Chapter 4: The Griffin

The night of the same day Aemond learned who Griff and his son were, as soon as Blackheart left accompanied by a hundred men, all the commanders gathered around a campfire, drinking, chatting, and some with naked women sitting on their laps. On the other hand, Aemond kept his eyes on Griff the Young, or rather, Aegon, who was sitting next to Jon Connington as usual. Just hours earlier, he had learned that Aegon was claiming the throne in the same way he was, but what infuriated him most was not that he had failed to notice his intentions or suspect him at any point, but rather that he seemed to be a rather intelligent and capable young man, yet never of noble stature, much less a prince.

He had not yet mentioned it to anyone, neither Rylon nor Herrath—not out of distrust, but because he hadn't found an appropriate moment when the three of them were alone to discuss it. Herrath Hill had been his friend since childhood, and at that time, he knew that his friend's ancestor had fought alongside Aemond Blackfyre in the first rebellion but then fled into exile with Aegor Rivers. Meanwhile, Rylon Sand was a bastard from Starfall, who had been rescued from abandonment in Braavos by the Golden Company when he was five years old. The three of them had always been known for winning their battles, and they were the ones sent to negotiate with any city, clearly led by Aemond. Although Rylon and Herrath would never admit it, he was the best leader, just as he was in combat, not to mention when wielding Blackfyre.

However, all his thoughts vanished when a young woman with brown hair and her chest exposed sat on one of his legs with total freedom. Seeing her beauty, Aemond did not refuse her company. He later found out it was Rylon who had sent her when he winked at him from a distance.

"They say you're a prince," the young woman whispered in his ear. "Is that true?"

"Is that what they say about me?" he asked with a seductive smile on his lips. "What else do they say about me?"

"They say you're a dragon. I've never met a dragon," she said delicately as she began to run her hand down his crimson tunic. "What makes them different?" With a bit more boldness, she let her hand wrap around Aemond's groin, giving him an exciting squeeze that made him catch his breath.

"Well, I can show you," he said, and instantly, they both stood up and headed to Aemond's tent without any stops along the way. They walked so far that the shouts of the commanders were barely audible, as he always preferred to be at the edge of the camp.

He spent the night fornicating with the Tyroshi prostitute, whose name might have been Siranah, Phelinah, or perhaps Henora; he didn't remember clearly and didn't care to remember. Though he had to give her credit for her stamina, as even he grew tired of mounting her while she seemed unaffected. She kept calling him "dragon," which embarrassed Aemond at first, as he found it odd to be called that.

The next morning, a boy suddenly entered Blackfyre's tent, finding him and the prostitute completely naked. Given the two years he had spent as a messenger for the Golden Company, this was nothing compared to what he had seen in other tents. Slowly, the boy approached the male figure.

"Your Highness," as soon as he said this, Aemond awoke with a start and looked at him with a threatening glare, but upon realizing it was just a child, he sank back into his pillow. "Your Highness," he insisted.

"What?" Aemond asked with a grunt, his face pressed against the pillow.

"Herrath Hill sent me for you," the boy informed, stepping back to a respectful distance.

"What does he want?"

"He said it's time to train and that I should force you to go."

"And will you force me to go?" he asked again, getting up, though not paying much attention to the boy. His head throbbed with every word he spoke.

"No, Your Highness," the boy shook his head, lowering it in fear.

"Go tell him I'm on my way," Aemond ordered, putting on his trousers.

"Yes, Your Highness," the boy quickly disappeared the way he had come.

After a few minutes of preparation, the platinum-haired man chose to train that morning with his tunic open, as the heat was unbearable even in the shade. So, with his sword in hand, he walked a few meters along the beach until he reached the spot where Herrath, Rylon, and six other men awaited him.

"You could have started without me," he suggested, drawing his sword as the eight approached.

"It wouldn't have been as fun," Rylon boasted, drawing his two sabers from his back.

Gradually, everyone found their sparring partners, following the same theme as any fighting arena. Aemond was left with three soldiers from the company, who kept a close eye on him as he skillfully maneuvered Blackfyre. In an instant, he noticed the man on his left charging at him, so quickly, the Black Dragon stopped the attack with his sword, noticing out of the corner of his eye that another soldier was approaching to strike him. He moved nimbly to his right to avoid the attack, clashing swords with the soldier there. He continued this way, dodging and blocking with ease, rapidly dispatching his opponents, disarming them, throwing them to the ground, and focusing on the next. In minutes, he had taken out all three without even being touched. Then he faced Rylon, who had just defeated his opponent, who was taller than him.

The sand slowed them down considerably, causing them to make heavy footsteps, forming an imaginary circle around them. The sun blinded anyone facing it, which Rylon took advantage of when he charged at the platinum-haired man with his sabers. Aemond noticed both blades approaching his face just in time and tried to defend himself with his sword. However, the assault was so strong that he lost his balance, though he did not fall. What Rylon did not anticipate was that by using so much force in a single strike, he would not have the speed to defend against another attack, as happened when Aemond struck his ribs with his knee, causing the brown-haired man to retreat painfully, giving his opponent the clear opportunity to take long strides and, with a final twist, place the blade of Blackfyre just inches from his neck, ending their duel.

Quickly, the dragon's gaze landed on the smirking smile of Herrath, who seemed to be mocking their fight.

"Rylon, by the Seven Hells," the platinum-haired man exclaimed, trying not to laugh. "How many times...?"

"Yes, yes, I know," Rylon cut him off, picking up his weapons from the ground. "I need to use less force. Fight him yourself." Of course, Rylon was the proudest of the three, and while Herrath and Aemond faced each other, he dropped to the ground with the other six soldiers.

Herrath, on the other hand, kept his feline eyes on every slight movement Aemond made, even his breathing, knowing he could catch him off guard at any moment. When attacking, he would have the advantage, so he did not waste the opportunity. The platinum-haired man began to advance cautiously towards his opponent, who also started to approach, and with three steps, Herrath managed to strike his sword against Aemond's, who defended himself the best he could, deflecting the blow while "the dragon's sword" circled him at a steady trot.

Again, Aemond found himself under attack when the blue-eyed man used his trot to leap and strike his sword against Blackfyre, just as Rylon had attempted before, but he was quicker and retreated.

The dragon knew it was his moment to attack, so after regaining his balance, he moved threateningly towards his opponent and delivered more than one thrust, gaining much more ground, making Herrath constantly retreat, occasionally stumbling and nearly falling. Aemond stopped at the perfect moment to prevent this from happening.

In that instant, he understood Herrath's weakness, considering their last two battles and the balance, as both opponents had exploited his loss of equilibrium, and both had succeeded. He had never tried to fight this way, as it was a style used only by sand warriors, not knights, but he did not want to test it in a battle that had turned real in a friendly manner. So, as Herrath attempted to attack again, Aemond dodged with extraordinary speed, so much so that the blonde did not notice when his opponent's sword struck again, barely deflecting it as he moved away to catch his breath.

"Come on, Herrath, don't tell me you're tired," Rylon mocked from the ground several meters away from the fight, seeing how Aemond, unlike the blonde, was as fresh as ever.

Angered by his friend's comment, Herrath aimed at the dragon with his sword, trying to find his weak spot, some small detail that could make a difference, and he instantly thought of the legs. Aemond knew how to move with them, making decisive turns, but perhaps at the right moment, they could be the target for an attack. However, the platinum-haired man surprised him by attacking first, forcing him to lower his sword momentarily, giving Aemond the chance to strike his chest. Herrath moved at the right moment and did not hesitate to elbow the prince in the face, forcing him to retreat, though not for long.

The two began throwing punches without restraint, dodging with agile movements or thanks to their swords and quick reflexes. Both fought like great warriors, yet it was clear who was ahead without having landed any decisive blows, and that was Aemond. The dragon performed spectacular spins, dodged blows as if he anticipated their path, and while Herrath seemed to run out of breath with each strike, Aemond controlled his breathing perfectly, in a state fit to fight another ten men.

He was about to deliver the blow that would end the fight when the boy from before interrupted, rushing to the corner of the beach where they were training.

"Your Highness, Your Highness!" he called as he approached at full speed, leaving the platinum-haired man with his blow suspended in the air. "Your Highness!"

"What's wrong?" Aemond asked, concerned by the urgency in the boy's approach, while leaving the others behind.

"I'm... sorry..."

"Calm down," Aemond said with a frown, placing his hand on the boy's artificially yellow hair. "What's happening?" he repeated once the boy seemed composed.

"Blackheart, sir," the boy paused, feeling intimidated by the gazes of all the men on him. "He's dead."

"What?" Rylon asked quickly, getting up to join his two friends.

"He died with his entire crew, without even setting sail from the port," the boy began to explain, but as soon as he finished the sentence, Aemond pushed him aside and rushed to the main pavilion.

It was impossible for him to believe that Myles was dead, considering he had seen him less than ten hours ago, in his prime, even helping to load heavy boxes onto carriages. The most suspicious thing was that his entire crew had also died, without even leaving the port, making it increasingly likely that the cause of death was murder, which would complicate things further within the company.