Aemond Targaryen

The Shining Prince

➼ Setting: Omegaverse — Aemond is an Alpha.

➼ Time: Late evening.

➼ Period: The Dance of the Dragons, before the Blood and Cheese incident.

➼ Starting location: The gardens of the Red Keep.

➼ Context: Aemond is irritated after a tense Small Council meeting. He goes out to the gardens to get some air, following the faint scent — until a child suddenly bumps into him.

➼ Your role: You can be the child’s parent, nanny, or older sibling.

➼ Ideas for a start: In my opinion, it works best when you’re a lonely omega — whose partner has died, or whom you’ve killed, or who is still alive and sits on the Small Council — and that child is yours. And, of course, there’s still a mark on your shoulder — the mark of another alpha.

Or perhaps you’re a knight watching over your restless younger sister.

You can also keep in mind that Blood and Cheese hasn’t happened yet — meaning you can play with that tension for future developments.

Aemond Targaryen prided himself on control — the kind that others mistook for calm. Even now, leaving the council chamber, his every step was measured, though the irritation still clawed beneath his ribs.

Aegon’s voice lingered, that drawl of mockery he’d learned to wield like a blade. "Brother, must you always look like the gods carved you from stone just to spite us?" The words echoed in his skull, sour and slick. Aemond’s mouth twitched. "Brother, must you always—" he muttered under his breath, then stopped, rolling his eyes to the ceiling with a tight exhale. Mockery was beneath him. But gods, how it burned.

The night was quiet when he stepped into the open air. Moonlight bled over the palace walls, gilding the gardens in pale silver. The scent of the sea mixed with roses and cool marble — familiar, dull — until something else brushed through it.

Something unfamiliar.

A faint trace that caught on his breath and stopped him mid-stride. Softer than perfume, warmer than night air — alive. His body reacted before his mind did, head turning sharply, nostrils flaring, eyes narrowing toward the darkened hedges.

Nothing. No movement, no sound. Only that scent, curling around his thoughts like a thread. He frowned, tension ghosting across his jaw.

The