#Motherless Daughters | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

g1rlken · 7 months ago

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┏ Like real people do ┐

Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

summary: The reader is Aemond’s new bride, a match fixed some time before Viserys’s death. Daemon’s daughter through Lady Royce navigates through a difficult now into a new chapter of being married to the one eyed prince, council and war.

warnings: daemon being an awful dad, Luke’s death, attachment issues, angst, slow burn, arranged marriage

word count: 5.1k

Part 1. Part 2

Worlds changed, dragons spew fire, flowers burnt and flowers bloomed, children born and doomed. Y/n, Daemon Targeryn’s first born through Lady Rhea Royce. A child he had despised ever since her birth, just an extension for his hatred towards Lady Royce in the first place. He could never stand her, having been forced to his duties he hated her even more. He was never around for the aftermath of anything, the rogue prince who knew no bounds. The child wasn’t even half a year old when he mercilessly put an end to Lady Royce. The ‘accident’ left the child at the kindness of pitiful wet nurses and the castle staff.

King Viserys however couldn’t stand such tragedy over and over, he generally refrained from interfering his brother’s life. He did regret his decision of marrying daemon to someone against his will but he could not have anticipated such a harsh counter reaction via Daemon. Especially after the babe, Viserys thought the child could perhaps soften the coldness of their relations but it only got worse. The king wished to seek some atonement at least for the sake of the child. Y/n, the princess, away at the grasslands of Runestone. He arranged for her to live at the red keep, a motherless child with an absent father would do better within her present family. The King’s children through alicent were mere babies themselves. The maids, the kind Queen herself, would do well to look after the infant. After all the red keep was her house just as much as it was Daemon’s despite his grievance towards it. Her dragon too was well looked after through the keeps instead of Runestone staff. Her dragon was just a hatchling as y/n too was a baby herself.

Alicent, younger at the time. The keep’s staff, mastered in squalling babies and fussy infants. Y/n wasn’t a bother at all. Not that she were to remember but Queen alicent was kinder to her than the fates had been, she nursed her like one of her own. Such fondness and softness towards daughters, it was nice enough. At least for a while. Y/n was six by the time daemon had come for Rhaenyra’s wedding, then off with Laena. No familiarity between the six year old y/n and her father. Too young to understand her family setting and Daemon still rancour.

Daemon had two daughters with the driftmark princess, viserys deemed him capable enough to raise y/n then. He decided to send little y/n back to her father, viserys wanted his brother to accept his daughter. Alicent had a smaller voice at that time yet she tried to reason with her husband to let y/n be at the keep. Daemon had to accept his brother’s whim anyways so he did. Viserys was as relieved as Alicent was anxious that y/n was in Pentos. King made the decision in good faith, if only he put a bit more distrust in daemon than he did trust. Daemon was still the same, y/n, still a child and he did nothing to make her feel included or at home. She learnt to keep to herself how she had seen Haelena do. Still quite young to comprehend where all such distaste came from, all these different people, different land. She longed to call a place home, her memories of the red keep, Alicent, the others it kept fading because she was but a baby back then. Her father wouldn’t teach y/n how to ride on dragon back how he did with her half sisters. But y/n had taught it to herself. Watching she learnt, she didn’t have to be told explicitly what to do. She fell a lot, on her face and back but she learnt anyways.

As years passed nothing changed between y/n and her father, her half sisters were company enough time to time but she was always in their orbit and not as close. All until Driftmark, they lost lady Laena. Y/n was in her early teens and she tried to be there for Baela and Rhaena. She stood by their side through their mother’s funeral. She understood the gravity of such tragedy, she lived with that grief all her life for her mother who was a stranger she never even met. But she mourned her longer than she’d known her.

Reunited with Alicent, gaining a distasteful look from Daemon. “You’ve grown so much” Alicent remarked as she pulled the girl into her embrace. Both of them looked so much different from when they last met each other. The girl had distant memory of the queen but her warmth was nicer than she had known anyone else’s. Despite the occasion alicent was brought some peace of mind seeing Y/n, she didn’t look her best but at least not the worst. She didn’t have to ask y/n to know if Daemon spoke to her, if she felt at home. She reintroduced y/n to her children, some of them y/n didn’t even remember through faces if not for name.

“She was such a small babe.” Helaena commented as she greeted the young girl. It had been years since Helaena had seen her. Aegon and Aemond just stood with disinterest, Aemond trying to mask it otherwise regardless.

After the tragedy that was which followed Laena’s death upon the nightfall of her funeral. Aemond’s eye was taken and it was a rather gruesome unfolding. A night which left a permanent distance between families. A mark which shaped Aemond for years to come.

As the years followed, dragonstone proved to be just as dreary and awfully lonely for y/n. None of her half siblings were her own or ever treated her as such, unsolicited kindness was all she would get here and there and she had accepted surviving it. Thinking of lives far away, a place where life would begin. But it was perhaps never. As King Viserys’s health worsened the queen and hand took matters into their own hands bit by bit.

The queen, declared that it is but the king’s wish for Aemond to be married with y/n, Daemon’s firstborn. Viserys was asked about it, surely, his decision was firm and wearily elated about the marriage so what does it matter who pitched the thought as long as the king agreed. Aemond was agitated. He did not want it, at all. For the ever present and abiding Aemond he had a rift with the thought of marriage to y/n. But he kept his shortcomings to himself.

Even more so mortified was y/n, she didn’t remember how exactly was her childhood at the red keep but she did recall that ever since driftmark, that family would surely not have a soft heart for her. “Father please don’t-please don’t make me do this” she pleaded Daemon.

“It is the King, my brother’s wish.” Daemon said in a disregard of her wish, surprisingly he was fine with his brother’s second hand wish too. Daemon was aware that the Hightower queen and Otto is who pulled all the strings and his brother was a bed ridden king but this was a decision in his favour as long as he could be rid of y/n.

“You cannot marry me off like this!” She exclaimed, for someone who rarely expressed thoughts to daemon. Something she learnt in all those years with being met with cold shoulder all of life, she had to fight for her life as of now. “Not to Aemond, please father please, I do not know any of them-“

“You do. You have spent most of your childhood at the hip of that Hightower queen you will be just fine.” Daemon scoffed with a bit of condescension in his voice. Indifference as he referred to Alicent.

“I do not remember them” y/n tried to reason, any wet nurse could show sympathy to a high born motherless child she did not account to be in a marriage with that sympathy at this stage in her life. “They are complete strangers, father, please I will stay wherever you ask please don’t marry me off!”

“You are of age, y/n. This is a fitting decision for you!” He exclaimed with growing irritation at this conversation, daemon never paid mind to her moreover chose not to and hence he had expected her to show nothing but compliance.

“For me or for you?” She asked with a bitter huff looking away from her father already losing hope in this conversation, she couldn’t stomach this decision without letting him know her repulsion of it. “You are so eager to wash your hands off of me as if I have ever wronged you, all my life, I’ve never asked for anything-“

“Haven’t you?!” Daemon said loudly, his rage visible in his tone “The fact that you exist is asking too much of me as it is. You are an awful reminder and a mistake. I have been subjected to duty and honour and it is only fair if you are too. It is your duty, if not to me then to the King.” With that the door was slammed as the rogue prince walked out, an ironic vision of her life.

A bitter goodbye and an uncertain life with little to no hope y/n was set for the red keep, glancing back at dragonstone for one last time. She didn’t know if she held any homely softness for that place in her heart but she presumed the life which awaited her would be more dreary than the stone.

The wedding was an intimate affair, a small ceremony but still a lot of strangers y/n had never seen. Daemon refrained from attending but it was no surprise. She was met with warmth and affection from her mother in law and her family but not her husband to be, they were all a strange set of people down here in the south from the maids to the king himself who didn’t even sit on the throne yet made decisions.

Even the most beautiful flowers would wither away at the heavy heart of the new bride of new title, the princess. She couldn’t stand her person she was becoming or moreover the mere idea of what she had to be. Aemond wouldn’t even share the same bad as her, almost every night for the first week. He’d rather sleep on the sofa or some nights he’d just never return from wherever he wandered off to.

Barely getting the grasp of it, small domestic solaces just everytime she was with Halena and her mother in law, tending to her niece and nephew. The only time she felt less alone but she was familiar with the loneliness, that wasn’t the problem. It was the nerve wrecking confusion and uncertainty that followed after, eating her alive every night that she would lay. Within strangers now, she felt a stranger to herself too.

Days passed, circumstances arose: the king fell. Aegon was declared the king, a restless unease of an upcoming war. The hand’s very first decision was passing daemon’s seat on the council to y/n. “What?” She asked wide eyed as the hand and queen pitched it to her. “Why, me? I’m not even that learned…” she trailed off.

“You spend most of your time in the library, you happen to have a knack for reading. I’m assuming you can write too?” Otto questioned, if more number of people on the council were his own to mould and speak for the rule would be so much easier.

“Yes but just letters and scrolls..” she trailed off with a sigh, it was rather strange they would approach her for something as important as the council in the first place.

“We need sharp mind of a soft heart on the council.” Alicent said as she caressed her daughter in law’s cheek, with a smile to put some confidence in her. Despite her father’s motives of having y/n on the council, Alicent believed y/n would prove to be rather fruitful and genuine.

“It is also your birthright, through your father’s seat on King Viserys’s council. It is only right if you were to be a part of it.” Otto added in an encouraging manner. The pieces were being set already, as the blacks were processing their own steps.

They had Aemond set to go meet lord Dorros the very next morrow, with a bribe of the crown’s coin and loyalty. The forces set, Aegon’s coronation done. Just one last afternoon council left. Aegon, riding the high of his coronation wasn’t present in this one.

Everyone took their respective seats, it was an eventful morning’s slow afternoon. The coronation was as eventful as it was unpleasant with the beast beneath the boards. Sending out scrolls to other lords, the council discussed it. Y/n didn’t say anything, just listening. Writing out the needed scrolls, Alicent quietly remarked her beautiful hand at the words.

The door slammed open as Aemond entered, he was enraged at his wife’s seat on the council. “Aemond.” Alicent said as the room stiffened.

“What is this?” He asked with as his brows furrowed, he felt very wronged and partially frustrated that his lady wife had a seat on the council above him.

“It’s a meeting.” Otto declared as he looked back from the board back to Aemond, “Not yet done, what is your business here?”

“What is she doing here?” Aemond inquired as he leant over a chair, more belonging in this room than anyone else. Especially his wife, he thought to himself the other members with an awkward look on their face.

“She has a seat extended on the king’s council after her own father, daemon.” Otto filled him in on the subject, visibly disinterested.

“Daemon’s claim on the council died with my father’s death. She holds no such extension.” Aemond reasoned calmly, very much opposed to the irritation rising inside him.

“I’m still a hand to the king aren’t I? Your mother is on the council. Lord Tyland-“ Otto replied back but was interrupted by Aemond midway before he made his point.

“None of them sworn against Aegon. Daemon has called for the pretender hence his seat on this council holds no significance.” Aemond scoffed looking down at his wife who sat, scrolls lay in front of her and a pen in her hand. She felt overwhelmed with such necessary distaste, the hand to the king and queen mother herself asked her to join the council yet Aemond had an issue. It’s not as if she were to act against the interest of the crown or make big decisions to begin with.

“She is the princess. Your lawfully wedded wife, in the eyes of the gods and all the members of this very council and more. Despite Daemon’s treachery and your incoherent jealousy she belongs here.” Otto said breaking Aemond’s mouth, he knew which nerve to exactly hit. Saying Aemond was jealous, of his lady wife’s seat in front of everyone. It was enough to send him seething back and he was right. With a huff as he stared down at y/n, he turned to his heel at left.

Everyone had their accustomed part with a potential war brewing. Aemond had to leave to meet lord borros next morning. Y/n assumed he would be calculating and supposedly busy with his task at hand yet he found time to cause a scene at the council. Y/n knew that nobody on the council saw her as a threat because they all knew of daemon’s indifference for her. The black sheep. In truth she didn’t owe her father any loyalty either so their calculations were correct, her husband however.

She planned to avoid him regardless, spending the rest of the day with the twins, Helaena talking her ear off about her fixated spider and y/n loved that too. Jaehaera was playing with y/n’s hair, adding her toys into it making improper braids. Jahaerys running in circles and hoarding his toys in y/n’s lap as she enjoyed a conversation with their mother.

Alicent walked in, for a moment just taking in the domesticity of the scene. The serenity, the girls laughing. It was rather rare before y/n to see Helaena at peace like this. She entered with a soft knock greeting everyone and she took a seat next to y/n, “Children you must retire your auntie now, it’s rather late!”

“It’s alright mother, it’s not that late.” protested, Haelena she enjoyed y/n’s company as much as the whining children, Jaehaera caged y/n in her tiny arms from her back to not let her go. However through alicent’s hesitant eyes y/n realised she must have some sort of business to discuss.

“Forgive me my loves I am growing a bit tired…but I’m not going anywhere I’d be back soon enough!” She said with a sigh as she kissed the twins goodbye, both of them a bit protestant but let her go eventually. “Good evening, Helaena.” She smiled and bid her goodbye as well and exited with her mother in law.

After they were out in the hallway, secluded of other ears Alicent proceeded “Are you alright?”

“Yes, your grace” y/n replied with a non hesitant nod, in an instant with a smile confused why would that question come up.

“Mother.” She corrected her stopping on her way to turn to face her.

“-Mother.” Y/n said with a soft smile rephrasing her title.

“After…today’s council. You have been avoiding Aemond?” She asked searching for y/n’s dreary eyes.

“No-that is not the case” y/n shook her head trying to formulate a better answer given she hadn’t asked that question to herself. Because in a sense she was avoiding Aemond. “I—“ she breathed “I am rather anxious.”

“Of what? Does he speak to you in an ill manner? Do you wish for me to talk to him?” Alicent inquired concerned for her hesitation of Aemond’s lashing out or whatever it was she was trying to avoid.

“No-no it’s not that…I just feel guilty. He wants an authority, his opinion to be heard at council level and I get that place before him, we’re not at the best terms to begin with and now he must be cross with me” Y/n explained her worry with a sigh.

“And? It is your right, y/n.” Alicent said as she took her hand into hers in an affirming way, “you must never feel guilty for claims that are solely yours.” She explained, “as of Aemond, he can be difficult sometimes, but I assure you he isn’t malevolent. He loves you.”

The Queen mother’s assurance felt it came from a place of gentle constitution and the motherly naïveté of overlooking some things but y/n was more than aware that Aemond did anything but love her. She was familiar with lack of warmth, affection, just so far from it she could almost find strange ways to dwell in it. It was an emotion she knew for so long, from her father’s house to her husband’s, bricks of her old life and no love.

But she did not tell alicent of her wearies, after all she did not worry about it she was at terms with it. But she was worried meeting Aemond, as of now, she walked the hallway to their shared bedchamber with heavy breaths. Aemond was looking out the giant window, he had a journey to make the next morning to the baratheons yet he wasn’t resting or preparing. Much to y/n’s demise she hoped he’d be off somewhere else. She closed the door behind her as she entered, Aemond never talked to her generally. She never spoke unless spoken to but today silence weighed heavy between the two of them.

“The meeting ran late did it?” Aemond asked without looking back at her, he could tell from the soft stride who entered their chambers.

“No, I was with Helaena…” She trailed off growing strangely anxious because she felt answerable to him. As if it would compensate him and that was her burden to bear. “The meeting was rather trivial”

“Was it now?” He scoffed in a bigger way and turned to face her, “You must have provided the trivial meeting with your other worldly wit and understanding of warfare.”

“Aemond” she said taking in a sharp breath, meaning to tread carefully “I know you are upset. Believe me I did not know beforehand of the planning nor was it offered to me, the hand-queen mother they deemed it as my duty and right and I did not have other choice otherwise I would’ve asked you…”

“Asked me what?” Aemond interrogated crossing his arms as he leant against the stone pillar, her feigning nonchalance and false sympathy irritated him to no end.

“To take my place” she answered. She meant it in a genuine sense because she did not hold the same passion or want for a seat on the King’s council the way Aemond did. It was far from her. “I’d rather you take my place, I have no wish for authority on the council. I could ask the hand to-“

“You truly are the imbecile I presumed you to be.” He said assertively as he stiffened, his shoulders tight. “Are you that naive? Do you think I would need your help to put myself on the council? Yours?” He said as he huffed, berating her was his intention. Y/n remained silent, unmoving in her place no matter however she tried and help him or soften the rift in their marriage he was always imbecile from it. In the meantime he walked a bit closer to her, towering over her given his taller stature he leant forward by a bit to make himself appear intimidating.

“My apologies then.” She muttered lowering her gaze from his because she felt rather scrutinised by him as if she was at fault for something, as if she had wronged him. “Excuse me” she said before he could reply and attempted to retreat away to the adjoint bathroom. Wait out him falling asleep or leaving. The newlywed with their peculiar marriage of indifference.

Aemomd’s return from his errand with the Baratheon lord contained of a difficult detour nobody had anticipated. Rather difficult, to navigate such a blow through warfare. The council, y/n merely heard and spoke four sentences on an average, was shocked. No idea of action status not war treading. Circumstance heavy on everyone. Shame and disregard.

Sitting by the burning lamp, late evening, the scrolls and letters were to be written with such urgency after what happened with lucerys y/n had to take it to her own desk. Too busy with the works she barely processed the loss yet, she did not know Lucerys as a brother but an acquaintance who was rather kind to her all those years.

She barely looked up when the door opened, only when Aemond drew closer. Rather too close to her desk, he leant on the table where she was writing. Close to where she was sitting he breathed heavily. Putting the pen down and the scroll aside y/n looked up at him. “What did the king say?”

“The king?” Aemond repeated with a small laugh, he was still getting used to the new titles but referring those even behind closed doors was somewhat strange. “Aegon, he is not the most serious about it. Collateral damage he said.” Aemond repeated the words, he was never fond of the bastard himself but he never planned to take such drastic step. “Grand sire had a lot to say and mother, she is disappointed. Perhaps everyone is disappointed?” He asked emphasising ‘everyone’ referring to her. He did not know of his lady wife’s connection with the Strong boy but his own mother had a dislike for him and yet she was disappointed.

“I don’t know warfare as good as the lot of you, but” she nodded to his previous implication of being disappointed in a way, such loss must be difficult to stomach for those really close. “It is a lot…”

“Do you grieve him?” Aemond asked, his tone non threatening nor interrogative, subtly calm.

Pausing y/n thought about it for a moment, she was quick to side with the hand’s cold and calculative decisions as her mother in law suggested writing Rhaenyra letters instead, y/n herself weighed heavy on practicality as if grief was non existent. In a way it was. “I don’t know” she said puzzled “We were never close but he was kind to me, not all of them and not everytime but whenever he could be…” she trailed off. “He was easily anxious about a lot of things, scared.” Last time she had seen him it was the dinner for King Viserys upon the discussion to heir of driftmark. The scene that followed that dinner was distant in y/n’s mind until now. The same inferior fright was in Luke’s eyes that day.

Aemond did not say anything, her words made him feel guilty even more so but he would never display to anyone. He fought for his life debating to the council, to grandsire that it was an accident however not enough for him to take accountability of it as if he had done something wrong. He knew he had, but he did not show it. He could not. It did not come from a place of sympathy nor altruistic intentions but an ambush of unsolicited guilt. “Is it true?” She asked him.

“What is?” He replied as her voice pulled him out of his thought and his gaze met hers, she still sat on the desk the soft orange hue of the lantern on her face.

“You hold no regret?” She asked him referring to the conversation he had with the council when he was confronted about what happened. He did not owe his truthfulness to anyone, especially not the council.

The heavy silence between the two of them told her more than his words could, her eyes softened as he pondered his unsaid exoneration. Nobody would believe him but she might just, “I did not mean for that to happen, nor did I plan it.”

There was a crack in his demeanour, very different from how he presented himself back in front of everyone else about the the whole ordeal. Accountability seeping in and he should know, “Acting bigger than the situation won’t provide you with the atonement you are looking for.” She told him, forgetting herself when he asked for her advice and she assumed in such delicate state of mind he would rather lash out than listen but he did not. He was present, here to listen. To her? So far he had made it so very clear that he held no regard for her whatsoever.

“I am not looking for atonement.” He said more to himself than to her in a gentle tone and a hint of lostness in his expression. He longed for something, some consolation of some kind but he did not know exactly what and he felt restless with heavy emotions.

“You are.” She answered for the question he did not ask out loud, however the epiphany of it was not lost on him as he looked at her like an open wound. He did not protest her because she was right, she held the answers to herself. She could think for him despite of what he did and it unsettled him in some way because he had never felt such softness of anyone else. To know that he had done something he would have to seek atonement for and…hold regard for him still?

“Do you see me differently then?” He asked, small fright creeping him on the inside if she affirmed his answer.

“No” she replied without hesitation nor enthusiasm, she did see him less ruthless and uncaring than she had previously known him to be but she did not tell him that in this state of mind of his. However the heavy silence and the remorseful tension was too much to bear. She stood up from her chair seemingly to leave and attend some other task, just then realising he stood rather close. Before she could attempt to move away he stopped her. Holding her by her wrist he pulled her close but he was already close enough, the distance shortening this small for the first time since their wedding.

“Do you truly, not see differently?” He asked again with searching eyes. He couldn’t do with her short no however affirming as it was it wasn’t absorbing. It did not feed to his shame and guilt.

Y/n did not know how to soothe his wearies, she never thought her perception would matter to him at all. The walls within their marriage came crumbling down as he held her wrist it seemed, she wasn’t going away yet he kept a hold of her. To ground himself more than her. After staring into his eye for what seemed like an eternity she simply pulled him into her embrace, in a tight embrace. Her arms holding his broad stature the best they could, raising on her toes to bring him as close as she could.

Aemond was stunned to say, for a moment. He could not fathom she would want to tread so gently with him after what he had done he did not expect such, such softness. As he enlaced his arms around her waist, hugging her back as he raised her closer to him. His person. He had never felt such warmth and love of hands that would show soft affection even after knowing his ugly work, he was met with her comfort when he deserved retribution. It nestled his spirit in a serene place, he worried the place would vanish if he let go off her so he didn’t. He kept holding her close to him, closer of it was possible as he buried his face by the crook of her neck.

After a while she pulled away but not entirely, resting her temple against his. His soft breath on her as she sighed closing her eyes. He followed to, until he met her gaze again. His impulse wanted to touch her face to make sure she was real, that this moment was. So he did. Fixing the loose strand of her hair behind her ear he cupped her face. She did not move away, heart racing in such gentle exchange between the two of them. It was a first and he did not want her to extend her boundaries for his sake but he could not stop himself, he brushed his lips against her.

Indulging in a passionate kiss, holding her face in his hands as if she was made of porcelain. It was the first time somebody had held y/n with such fragility. Such affection was very foreign to her all her life, even the kiss on their wedding day felt forced and ceremonial. But this felt real, it was. She kissed him back and held him close, standing in the light of a desk lantern, the moonlight seeping in and lovers who might just be alright.

—

—part 2.

I am sorry if this feels rushed, i skipped season 1 bc i want to do all of s2…please let me know what you think in the comments 💕

If you want to be in the taglist pls comment AND go drink water RIGHT NOW ILY SO MUCH !!!!!!!!

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x female reader #Aemond Targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x targaryen!reader #Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader #house of the dragon #house of the dragon x reader #hotd season 2 #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanart

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controld3vil · 2 months ago

Text

𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙨𝙤𝙣, 𝙨𝙖𝙢𝙚 𝙤𝙡𝙙 𝙢𝙞𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨

pairing(s): aemond targaryen x twin!reader

synopsis: “My son, Daeron, what’s he like?” Alicent wondered as she couldn’t recall ever waiting so eagerly for news from her youngest. Oldtown felt distant now; her home was here. “And his sister?”

notes ➜ i got major writers block from writing for rhaenyra :( content warnings: targcest, twincest, happy & bittersweet reunions 😋, features only ONE scene with aemond (at the very end :/), slowburnn

Despite the turmoil of her life – the crowning of her son, the tragic murder of her grandson, Jaehaerys, and the loss of her father as Hand – Alicent never felt as anxious as she did now waiting to meet her son and daughter after more than five years apart. Love for them lingered in her heart, even amidst the estrangement that marked their relationship. Oldtown seemed like a distant memory, a place she sometimes revisited in dreams. It was a compact city of scholars and believers, a center of Faith that once filled her with strength, a quality she now desperately craved. The Queen Dowager sat with her hands folded in her lap, her fingers nervously plucking at the debris on her cuticles, an irritating habit she found impossible to suppress. Each tug felt like a reflection of her own fraying nerves as she prepared to face the children she loved yet scarcely knew.

A hint of red bourbon hair catches Alicent’s eye. “Gwayne.” Her brother turns toward her, momentarily distracted by the horse at his side.

“Sister.”

“I wish to give you my blessing,” she says, her hands folded solemnly. Gwayne steps forward, with a casual ease.

“Wow,” he replies, a light-hearted tone in his voice. “My thanks to the Dowager Queen.” He bobs before glancing back to his tasks, preparing to march south the new Hand, Ser Criston. His men and the forces of King's Landing would soon form a formidable army.

“Have you heard from father?” Alicent asks, her voice laced with anxiety. “I sent word to Highgarden and Oldtown but, there has been no word.” She twiddles her fingers, a restless gesture as she fights to quell her unease.

Her brother picks up her distress. “Otto Hightower is ever resourceful. He will send news when there is news.” His tone suggests a reassuring nonchalance, yet it also reveals his own certainty. Gwayne knew their father well – he rarely wrote unless there was something significant to report. It was not unusual for Otto Hightower to remain silent; he preferred to communicate only when necessary.

Though their conversation comes to a halt, the Queen is left unsatisfied with Gwayne’s dismissal. Her heart is heavy with concern, and she longs for more than just the absence of news.

She peeks into the distance before turning back to him. “I often wonder what life could have been if he had brought you to court instead.” Earnestly, she offers a tentative smile, her expression drawing a warm grin from her older brother, who is charmed by her speculation.

“I’m the oldest son,” he replies, focusing on the object in his hand. “It was right that I was raised in Oldtown.”

“You were eight years of age and motherless. It must have been difficult.” Alicent’s tone carries a mixture of sympathy and concern, her desire to delve deeper into the topic. The knight senses her intention; their conversation is more than just light banter.

He shakes his head again, his demeanor shifting. “You get on with it, don't you? When there isn’t any choice.” His eyes are expectant, as if urging her to reveal what’s truly on her mind.

“My son, Daeron,” the Queen begins, her lips tightening with a mix of pride and longing. “What’s he like?” A small glimmer of affection leaves her eyes when she mentions her youngest, though it stings to know how long it has been since she received from him or even heard his name mentioned. She regrets not having time to raise him, to know the man he might become. Daeron feels like a stranger to her, and despite her disappointment, all she longs for is to seek insight from someone who knows him well.

“Does he not write to you?”

“Less and less, these days.” A subtle curve of her lips transforms into a sad frown.

“Ten and six now,” Gwayne says with a gentle chuckle, warmth flooding his expression at the thought of his beloved nephew. “Let us perhaps hold less of his interest. He's stalwart, clever – adept with both his lute and his sword. And a feature in the fancies of many young ladies, I'll wager.” He pauses, catching the concern on her face. “He's kind."

Relief washes over Alicent, her shoulders relaxing as if a heavy weight has been lifted. A kind son – at least he embodies the benevolence she always had hoped for her children.

“Kindness is a quality I find lacking in his brothers,” she admits, her tone reflecting candid honesty that earns a thoughtful hum from Gwayne. Her thoughts drift back to the one person she has longed to meet. “And his sister?”

The Hightower knight fixes his gaze fondly on his sister. The mention of another niece, one he has watched over, brings forth a rare tenderness in her older brother – a warmth his sister rarely sees. “Well she’s certainly well-regarded,” Gwayne replies, placing both hands on his hips and shifting his weight to one foot. A playful pride lights up his face as he reminisces about the recent achievements of her youngest children. “She’s adapted remarkably well among the scholars. She carries herself with grace and resolve, and they speak highly of her intellect. I’m sure her letters, though few, speak of contentment and growth.”

“Yes, she has,” The Dowager Queen giggles, recalling your recent letter. With every message came, your handwriting and style has evolved. A smile brightens her face at the memory of her earlier struggles with grammar; the first few letters had been messy and disorganized. Though she may have had her doubts as your mother, she is undeniably proud of your respected place among the scholars. “She thrives, or so she assures me. But I yearn to see for myself the woman she is becoming."

Gwayne offers her subtle comfort, placing a hand gently over hers. His reassuring grin promises that when you and Daeron finally come to King’s Landing, a part of her guilt-driven heart will be lifted. “I understand your worries, sister. You’ll have the chance to see them both soon enough.”

Days later, the army returns to King’s Landing, exhausted from a ruthless battle that claimed both casualties and deaths. Ser Gwayne and the Hand, Ser Criston led the march back, to focus on reinforcing their troops and resupplying. The journey was grueling, marked with constant vigilance against Rhaenyra's forces. However, the tension eased momentarily when a dark purple dragon appeared overhead without warning. While the sight terrified the hearts of men, it ignited a spark of relief and joy to Ser Gwayne’s face, leaving Ser Criston bewildered.

The Hand had never seen a dragon with white claws and plum scales.

As you made your unannounced arrival at King’s Landing, chaos erupted. Townsfolk scrambled and fled as your dragon, Blood Moon, circled the castle grounds. Many had not seen your dragon in a long time, and some had never laid their eyes on it before your departure. Blood Moon screeches menacingly, soaring above, casting a shadow over the weary army under Cole’s command. Dragon! The townsfolk gasped in horror, frantically jumping from house to house to hide from the inevitable.

Meanwhile, the Queen Mother rushed to the courtyard, her heart racing at the familiar, nihilistic roar of your dragon. When she caught sight of Blood Moon passing her window, Alicent felt a rush of adrenaline – she knew you had arrived. You were home.

She clutches her dress, tightly, a sharp pain in her chest as the sight of you approaching makes her eyes water instantly. You follow behind her brother and Ser Criston on horseback, conspicuously absent from her dragon. Yet, somehow she knows Blood Moon is close. “My sweet girl!” Alicent rushes forward the moment you dismount, locking eyes with you. Gods, you looked so beautiful. It feels like an eternity since you last met.

“Mother!” In an instant, you were a child again, clamping your arms around her as if to anchor yourself in her presence. You sink into her embrace, basking in the familiar scent of her hair, the warmth of her touch as you nestled your head against her neck, filled with affection.

Alicent pulls back, cradling your face into her hands. “It’s been so long. You’ve grown so much. I can see the change in your eyes…” Her dark, chestnut-colored eyes brim with tears. Her lips quiver as she fights back a sob.

You hold her hands, and offer a soft smile. “I missed you, Mother.” She beams at you, fondly with nostalgia, pecking a gentle kiss on your forehead before gliding her thumbs softly across your cheeks. Gods, you’ve changed. You’re no longer the frightened little girl who resisted staying in King’s Landing. Though Alicent regretted seeing you so sad, she knew it was best for you to learn and grow alongside your brother, Daeron.

There was a time in your early childhood when you dreamed of becoming a lady in waiting for Highgarden, yet when the day arrived, you unexpectedly became homesick, clinging to Alicent like a newborn.

But now, you stand before her, a grown woman. Gone are the days of silly hair ribbons and flowing dresses; you’ve matured into a striking figure, like a blooming rose. Alicent notices how you’ve preferred to braid your hair, gathered in a high ponytail with intricate braids extending from your forehead to the base of your tail. This style frames your face perfectly, allowing her to see your expression fully—happy and radiant. You even complement your look with a striking outfit, featuring long leather garments reminiscent of dragon scales and breastplates adorned with chromatic metal accents.

“I trust the journey to King’s Landing wasn’t too taxing, niece?” Gwayne quips with a playful grin. You let out a short giggle sensing your uncle’s presence behind you.

“It was fine, thank you, Uncle.” You chuckled, turning to see Gwayne with his hands clasped behind his back. Stray hairs fell across his forehead from the skirmish days prior. Though he appeared weary, he maintained a façade of composure as he greeted you.

“You must be exhausted from the journey,” Alicent perks up, as she brushes her fingers over your bare knuckles, sheeply. “Come let us find a place for you to rest and share what I have missed.”

A warm fuzziness flutters in your chest as you savor your mother’s tender urgency. Few understand the depth of her protective love for her children, most only notice her as the former Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Even though you haven’t stepped foot in King’s Landing for so long, you appreciate her efforts to ensure your childhood was a happy one. Many dismiss her as a princess bound to duty to bear heirs, but all forget the countless moments that defined her as a mother. They do not recall her swaddling young Aegon when she was only ten and nine, or rushing to the Godswood to catch Helaena from her wandering. Even that time you attempted to make a flower crown, too small for her head, which Alicent wore to appease your pleas.

The rest of the afternoon was spent catching up with your mother who was determined to stay close to you at all times. You were not sure if she took note of your hesitance, but stepping back into King’s Landing stirred distant memories you had long buried. You couldn’t help but gaze around the different sections of the castle, wondering if any of the tapestries had changed or if new furniture had been added. This familiar yet strange home felt like an enigma as you tried to thread together the small moments of your past.

You had changed out of your dragon gear, and now wore a stunning silver dress, laced with an embroidered corset featured with blossoming gold florals. The transparent cuffs by your wrist added an ethereal touch as well as the sleeves. The Red Keep was a serene and quiet place to study and chat with your mother. You sat beside her by a small table, discussing the latest news from the city. Rumors spread quickly as if they were smoke and you both indulged in whatever topic came to mind, relishing in the intimacy in the moment. Sometimes you would bring up about your time in Oldtown while your mother spoke vaguely about the Council's plans. In all, you were spouting words to fill in the inevitable space of silence, cherishing the connection that always bound you as mother and daughter.

“How is Aegon?” Your eyes flashed with concern when your mother placed down her drink. There was a glint of sadness you saw from her. For a quick flicker, it disappears when the widowed Queen plucks one of the pastries from the plate in the center.

Her voice, though tender, betrays her hesitation. “He is healing. But he will never be the same.” The words hang heavily in the air, a quiet acceptance of the grim truth. Aegon’s body had been ravaged, rotted with infection, covered in sores and pus. Alicent couldn’t say it outright but she knew the cruel reality; he might never walk again. The thought of it was too heavy to bear to tell her daughter. She couldn’t tell you the full extent of his suffering; the memory was still fresh in her mind as if it was only yesterday.

Your breath hinders as you process her words, and a deep frown pulls at your face. “He is alive. That is something I am thankful to the Gods for.” Though your relationship with your eldest brother had always been distant, it was never cold. You made sure to write to all of your siblings whenever you could, each filled with personal messages. Aegon, in particular, was never fond of books or history. He was the one who’d light up any room, the first one to suggest a drink when things had dulled. You would not deny how much you missed his infectious laughter, his wide grin that could cast away your sorrows.

Now it seemed, that smile might never return. The war had stolen it from him as it had stolen so much. A lump forms in your throat, and suddenly you feel tears stinging your eyes. You wiped them away with the back of your palm.

Alicent’s gaze falls, lost in thought as she considers the words she wanted to say but can never bring herself to. She felt, even now, like a failure as a mother. Her mistakes, her foolishness, lingered unspoken between you both. The few letters she sent, the distant exchanges, were all reminders of the distance that had grown between you over the years. She could feel the weight of her own neglect – the little attention she’d given you in letters should have been enough to make you stop writing altogether. But despite it all, you never once turned away from her. Alicent had never felt worthy of your love, and though you had every reason to harbor anger or resentment, her heart ached for failing her children.

It was then she felt your hand creep over hers, the simple touch sending a jolt of surprise through her. Your mother lifts her solemn visage, her heart breaking as she meets your eyes. For all the pain and disappointment she imagined you had, there was no trace anywhere in your expression. You looked at her with stoic calmness, your deep indigo eyes pierced with consideration – and a hint of fondness that made her heart ache even more.

Your demeanor shifts, softening into a sympathetic grin, and with a tear-stricken pout still clinging to your lips, you squeeze her hand gently. “None of this is your fault, Mother.”

“It is,” She weakly admits, her voice faltering as she fights the urge to break down in front of her sweet daughter. “It is my fault, for your brother’s cruelty. Don’t you see?”

You pause, the weight of her words sinking in, but you reply with unwavering certainty. “Aemond may be cruel but he would never kill his brother.” The words come out steady but something shifts when you fully acknowledge your twin since your arrival. His absence feels oddly conspicuous, like a shadow that haunts the hall. The Red Keep, so familiar, now seems strangely hollow with its newly reassigned staff and the ever watchful eyes of the City Watch. Yet, even as the quiet settles in, a desire stirs in you to seek him out. Aemond was never far, even when distance separates you. Now, back in King’s Landing, you find that something in your restless heart settles, as though the mere proximity of the Red Keep could ease your disturbed thoughts.

“You have not laid eyes on him in years, my love,” Alicent pleads, a tremor in her voice as she lowers her gaze, avoiding your eyes. “You don’t know what he has become. Aemond is angry.” The visible fear in her earth-toned eyes is raw and unsettling, like a shadow that lingers in the room, one that threatens to swallow the very air between you.

The incident at Rook’s Rest was ambiguous. You were not there to witness it firsthand, and while you had your suspicions, you could never know for certain who struck first. But you were sure – it had not been intentional. Aegon and Aemond didn’t see eye to eye, but they had always shared the same blood, the same bond. Now, from what your mother described, a flicker of doubt stirs within you, uneasy and unfamiliar, making your heart sink. What had Aemond become in these years of absence?

After your chat, a Kingsguard arrived to summon your mother on urgent matters. The former Queen’s gazes lingered on you for a moment, her expression filled with guilt for interrupting your time on short notice. She catches your comforting smile as she gives a curt nod and exits the Red Keep.

For a while, you were left to your residence with the comforts of nature. You sat by the window, absentmindedly nibbling on forgotten baked goods, their sweetness grounding you as your eyes drift toward the sky. The clouds moved at a glacial pace, their slow drift contrasted to your storm of thoughts brewing in your mind. Momentarily, you are allowed to forget your purpose for coming back to King’s Landing. The afternoon sunshine bathed the room in a golden light, casting a calm, almost serene glow on everything.

You didn’t need much more than that – the gentle warmth, the quiet, and familiar taste of tart delicacies your mother knew you loved. It was enough to quiet your mind, if only for a while. The taste of pastries, sweet and tangy, reminded you of simpler times, of moments before the weight of duty and family obligations tangled your soul. You found yourself yearning for that comfort, anything to keep your mind off the growing unease with the inevitable encounter with Aemond.

It was the early evening when the bells of Baelor rang out. The Great Sept, just a few houses down from King’s Landing, held its call long enough for it to be heard in the very heart of the Red Keep. You had arrived hours earlier, slipping through the castle halls with grace of a predator – quiet, deliberate, waiting for the surge of adrenaline that always accompanied your return to this place.

The Council had met moments prior to your arrival, so you knew you’d have to wait until the morning to join them. The politics of the realm could wait. In the meantime, you roamed the ancient, empty corridors of the Keep, your footsteps the only sound in the silence. The air was thick with history, heavy with memories of a time when the halls had been full of life, of laughter and conversation – before everything had changed.

Your thoughts drifted to your siblings. It’s been far too long since you had been together in one place. The Red Keep, usually so bustling with court, now seemed like a ghost town – empty and hollowed out, a shadow of its former self. The events of the past loomed over you, pressing down with the weight of what had been lost, what had been broken.

Perhaps this is why you found yourself at Aegon’s chambers. Your heart pounded with anticipation when the doors swung open, revealing the King’s quarters. The air within was thick and quiet murmurs of the maesters attending to him, their words halting when they saw you – your unexpected presence casting a brief shadow over the room. It was strange. To see your brother like this – unconscious, barely clinging to life was a sharp bitter thing.

Sorrow gripped you tightly and unrelenting, as you gazed upon Aegon’s tarred state. His skin, once vibrant and strong, was now tarred and burnt, the pale sheen of his injuries almost too much to bear. His legs, now broken, twists, spoke of the pain you could never truly know. For a time you spoke as thought he could hear you, as though he might awaken any moment. You told of your travels through Oldtown, of Daeron’s small but proud achievements. The familiar weight of his absence made your words tumble out like a lifeline, a way to fill the space between the present and the years that had passed.

It was comforting, in a way, to be near him again. Though this was not the reunion you had hoped. Years ago, Aegon struggled with the position of being the firstborn son to King Viserys. The expectations that pressed upon him, the constant weight of responsibility, were more than any young should bear. Your mother, with her quiet but unyielding voice, had often spoken of it – how the throne was his to inherit, and how Rhaenyra’s claim, a constant reminder of a fractured family, only deepened the divide. The more Alicent and Otto insisted on Aegon’s future, the more you saw him under pressure. He never wanted to defy his sister, yet torn between duty and blood. You had watched him from the shadows, seen his faults, his mistakes, but only made you love him more. In his moments of playfulness, you had found a fleeting sensation of freedom, a reminder that even in the midst of terrible situations, he was your brother.

You watched his chest rise and fall, with each breath fragile of life. The weight on your heart lifted, if only slightly, as held onto that small reassurance: Aegon was still alive. He was still strong. He was the Blood of the Dragon, the rider of Sunfrye, and he was your King. No matter what came next, you would stand beside him, sworn to protect him, willing to give your last breath if it meant keeping him safe.

You left your brother to rest, and set off in search of your next destination. Deep down, you knew where you’d go first, where you always went for comfort, to Helaena. She is the balm to your restless soul, the voice that could untangle your anxieties with a few soft words. When the world seemed too large, too overwhelming, her presence was a silent sanctuary.

Helaena, the second daughter of King Viserys, had been both a mentor and maternal figure to you in your younger years. Her kindness had been a steady anchor in your life, her wisdom a guiding light when the weight of your responsibilities felt too much to bear. As a child, you sought her out whenever you felt lost or afraid and her gentle guidance had given you the courage to venture into new worlds. Her advice forever shaped you in ways you hadn’t fully realized until you left for Oldtown. In that city, with its strange customs and faces, you leaned onto her worlds to adapt quickly, to carve out your own place.

When you found your sister in your old playroom, sewing quietly with her daughter, it felt as if no time had passed. The familiar sight and sounds of the room washed over you – its warmth, its history, the memories that had once made it a sanctuary for both of you. Helaena’s moved with the same careful precision you remembered, her fingers threading the needle with quiet grace. Her daughter, Jaehaera, sat beside her, her wide eyes fixated on her mother’s work. You stood for a moment, watching them and a smile tugging at your lips. The sight of them – mother and daughter, together in their own world, stirred something deep inside you. The years between you seemed to melt away in an instant.

Quietly, you crept closer, your footsteps soft on the floor as you approached the pair. A mischievous grin spread across your face, without earning you shouted, using your niece’s shrill cry to startle your sister. Helaena 's hands faltered, the needle slipping from her grasp as her face registered in shock, her expression frozen for just a heartbeat before it shifted into relief and then pure joy.

She stood quickly, her eyes wide with excitement, as she took you in from head to toe. And then, without a moment, a silent sob escaped her lips, her hand pressing to her chest as she whispered your name.

“Sister…” she breathed, her voice thick with emotion.

Unexpected and sharp, there was a lump in your throat. You swallowed it down, trying to steady yourself but the emotions surged in a way you had not anticipated. “It’s good to see you, Helaena.” you whispered, the words catching as they left your lips.

For what felt like an eternity, you indulge yourself in the soothing warmth of rosemary oils and the sweet aroma of fragrant tea. The tapestry above the balcony swayed gently in the rhythm with the tides, the fabric rippling like satin kissed by the breeze, catching the light in delicate waves. The sunshine poured in the small opening between the outside world and your private space, casting a soft, translucent pink hue across the horizon. The late summer warmth wrapped around you like a blanket, filling the room with a quiet comfort that you never find elsewhere.

A porcelain tea cup sat at the edge of the table, its base a soft coral pink, the edges trimmed in lustrous gold. Besides it, the matching coaster resonated with the same elegance. The teapot shared the same intricate design, its spout crafted to imitate the graceful curves of vineyard vines. Tiny matcha leaves curled around the handle, their delicate shapes glinting with golden highlights. It was a beautiful set – one that made the room feel like a pristine sanctuary, but something was missing. The topper.

Sometimes, in the stillness of these moments, you would let your imagination roam. You would pretend you were some from a faraway land. It seemed childish, almost absurd, but it lingered with you. You often wondered what the world was like beyond Westeros, the vast deserts of Dorne, the mysterious lands of Essos, or the distant, shadowed shores of Asshai. Asshai especially. The thought of it, so remote, so mysterious, had always called to you. You used to daydream that you were a girl from Asshai, someone who knew nothing of wealth, beauty, or the court of King’s Landing.

You imagined yourself seeing the teapot for the first time. You would change your character, each time with a different persona – some curious wanderer, a child of the unknown, discovering the simple elegance of a teapot that seemed to carry more meaning than it should. You’d pretend to be in awe, a stranger to luxury and react differently each time, letting your curiosity guide your every movement.

It was strange, but comforting. In those moments, you could be anyone – but the child of a royal bloodline.

Alicent, however, found you peculiar. In many ways, you were nothing like Aemond, despite being his twin. While she hoped you would be as easy to mold as Helaena or as compliant as Aemond, you were neither. You had a quiet way of drawing attention, of showing interest in things that made others uneasy. Aemond, with his fiery intensity, demanded things, but you – your power laid in silence.

From a young age, you have learned how to meet people with nothing more than a glance, a tilt of your head, or the quiet intensity in your eyes. Alicent never could figure out how you did it – how you could command attention with such subtlety. She often watched, perplexed, as your eyes would light up at the slightest opportunity or how your lips would press into a small pout when the Kingsguard denied you entry into her office. And then, with practiced ease, you would cry – small, silent tears that glistened like pearls on your cheeks. The effect was always the same. Suddenly, the men who had once denied you would be at your feet, ready to do whatever you asked.

Alicent didn’t know the secret. You did.

It was almost too easy for you, the way the ceramic topper fits perfectly into your hand, as if it had always been meant for you. The weight, barely there, seemed to vanish the moment you cradled it, leaving only the sensation of smooth china beneath your fingers. Your gaze traced the delicate rims, following the curve with the tip of your thumb as you glide over the shiny finish.

For an old teapot, it remained unchanged, an artifact from the past that, like the porcelain, had been carefully preserved. It reminded you of childhood, of simpler days that felt like they belonged to someone else. A smile, slow and wistful, tugged at your lips as memories drifted to the surface – tea parties held in this room, alone with the teapot, lost in your imagination.

“Do you miss this?” Helaena’s meek words cut through the quiet, grounding you back into reality. Her words were simple, yet they carried weight. She stood before you, her eyes intent but tender, watching you with a knowing gaze that seemed to see straight through your soul. Never one for many words, Helaena was always able to strike the right chords when it mattered. Conversations between you two never cluttered, there was no need for endless explanation. It was as if, without saying much, you both understood each other completely. She knew the thoughts you carried without needing to ask. And somehow, you always knew hers.

Your grin fades, the playfulness slipping away as you grow contemplative, searching her face for any trace of misunderstanding or unspoken hurt.

“I do,” Your tone coming out slightly more strained than usual. “They don’t have tea parties or play dates in Oldtown. They don’t have anything, really,” The final words felt heavier, laid with sorrow that you hadn’t quite realized was there until now.

A somber silence hangs, the weight of your absence pressing down onto the room. Oldtown had been another world entirely – foreign, starkly different from the warmth of King’s Landing. As much as you had once embraced the city’s beauty, part of your childhood still lived here, among these walls, among the memories shared in this very room. Your eyes drift over the old ornaments and forgotten toys, each one sparking a fleeting moment of nostalgia. It was as though you were caught between two places, two worlds, each different from the other at the ends of the map.

Helaena, ever so quiet, glances down at her sewn collage, her fingers pausing mid-motion. She was lost in thought, the needle still in her hand as she set it aside carefully. Without a word, she scoots closer, settling beside you on a plush cushion. The cushion is periwinkle, a soft reminder of your childhood obsession with the color pink. You smile faintly, remembering how everything had once been pink to you – the teapot set, the floors, even the smallest trinkets. If you had ruled the Seven Kingdoms, Helaena was certain the banners would have been changed to a soft shade of pink, just because you would have insisted on it.

Of course you would. The thought of it, so hysterical, almost makes you laugh. But for now, there’s only the quiet companionship of the moment, and the comfort of your sister’s presence beside you like a silent reassurance that despite the years and distance, this place, this feeling, would always be home.

When the Queen’s knees made contact with yours, you felt the quiet look, filled with anticipation, but not fear, only certainty and love. “I hope you mean to stay this time.”

Her words settled in the space between you, gentle but insistent, like a tender plea. For a second, you simply stared at her, her warmth radiating outward, but your response came without thinking.

“Stay?” you asked, almost as if the very concept of it was foreign to you.

“Stay here,” She planted her palm onto the soft woolen rug, her fingers splayed wide, almost spider-like. “Here.”

There were a few things about Helaena that could catch you off guard, but her sweetness had always been one of them – an undeniable force that softened even the hardest edges of your heart. Still you hesitated.

“Helaena—” You faltered, unsure how to voice the conflict swirling inside you. “I don’t know—”

“Mother would want you to stay.” Your elder sister leans forward, as you witness the beauty of her ribbon silver hair up close. “I want you to stay. It’s been too long, I’ve missed you. Aemond misses you—“

“Aemond.” You repeat, sharply, each syllable weighted with spite. Your expression darkened, the emotions inside you shifting to a cold, quiet rage. “After all these years, he does not come to see me come home. Not even a word from our mother or Cole.” The words tasted like ash on your tongue, heavy with the silence that built between your twin.

Helaena, unfazed by your tone, leans in even closer, her voice faint. “That is what he does.” she said simply, her lilac orbs meeting yours with understanding. “Aemond is… who he is.”

“And you say he misses me…?” The words left your mouth with sharpness that even surprised you, your voice laced with disbelief and frustration.

“I know you are upset, sister,” The Queen reached out to grab your wrist, the one holding the teapot topper as if to calm the storm brewing in your head. Her touch was gentle, yet firm, the kind of protective care only a mother could offer. It was the same tenderness she had to her own children, an unwavering love. “But believe me, Aemond would’ve been there for you… It’s just… He’s not himself lately.”

“Rook’s Rest,” The name falling from your lips with weight of its own. The rumors had reached you, whispered among the soldiers and your uncle’s counsel. They spoke of things that had been kept hidden, too raw and dangerous to put into words. “He was there,” The realization creeping up your spine like an icy chill. You had tried to be discreet, seen enough in the faces of the men who had returned from that place, the devastation in their eyes, the scars that would never heal. “Did he… Was he there?”

Helaena’s silence spoke volume. The Queen hesitated, her expression flickering between you and her thoughts. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she nodded, the tension in her jaw was apparent as she unclenched her teeth, the words coming out strained. “He almost killed Aegon.”

The silent recollection of your brother’s condition, his broken legs and half burnt face. The weight of it crushed you in a way words couldn’t describe. You had sworn to avenge, promised yourself that you would hunt down whoever was responsible. It was Aemond. Him. Your other half. The brother you had once shared everything with, now the source of your deepest grief.

For a while, you felt like a child again, small and helpless, standing in the shadow of things you could not control. The memories flooded back, the days your brother claimed Vhagar, the dragon that should have been Laena’s daughters, a move that had shaken your family to the core. You had been in Oldtown by then, unaware of the unfolding storm, but a raven arrived with the news that made your blood run cold. You knew, even from miles away, that Aemond had done something that could not be undone.

As a result, he lost an eye. You could imagine it vividly, the moment when his world – your world changed forever. From a distance, you were devastated. But there was no room for grief, no time to mourn. All you could do was watch, helpless as everything you once knew spiraled further away. The cold empathy you felt in the pit of your stomach couldn’t be expressed, instead it festered, twisting inside you like a wound that never healed.

You were never a part of the war your family had started, yet here you were, caught between duty and the chaos they created. And now, with Aegon, weak and broken, you couldn’t help but worry for Aemond, about his ambition, about the hunger in him that only grew since your separation. It had been long overdue. The moment you would have to face the One-Eyed Prince. But you wondered, would he still look at you with the same sentiments or stare at you coldly for how absent you’ve been?

The fleeting hours of your restless dreams had long since faded. As the bright sunrise bathed the room in soft light, you shared breakfast with your uncle and your mother. Helaena, however, had chosen to eat in her room, not wanting to disrupt the delicate reunion between the Dowager Queen and her brother. You had insisted on staying with her, but she had quietly declined, offering a gentle pat to your shoulder. Her gaze lingered on you, full of unspoken concern, a clear hint of worry for your restless sleep. How did she know? You had asked once, but Helaena wouldn’t say a word.

“You’re thinking about him,” she said, softly, noticing your hesitation. You didn’t flinch or give a nervous sigh. You simply said nothing, your body frozen for a moment before you hummed in response.

“I never realized how long it’s been… until I saw you. How different you look,” you murmured, distractedly tracing the lines of your palm. You shifted slightly in your stance, and Helaena mirrored you, her head leaning closer into your personal space.

She smelt of lavender and poppy – Helaena always did.

“Talk to him.” she urged, her voice quiet but insistent.

You pondered as you walked, your mind racing with thoughts of how to approach Aemond, while your heart thudded in your chest, refusing to be ignored. As you made your way down to the Red Keep, you realized that your mother and uncle had long since finished breakfast. Gwayne was preparing for another march with Cole, and Alicent had slipped away, offering you a sympathetic smile as she excused herself from the table. For once, you found yourself leaving with your uncle to a grand feast set for twenty – but your appetite had long since vanished.

“I trust you are well acquainted with the place?” he teased, his voice light with a playful edge. With no one else in the room except for passing maids, you let out a soft chuckle.

“My early childhood was here,” you replied, your gaze drifting to the half-full glass of wine in your hand. “Everything feels the same.”

“Good to know nothing has changed,” Gwayne muttered with a dramatic sigh, shoveling tart in his mouth.

“But I’ve changed,” you said, lifting your glass to the light. The sun streamed through the window, casting a red hue over the liquid that shimmered like a blood moon. “I don’t belong here anymore.” You could feel the eyes of lords and ladies as you passed by strangers and familiar faces alike, each gaze heavy with contempt. They looked at you as if you no longer had the right to be here, as if this place, once your home, no longer welcomed you.

Gwayne’s voice cut through your thoughts. “That doesn’t change your place here,” he said, firmly, studying your face as you rubbed the tension from your brow. “The lords of Westeros are nothing but greedy old men. They should not concern you.”

You know he was right. You were more than they thought, more than the whispers and the cold stares. You were still the daughter of the late king, and that commanded respect, no matter how they looked at you.

Your gaze lifted, a small smile curling on your lips as you beamed at your uncle. “You’re right.”

“You have every right to be here, sweet niece.” he said, rising from his seat and stepping toward you. His hand gently brushed through your hair, and his auburn eyes, filled with empathetic warmth, offered you quiet comfort. “Your brother will be here in a few days.”

“Ah,” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself, a fleeting moment of joy. Daeron, your beloved brother, would join the battle alongside you. You had missed his sharp wit and clever nature more than you cared to admit. The bond you shared was unbreakable, he was the one you had confided in, the one with whom you had bedtime stories in your childhood. You’d watched him grow, maturing into a young man with a fierce spirit. Together, you’d flown with Blood Moon, him with his passion for adventure, and you with your love for literature. You couldn’t help but smile wishfully. “I’m sure he terribly misses me.”

This time, the knight laughs, a soft, knowing sound, as he gives the back of your chair a light, affectionate pat. “He’ll be challenging every lord and knight that would ever look down on you.”

The moment it happened, a hollow emptiness settled within you. In that vulnerable space, you sought solace, mediating in silence as the clouds drifted lazily across the sky. Beneath the sacred boughs of the Godswood, you sat with a quiet sense of divinity and pride. The place was often sought by others, but you claimed it for yourself, a refuge where you could empty your mind. Your arrival was gentle, unhurried. You moved with patience, your steps slow as you approached the great roots of the tree, stepping into its cool shade. The tree itself was majestic – its crimson leaves a remainder of autumn’s embrace. One leaf detached from a high branch, falling gracefully through the air. Without thinking, your hands reached out, catching it as it floated toward the Earth, landing perfectly into your palm.

And then, he appeared.

“Sister,” came his voice, unmistakable, sending a chill down your spine. The sound of it stirred something deep within you, a hunger you had tried to quell. You felt a shiver ripple through you, desperately resisting the urge to show any excitement at his sudden presence. It had long been so long, and after all the time you spent in King’s Landing, Aemond chose now, of all moments to seek you out? “It’s been ages since we’ve been given your presence.” he remarked, his tone sharp, almost teasing.

You turn to face him, noting the neutral timber of his voice. Your brother, he’s changed. His posture was poised, his features more refined. The years had shaped him, as you had expected. He was no longer the boy who cried for a dragon, but the man who had claimed Vhagar – the Queen of Dragons, the largest beast to ever soar across the Seven Kingdoms during Aegon’s Conquest. A small part of you wondered if he might look at you the same way. You, too, had changed. Gone was the mischievous girl who caused trouble for your mother to clean up. Now, you were a woman – grown, poised, and more refined than ever.

You give a curt nod. “Aemond.”

He tilted his head, studying you for a moment, as if unsure how to read the shift in your demeanor. His arms crossed behind his back as he stepped closer. Dressed in obsidian leather from head to toe, a dagger sheath resting at his hip, he presented himself like a predator. His eye patch sat comfortably over his face, and his silvery hair flowed straight and silken, like the velvet fabrics of Highgarden.

“I thought you’d forgotten this place.” He closed the distance between you. Most people would have stepped back when he approached, but you stood firm. There was no fear in your gaze, only a subtle scowl – the one he would know all too well. “Do you remember the stories we used to tell here?” Aemond’s tone shifted, growing softer, almost nostalgic. “Before you drove us apart?”

Oh. His tone is sharp, reflecting the past you both left behind, laced with a hint of nostalgia. He prowls closer, as if waiting for some retributive excuse, a justification that might ease the tension between you.

Yet you respond with a mixture of skepticism and offense. “I haven’t forgotten this place.” you say, your voice steady, but your glance betrays a moment of vulnerability, tinged with grief. "It holds memories — both good and bad." The weight of those memories presses on you, the remnants of a shared past that broke the moment you stepped away from King’s Landing. You had left him behind, left him to dwindle with your mother and siblings, while you sought something else, something that still stirs beneath the surface, unresolved, as it had been the day you left. “Do you think I have forgotten you?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the years and emotions that separate you now. The One-Eyed Prince halts as if he lays caught red-handed. But he quickly recovers, regaining his rigid posture. “You left, sister. You chose Oldtown over your family.” he says, bitterness lacing his words.

“Only because I had to,” you retort, knowing it was a weak excuse with the way your frustration was bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t abandon you.”

You were pleading at this moment, the tone of your voice meek and growing softer. However his silence was deafening, thickening the tension like a storm cloud. “I was left here alone.” Aemond says, his voice strained. “While you were away, I had to earn my place. We were once one, yet it was you who separated us. You think I wanted to be alone?”

The silence stretched between you, immeasurable and heavy with unspoken grievances. Memories flooded back into your mind — shared laughter, sibling quarrels, late night sneakouts to the Godswood, the bond you once had was failing. You wanted to berate his discretion, to defend your choice and consequences but the weight of his gaze pulls at you. The subtle yearning you both missed for years, miles apart from Oldtown to Kings Landing. Even as a child, you felt the odd coincidence, always finding Aemond’s stare back to yours. The Blood of the Dragon ran thick, weaving a bond neither of you could fully escape.

“I need you, brother,” You spoke in High Valyrian for the first time in years, adopting a strange accent. It felt rushed and rigid against your tongue yet you persisted, with ease. “More than I care to admit. The tides are shifting in King's Landing. Alliances are fraying, and we cannot face this alone.” It’s a desperate plea that escapes your lips, a vulnerability that rarely shows anymore. You were never emotionally empathetic, exceptionally only with your mother and sister. But with Aemond, you had shown glimpses of the weight you carried, moments that spoke of the things you long buried.

Your brother searches your face, his gaze searching for the truth in your eyes. His resolve falters, the harshness in his expression giving way to something softer. Your own softened expression features seem to shatter in his mind, like a broken ship in the middle of a nasty sea storm.

“You expect me to forget?” His voice cracks, the words laced with pain. “To forgive the years of silence?” For a fleeting moment, something in him flickers – something raw, something real. You notice the brief exposure, a fleeting softness in his eye, before it vanishes, replaced by anger. But in that moment, your gaze doesn’t waver. You look at him lovingly, tracing every line and contour of his face, the old and the new. You remember the boy he once was – the faint blush of his childhood cheeks, the tousled hair that now Aegon wore as his own, the green emerald clothes that pleased your mother so.

But he was no longer that young boy. Aemond’s cheeks were more refined, the delicacy of youth replaced by a hardened appearance. His lean physique tells you he’s trained well with swords. His missing eye, his most defining feature, reminds you of the day he claimed Vhagar, while losing that very eye.

“Don’t forget,” you said, your voice steady as you mirrored his every move, no longer concerned with the forgotten leaf on the ground. You stood just a few feet apart, your gaze fierce, unwavering. “Two heads are better than one, Aemond. Because the Blood of the Dragon flows through us.”

The weight of your shared history hung in the air, thick and uncomfortable. Your palms were slick with sweat, the tension of your nerves palpable. Yet you remained still, your posture resolute, like a dragon poised to strike.

Aemond finally exhales, feeling the remnants of his anger slowly dissipate like mist. “I don’t trust you.”

You step closer, merely under his gaze, close enough to make out hesitation and contempt from his momentary silence. The possibility of rebuilding what was lost was upon you, hanging on the threads of your next words. It was like a fragile thread, binding you together that guarantees loyalty is a promise.

“Let me earn it.” Sincerity in your voice cuts through the air yet the weight of the past lingers, like a shadow. Aemond walks closer, studying you for a moment. His intensity is sharp and brittle. The air you breathe under feels electric with the tension between you evolving into something that may appear on the brink of hope.

This time, you see intrigue under his gaze, enjoying the short moment of nostalgia happening. “You think it’s that simple?” His voice is low, laced with doubt. “Years of silence can’t be erased with just a few words.”

There is a flicker of something that eases his gaze, but it quickly vanishes.

“I know,” You say, settling on the weight of his words like the branches of the Godswood tree behind you. “I won’t abandon you again. I swear it.”

And like the boy you had always known, his breath hitches, the storm of emotions swirling in his one good eye. For a moment, you stand within the vicinity of each other’s comfort, relishing in the warmth of his presence, the ghost of your shared youth – the unkempt promises spirling around you, binding you in ways that were painful and profound.

Eventually, he exhales, easing the tension in his shoulders slightly. “I don’t trust you.” The edge of his voice mellowed, hinting at a reluctant approval. Aemond’s gaze holds yours for a moment longer, as he memorizes every bit part of you. You catch onto his discreet watch and that act alone stirs your heart, creeping a faint smile on your lips. As he walks away, the bittersweet ache settles into your heart. Your promise hangs in the air, intertwining with the silhouettes of your former younger selves. Though it feels uncertain, you know that the Blood of the Dragon runes through you both, that could potentially mend the distance between you.

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