 

“Aemond.” Viserys croaks out in a hoarse voice. Aemond lifts his head as his mother readjusts, turning to face the king but not releasing her children. The king seems frail under the morning’s gentle rays, as if the slightest touch from the winds would send him onto the floor. Absently Aemond wonders why Visery forced his body through the harsh labor of venturing outside. Rhaynera and Rhaenys join the king's side as more of his extended family spill outside.

Daemon and Otto slither to opposite sides of the king. Daemon’s daughters, Baela and Rhaena clutch their father’s hands. They are dressed in matching dark dresses and their hair done in twin braids. Rhaynera’s sons quickly fall to the mother’s side. Coryls joins Rhaenys side, their hands intertwine. Subtly Corlys pulls his wife closer to his body. Larys limps to Otto’s side, his dark unseeming eyes burn into Aemond. Alicent lays a hand on Aemond’s knee as her throat bobs. 

“My king.” Aemond greets, not caring to move to bow properly. Helaena clutches his right hand tight enough to hurt. Aemond ignores the pain. Cannibal roars in the distance, before turning on the beach and curling up. Aemond smiles as his family flinches at the sound. Viserys eyes are wide as he takes in Aemond as if just seeing him for the first time. A twitch of a smile plays on Otto’s face before it is quickly smoothed out.

As if was he who won something and not Aemond. He has miscalculated, Aemond thinks as he reaches out to Cannibals mind. Feeling the power and rush of devotion fill his mind and heart. Aemond has won everything. This is the one thing Aemond has gained that no one can ever take away from him, if any try Cannibal will have a hearty snack. For Cannibal has set Aemond free and a wild dragon is the most dangerous form of beast.