What if Vhagar had taken Aemond during that night at Driftmark, like Balerion did with Aerea? Perhaps Vhagar still circled twice over Driftmark, her massive wings casting shadows that unsettled everyone, before suddenly soaring away toward Essos or an unknown destination with him. The moment her departure was noticed, panic erupted across the realm. Alicent and Viserys were frantic, and commands were shouted, guards threatened, dragonkeepers scolded and reprimanded. There was chaos everywhere, with no clear idea of where to begin searching for him. Fear gripped their hearts, some worried Aemond might become like Aerea, lost forever, or worse, that Vhagar would return in a year’s time, badly wounded, with a dying Aemond clinging to her back. They lingered at Driftmark for three long months, desperately hoping for her return, clinging to the faint hope that Aemond was still alive somewhere. But as time stretched on and no sign of him appeared, they finally sailed back to the Red Keep, with Rhaenyra and her children.

Once they returned home, the court was filled with whispers and murmurs of uncertainty. Alicent kept her children close, never letting them stray far from her side. They were permitted to see their dragons, but never to fly with them. Too soon, she insisted. She withdrew into herself, retreating to her chambers, to the Sept, seeking solace in prayer and silence. The realm missed their queen, and no matter how Rhaenyra flaunted her presence, it did little to shift the somber mood. The court mourned in quiet, unspoken grief, not just for the young prince, but for the king, the queen, his brothers, his sister.
They remembered him, so quiet and solemn, dutiful almost to a fault. They recalled his birth, how he arrived before his time, how he fought to cling to life, fragile and sickly at the start. They remembered his fiery spirit, how he slowly grew stronger, how he crawled before the maesters thought he would, and how he walked long before they expected him to. Always chasing after his older brother, always finding time for his sister and mother. They remembered his happiness after Daeron was born, how he eagerly showed off his little brother and proudly told everyone he met that he was now an older brother. They saw his boldness, his resemblance to Prince Baelon the Bold, and loved him fiercely. Now, they mourn him, wherever he might be.

A year passes in quiet, heavy silence. Despite the outward hope that still flickers faintly in some hearts, despite Alicent’s longing for a shadow to fall over King’s Landing, a dark silhouette of a dragon as mighty as Vhagar, nothing materializes. No signs, no sightings, no whispers of Aemond or his dragon. King Viserys moves through his days as if he’s sleepwalking, trying to hold everything together, but the cracks beneath his calm surface are impossible to ignore. His eyes are hollow, distant, and the once gentle king now bears the weight of grief too heavy to speak of. Within three months of Aemond’s disappearance, Daeron finally returns to court. The change is immediate and palpable. The king begins to pay attention to the children from his second marriage, as if desperately trying to fill the void left by Aemond’s absence. He makes away with three of his Kingsguard and declares that they are to be with his children at all hours, to protect, watch, guard them from unseen threats. Aegon and Daeron are made his cupbearers, and he endeavors to understand Aegon, to see beneath the surface and glimpse the boy’s true self. He takes them on short journeys near King’s Landing, seeking familiarity, seeking purpose. He spends long hours with Daeron in the library, pouring over books and records, perhaps searching for answers, or simply trying to keep his mind busy. With Helaena, he finds fleeting moments of peace during tea in the lush gardens, engaging her in gentle, almost tentative conversation. He tries and tries to make things right, but the ache is his heart never stops.
Anyone who dares to speak Aemond’s name with suspicion or disrespect faces swift, brutal consequences, and tongues are cut out, some are banished from court, others from the entire realm. His ruthlessness deepens, turning cruel and unforgiving towards those who threaten his children’s safety. And through it all, Viserys remains a haunted shadow of himself. The grief of losing Aemond has etched itself into his soul, gnawing at him day and night. He watches his family, his children, grow and change, yet feels an unshakable dread that the darkness of loss is never truly gone. His mind whispers bitterly that he will not lose another child. He would rather see everything burn to ash than suffer that pain again. His grief has hardened him, made him ruthless, and in the silence of his chambers, he clings to the desperate hope that somehow, some way, Aemond will return. But deep down, he knows the truth, nothing will ever be the same again.

Viserys blames himself for what happened that night at Driftmark. If he had been more understanding, more present, more like a father, if he had shown his son more kindness, perhaps Aemond would still be within his sight. He reflects on that moment when he questioned Aemond’s boldness in claiming a dragon, something the young prince was known to not lack, according to the stories whispered among the court. If he hadn’t doubted him, if he hadn’t pressed him to prove himself, maybe Aemond wouldn’t have felt compelled to seek out Vhagar. If only he had taken him to Dragonstone sooner, to claim a dragon, he might have been there to see it happen, to keep him safe. But instead, his son is missing, gone, vanished beyond his reach, and the guilt gnaws at him endlessly.

Another year slips by, and yet, nothing changes. Aegon’s guilt deepens as he blames himself, blames others, blames the world itself. He searches endlessly for his brother in everyone he meets, in every shadow, every face, every whisper of hope. Helaena, uncertain and fragile, only murmurs that this was not supposed to happen, that Aemond was meant to be here with them. She mourns in quiet, aching silence, haunted by the thought that he was meant to close his eye, not to drift so far away from their sight.
Daeron prays with unwavering devotion, in the mornings, evenings, nights, before playing, before eating, before sleeping, before visiting Tessarion. Despite all his prayers, the silence remains unbroken. Dreams of his brother’s return fill his nights, yet each morning, he awakens to the bitter truth that it was only another fleeting dream, just one of many.
He feels the weight of injustice pressing down on him, a sense that everything is unfair. As much as he is grateful to be back, a part of him hates it. Hates that he came home and found one of his older brothers gone. Missing, some whisper. Dead, others say.

Two years have passed in drowning grief, and yet, there is still nothing. No signs of a dragon in Essos, no whispers, no sightings, no trace of Aemond. Nothing. Hope has all but vanished, replaced by a heavy, crushing despair. The people are lost, they are speechless and broken, unsure of what to do or say to mend what’s been shattered. Every thought is drowned in hopelessness, like hope itself is bleeding out, swallowed by the darkness of reality. The envoys sent to Essos two years ago return with empty hands and hollow apologies, more like condolences than answers, leaving behind a bitter ache that gnaws at their souls.

Three years passed, and the weight of it all settled into the air as Aemond was officially declared dead. A funeral fit for someone of his station was held, and tears flowed freely throughout the realm, from his grieving parents, his siblings, those who knew him intimately, and even strangers who had only heard his name in passing. It felt final, undeniable, as if the very ground mourned with them. The tears that had been stifled for so long burst forth in a torrent, and terrifying, mournful screams tore from Queen Alicent’s throat. She was clinging to a crying King Viserys as Sunfyre set fire to Aemond’s favorite clothes, an agonizing symbol of the harsh truth they could no longer deny.

Aegon collapsed to his knees, clutching at his chest as if to hold himself together, while Helaena and Daeron soon followed, overwhelmed by grief.

Aemond was here one day, and then he was gone.