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ultralightpoe · 8 months ago

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Rubies Hidden With Blood -Aemond Targaryen

Authors Note: Hello, thank you for the patience while I am on a writing break. I’m still trying to figure out life and how to fix it, but I channeled some of the pain and anger into this and I hope you like it . I hope you are all staying safe and healthy out there in the world - Ultralightpoe

Warnings: mentions of executions, adultery, foul language

Word Count: 4996

MAIN Master List

Description: Inspired by Anne Boleyn and Elizabeth. (INSPIRED. You are not either of them you’re a character inspired by them)

(Thank you for the gif @onemillionyous )

x Enjoy! x

To Anne Boleyn, who spent the last month of her life preparing for the rest of her daughters life to the best of her ability. Every stitch and warning given was noticed.

And to Elizabeth, who spent the rest of her life hiding footprints for her mother in a home that had tried to strip her memory.

To the bond of the two, never truly understood.

You stood, stiff and freezing in the cold weather, on the very steps your mother walked up the day she was executed. A message you were very sure your father intended, one that you would not cave into.

Verlain, your fathers hand, stood to your right with a grim expression as he did his best to stop looking to the stained spot at the top of the steps. Where her blood had leaked down, seeping into the stone in a mark that would be there forever. It would be centuries before her death would be forgotten, a fact that sent a wave of nausea through you, gripping you in its fierce hold as you tried to inhale some fresh air. Fighting to keep the tears welling in your eyes at bay as the corset constricts against your ribs.

Breathe. Keep your wits about you.

“Are you feeling alright, your highness?” Verlain asks, eyebrows pinching together as he watches your hand slide across the front of your dress, as if you could ease the ache in your ribs and lungs from rubbing it. His tone slips at the last two words and you have to bite back the bitter laugh, not willing to risk your breath on it.

A moon ago you had been nothing more than a bastard to this court, upon his orders. Anyone within earshot of his majesty knew that the forsaken daughter of the castle whore would be painted a bastard the rest of her life.

The second her body had been carted off he had your handmaiden pack you up, sending you both to an estate far off, so that he would never have to look upon your face again.

“You haunt me! You plain cunt! You HAUNT ME!” He had yelled the day you begged, the day you crawled to your knees begging him to keep you. Of course you haunted him, you had her face. And whether he had to look upon you or not you were sure she haunted his every move.

She surely hadn’t visited you since she passed. There were no ghosts in the offwood estate. This castle, however, had more than you could dare keep track of.

But you hadn’t seen her. Whether you should be thankful for that had yet to be seen.

“Princess?” Verlain asks again, taking a step up, getting closer as he extends a hand to you. “Prin-“

“Don’t call me that.” You sneer, slapping his hand away from you and readjusting the veil that covered your face. Even with your back turned to the spit you could still see her blood on the stone, gulping quickly. Don’t look. Don’t. Look.

But Verlains eyes cast behind you to the stain, his neck showing an audible gulp before he guiltily looks back to you. “Princess, I never got to speak with you after-“

“I’m not your princess.” Your tone was cold, and you made a show of shooing him away. “And you should mind yourself, Lord Verlain. If his majesty catches you this close he might think ill of the intent.”

Verlains face pales, the man stepping back so quickly he nearly slips on the steps before turning back to the courtyard below, fixing his embellished attire.

You missed being a bastard. A bastard would never be sold off like this.

There was a war brewing, and many of the kingdoms were beginning to panic for alliances, this kingdom included. And there was one ally that everyone wanted, the seven kingdoms. Westeros. For there was truly no war that could be won against them.

You’d never seen a dragon, and if this was any under circumstance you would be excited. But this was your very own death march. Or as your mothers own prophet had claimed “you’ll earn your mothers reckoning.”

There was an ax somewhere out there with your name on it….. or maybe the jaw of a dragon ready to chew you up.

Before you could much more on it a firm grip snatches the back of your neck, pulling a gasp from you as it pulls you to them aggressively, the smell of wine filling your senses. “You step a foot out of line today and I’ll have your head just like I had your fucking mothers. You hear me, bastard? I’ll spike in on a fucking post.”

You can only nod, afraid that if you give a verbal response you might whine in pain, and you refuse to show him that weakness. He takes your response, letting go before moving to speak with Verlain as your older sister and little brother stand off to the side.

The best way to secure an alliance was through marriage. Your older sister couldn’t be married off since she was already married to a lord, and your younger brother was the heir to the kingdom, not to mention the Targaryens didn’t have many girls to marry off.

But they had Aemond Targaryen, the rumored demon of Westeros, with one eye and the largest dragon.

So you were renamed a princess, one that would be able to marry a prince.

Princess of whores being married to a prince of monsters. If your mother could see you now.

Bile rises up your throat as the memory of her face flashes through your mind, your eyes once again welling with tears. Stop thinking about her. Stop stop stop stop stop.

The heavy sound of thunder pulls your attention, blinking slowly as you try to peer through the veil to see the storm on its way, only to see clear skies. Confusion fills you as your brother gasps loudly, and then you see them, a hoard of dragons filling the skylines as their wings flap in unison . Not thunder, dragons.

Nausea fills you once more, and yet your mouth goes dry, fists clenching into the heavy skirts of your dress as you spot the older dragon riding in the back, a blur of long white hair flying with it.

And you know without a doubt, your future husband has arrived.

“Listen to me.” She sobs, falling to her knees before you as you cry out, the banging on the door scaring you even more than her tears. “You need to listen to me.”

“Where is papa?!” You scream, your mothers handmaidens rushing around the room as she pulls your face closer to hers by the back of your neck, pressing your foreheads together.

“Listen. To. Me.” She seethes, wiping your tears with a swipe of her thumb. “Breathe. Keep your wits about you. I need you to remember that these people are not your kin. They are not yours. They will not protect you.”

“Mama-“

“And your father is not- do. Not. Trust. Your. Father.”

“Mama please-“

“You need to remember to breathe. Breathe. Keep your wits about you. And?”

“Breathe. Keep your wits about you. And…. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken. They cannot break me.”

“Good. Good girl.” She sobs, reaching to kiss your forehead, her lips holding there for a long moment as the door to your mothers apartments break open and the guards storm in.

The handmaidens pull you back quickly, right as your mother shoves something in the top of your dress before they are on her. There is no gentleness in the way they grab her by her hair and drag her out, and there is no gentleness in the grip the handmaidens keep on you as you claw and bite to get to her.

By the time they are out of sight there is nothing left but her shoe that had fallen as she was dragged out, and what she had hidden in your dress.

Your mother had been taken.

Aemond was sick of the wind, a feeling he never thought he would get and yet it has arrived. He was ready to land, get a break from the beast below his thighs and have a meal that hadn’t been dried and shoved into a satchel last week.

His mothers boat stayed below them, his eldest sister's dragon taking the lead of their travel in the front as his uncle stuck to her right. Aegon, a spoiled brat through and through, was left in Kings Landing to act as King Regent as Rhaenyra traveled with them.

Helaena and Jacaerys keeping him in check.

But his brother had gotten under Aemonds skin just fine before they left, whispering rumors about his future bride in drunken slurs that made him both angry in a protective manner and angry in nervousness that the whispers might be true.

“They passed her mother around the court like a toy to their whims, and when she was used up they killed her and replaced her with her daughter. You’ll get nothing but a rag dear brother.”

The kingdom they flew to now had always been secretive within itself, and word rarely left it’s shores. The only thing anyone really knew is they had an army of soldiers that had yet to be conquered, who wore gold armor and spoke in ancient whispers.

He is snapped out of his haze as Rhaenyra signals to land, and Aemond takes a moment to rejoice in the feeling of his feet on soil, focusing on that the entire hike up to the castle with his mothers arm now looped into his as Vhagar and the ship are left at the docks.

“Don’t be nervous.” Alicent Hightower whispers, reaching a hand to swipe at his cheek, humming in discontent before licking the pad of her thumb and swiping his cheek once more. He groans, trying to pull back.

Even if she meant well he knew his mother never understood how painful the skin near his eye was. The scar was always pulling and swollen, not to mention how hard the eye was to clean if the patch moved even the slightest bit.

“I hear she’s beautiful.” Lucerys offers, keeping close to his own mothers side. “You saw her painting!”

Indeed Aemond had, and like a lovestruck fool he had stared at it for hours until it was time to go. The very painting now sat in his chambers, waiting to be hung for after the wedding…. If there was to be a wedding.

His chest tightens as the castle steps come into view, multiple figures dressed in their finest clothes standing among them.

In the front, in the most ridiculous frille of red and gold, stood the king. A smug smile laced on his features as an overly large crown stands on his head. Beside him with her arms crossed primly was a younger woman, wearing a smaller tiara of red rubies and a busty gown that he was sure Aegon would have leered at, smiling from ear to ear.

The king and his 5th wife then, and behind him a bit to the left on an upper step, had to be Verlain. The hand to the king.

Two more figures a bit further up, one clad in a light blue dress, rubbing at her stomach softly as she watched with nothing more than a nervous expression. Making eye contact with Aemond for just a moment before her face goes red and she looks away, disgust at himself rising in his chest.

What will my future wife think? He wonders, panic clawing at his throat. Will she refuse me? Will I truly be so ugly?

Before he can take a closer look at the boy beside the pregnant woman he looks over to…. You. Standing a little further to the right of the rest, obviously not really knowing where else to go, with a veil covering your face and wearing a gown of black and red. The long petticoat skirts held within your hands, the long bell sleeves barely covering your hands and the cape connected to the back of the dress making you look every bit pristine.

The first thing he notes is the lack of jewelry. No rings, no crown or tiara, no bracelets. An odd thing since the rest of your family was completely adorned with anything they could find.

“Queen Rhaenyra.” The king smiles, bowing his head the slightest inch, a fact that has both Aemond and Damon straightening. A slight to Rhaenyra, he was sure. “And her traveling companions. We welcome you.”

Aemond risks another look to you as Verlain extends a hand to help you descend the stairs. He can’t hear anything of what anyone is saying as he watches you, heart thumping through his chest at your every movement.

“-and this is my daughter.” The king mumbles out, his tone tightening at the phrase daughter as you bow gracefully, neck going low as you curtsy need to Rhaenyra then greet the rest of the party in correct order. Before he could say anything you lift the veil and his breath catches.

The oil painting did you no Justice. And within moments he found himself yearning to trace his fingers over your cheek as he had done to the painting to see how the softness would compare.

“And this is my brother, Aemond Targaryen. First of his name, rider of the great Vhagar and-“

“It is an honor.” The king interrupts Rhaenyra, your cheeks tinging with blush as your jaw tightens. You must know your father is being disrespectful then, and at least one of you has the decency to be embarrassed.

“As much as I love flattery,” he begins, not tearing his eyes from you. “I’d prefer if you showed my sister more respect. Last person to disrespect her so had his head sliced through the middle.”

Daemon has the audacity to check his nails for dirt as Rhaenyra sends him a knowing look, his mother tightening her hold on his elbow in approval before moving to you.

“It is an honor to meet you.” She holds out both hands, which you calmly place your own above as you watch her, and Aemond sees the skepticism glint in them. The narrowing of them as your nose scrunches. “Your beauty was surely understated. Don’t you agree Aemond?”

“Indeed. But to be fair I don’t think any painting or letter would ever do you justice.” You don’t say anything, merely bow your head in feigned shyness while the crowned woman behind you speaks up.

“They say she has her mothers complexion.” She giggles loudly, and your spine tightens quickly. “May the child be blessed with the one good thing about her-“

“You’ve had a long journey. I’m sure your hungry and we still some final touches on this alliance. I trust you find my daughter to your liking?” There that tone is again, like he is disgusted to call you his daughter.

“Of course. We accept the marriage proposal, let’s feast and forge out the rest of the details.” Rhaenyra nods, allowing Daemon to help her up the stairs as the king leads them inside.

Aemond is torn between offering his mother his arm or you, desperate to touch you but not wanting to seem like the type to leave his mother.

Lucerys is there, offering his arm and drawing the first actual smile from you, a wave of anger filling Aemond at the sight. “Might I escort you to dinner?”

“You may escort me up the stairs, but unfortunately it would be improper for me to join dinner.” His mother snaps her attention to that, watching you as closely as Aemond already had been while Lucerys leads you up the steps.

They both watch as you look in the opposite direction of where you are walking, keeping your face turned away from one particular spot.

“Is that…. Blood?” His mother gasps, and Aemond can do nothing but stare at the large stain of it, blinking slowly as the sun hits the dial at the top of the staircase.

It was clear that this had been set up as a stage at some point, the message still stained into the earth.

He doesn’t answer his mother, instead he helps her up the steps as he follows the rest of the group.

He was angry. It was the only thing he could register, the anger. The rest of it was numb, the blade that took his eye had made sure of it. No love, no happiness, no remorse. He just felt anger.

It burnt through his throat until he had no choice but to scream, tore through his chest like acid as he raged to relieve some of it, his sword swinging at anything he could.

The posts on his bed were the first to have been attacked, the broken canopy it once held brutalized and torn in the corner. The desk was next and he even took a hot poker from the fire to shatter the mirror in one swift move.

Every move was sheer force, every yell was an attempt to ease him, every slam of his fist and kick of his feet an instinct he could not fight.

Where was the justice?

People avoided looking at him now, whispers following him everywhere he went. Females outwardly laughed and gasped at him, acting as if he was a demon that had clawed from the shadows.

“Aemond.” Alicent tries, her hands folded against her dress as she watches her son rage within the walls of his room, feeling useless. He was in pain and there was nothing she could do. “Aemond please.”

“I DONT WANT TO BE HERE! THEY THINK IM A MONSTER!”

“Aemond-“

“KILL ME! KILL ME KILL ME KILL ME!” He rages, picking up the sword once more as she takes a step back, the tears falling from her eyes. She knows he would never, he was forged from steel itself, but the fear consumes her as she calls for Cole. Sobbing.

“Help him.” She pleads, hearing the old dragon roar in the distance as Aemond shatters under the pressure.

“It hurts.” The boy sobs, falling into the glass of his once mirror. “It won’t stop hurting!”

Cole nods, without a word he heaves the boy up, dragging him out and across the glass until they clear the room. His grip is brutal, even Aegon tries to stop them when they pass him in the hall.

“Where are you taking my brother?” He snaps, standing straight, the soberest Aemond has ever seen him.

But Cole doesn’t answer, and when Aemond trips the armor pinches into his skin as he is hefted back up until they make it to the training yard.

“You want to die? Earn it.” Cole snaps, picking up a sword. He doesn’t warn his strike, Aemond barely has a second to dodge as the blade swipes at him, falling to the mud quickly.

The wetness of it seeps into his clothes, staining them as his fingers dig in to crawl to the weapons to defend himself.

He remembers the feel of the earth in that moment, latching on to that anger once more as he stands to fight.

You weren’t allowed at the feast, a fact that Aemond finds suspicious as his Uncle moves around the room with his hand on his sword ready for an attack, making eye contact with each servant there. Everyone was on edge, this entire ordeal one that screams trap.

“Might I ask why the bride will not be joining us?” Rhaenyra breaks the silence, fixing herself in the chair given, nodding to the rest of her party to sit as well.

“After the events of her mother…. It’s better if she doesn’t join us.” The king answers, casting a look to Daemon. “She mourns her mother. Taken too soon from an illness.”

The air around them turns pungent, the sign of a lie fallen flat. Lucerys casts him a side look, his thick eyebrows pinched together in confusion as the king raises a glass to toast.

“To the blessed union of our families.” Everyone raises their own glasses before taking a sip, but not Aemond, he sets his glass down and looks around the room some more while the conversation is struggling to be picked back up.

“Those are lovely pearls.” Alicent tries, doing her best to ease some of the tension.

“Oh thank you.” The young queen giggles, leaning forward. “It’s out of fashion out here ever since-“

The king slams his hand upon her own, a bang emanating from the wood. She flinches, but tries to smile through it and Aemond feels a rage fill him as he imagines you having to do the same thing before. Is that why you chose not to eat with them?

“Pearls are…. Out of fashion out here.” Your sister fills in the silence, “the woman at the court tend to avoid them.”

“Speaking of.” Verlain smiles. “I have some things packed and ready to be transported. Gifts from the royal family to yours as a part of the arrangement. To be presented on the wedding day.”

“I just hope there will be room for all of us aboard that ship of yours.” The king smiles, though Aemond sees right through it.

“I can assure you it’s quite big. What a lonely ride it was here, while the others rode dragons. I am looking forward to the company on the way back. I do hope the bride fares well in the sea.”

“I believe my sister to be excited for it.” The pregnant once smiles, the first real smile from this table.

Aemond says nothing, picking up his goblet and draining the liquid in one easy go. Even the wine here tasted shit. Lucerys laughs under his breath when a pig is set on the table and when Aemond turns to glare thinking the jest is to him he finds that the young queen was using her cutlery to check her appearance.

He leans closer, Lucerys following his lead. “I hope that my future bride is not too attached to her family. For if I have to spend a second past the wedding with them I might just-“

Alicent slaps his shoulder quickly, making him sit up as Lucerys snickers. Whether he got to finish his sentence or not the message had been delivered.

She spent the last month of her life trapped in a tiny room, with nothing but a bed and a small window barred to keep her in. Her chamber pot was changed once a week and she was allowed one handmaiden.

But she tried not to let it craze her, pouring herself into preparations for the future ahead of her. Everyday followed the same routine.

In the morning she was brought to a chapel within the castle where the minister would pray with her, and every morning he would ask her if she had any sins she’d like to pray forgiveness for. She never did, for she remained adamant that she did nothing wrong. And she could withstand the scalding look the man gave her each time for his opinion did not matter, she knew her truth.

She spent the days seeing, ordering dresses and adjusting them. Day after day. Ordering dress after dress, a small gift her lord husband had allowed her. If she were to die then at least she would die well dressed.

But the dresses weren’t for her, she didn’t pour over every stitch for herself and she didn’t hem each one to perfection for her own vanity, for she knew the second this was over for her that her daughters life would be ruined.

She would prepare as much as she could for her daughter, she was a mother and she would not fail her even in her last moments.

Meanwhile you begged and pleaded for her back, crying into your sisters arms as she held you, rocking you back and forth.

Your father hadn’t come to see you since she was taken, and you weren’t allowed at court, soon enough even your sister was denying visits. Left alone with your handmaiden until the fateful day.

Verlain, one of your fathers men, came to the door and excitement filled you when you saw him. He had always been so kind and often stole sweets for you when no one was looking, but that morning he didn’t smile.

“I thought she might want one more friendly face with her.” He explains to the handmaiden, who has tears in her eyes as she nods. She pulls you away and prepares you, lacing your corset and dressing you in black before taking your hand and leading you through the halls.

“Are we going to see-“

“Shhh. Don’t say a word.” Verlain warns, trying to keep his voice soft. “Not today little lamb.”

You nod, reaching to grab his hand as well as they lead you to the courtyard. You remain in the back, with a good view of the steps, still holding both their hands.

Your mothers group of handmaidens stood to the side of the steps, all looking worried and most with tears falling down while someone hisses at Verlain.

“You brought her kin?!”

“The king demanded she be here.” Verlain answers back, something like grief crossing his face. “To witness.”

And witness you did.

You remember it well, the silent scream that clogged your throat and the way you tried running for her. You had fallen when Verlain pulled you back, your fingers digging into the mud as you tried to crawl to her with all your strength as the blood poured down.

After you had been dragged, kicking and screaming, to your chambers you’d been thrown in by the guards. The first person allowed access to come and see you had been your mothers main handmaiden, one you hadn’t seen at the execution, who you would later learn had reported your mother falsely.

She did not hug you, she did not coddle you. The only thing she asked was “your mothers necklace? Have you any idea where she hid it?”

You told her no, still crying, feeling betrayed.

She left soon after.

A week after that you were forced to kneel before your father as he stripped you of your title and your lineage. “You are her daughter and nothing more. A bastard in the eyes of the faith and the crown.”

You sobbed and begged him not to, crying over and over “papa!”

He screamed at you, slapping you across the cheek so hard you sprawled across the stone.

That night, your last night in the castle, you sat by a singular burning candle as an unknown phantom gently traced the bruise, singing softly to you as you waited for your mother to appear to you.

If there was anyone who would use your gift you were sure it would be her.

But she never came, and you were sent away, and soon the castle was scrubbed of her memory.

Your last night there was spent exactly the same as years ago, a fresh bruise adorning your cheek from your fat- his majesty, and you sitting by a candle and waiting for her. Silently pleading for her ghost to appear.

“Come on mother.” You whisper, waiting. “Just one more time before I meet you in the afterlife. Please.”

She does not show, and when the sun begins to rise you are escorted from your rooms down to the docks were your luggage was being loaded.

“Is this all you have?” Lucerys, the name he introduced himself with yesterday, asks and you nod.

“Not much is provided for Basta- for brides to be.” He takes your lie, smiling before you curtsy and allow him to run and catch up with his mother and father.

“I hope you will be okay with entertaining my mother for the journey.” An even voice fills the silence, your heart lunging through your chest as you turn to see the prince. You thought he was gorgeous, desperate to reach a hand out and see what was under the patch.

You refrained of course.

He, however, seemed unable to control himself as he brought a hand up to the bruise on your cheekbone. His fingertips tracing over it ever so lightly.

“How does he have black hair?” You ask, desperate to get the topic away from your cheek before it can even start.

“It’s…. A long story.” He huffs, a small smile playing at his lips. “Might I escort you to your chambers on the boat.”

He holds out a hand for you to take, and for a moment a pitch of fear fills you. Don’t look don’t look don’t look.

But you can’t stop yourself from turning to those steps, and seeing the blood among them for the last time. Once you’re gone that’s all that will be left of her memory, and that tears a hole through your soul.

She shouldn’t have to be alone here, but you were sure that you would find her soon enough, there was no way you would ever survive the Targaryens. It was the only reason your father would ever bother to accept this at all.

So, ignoring the white haired god beside you, you turn fully to the steps and bow properly. “Until we meet again.”

Your tears sink into the dirt, in the exact spot you once crawled, and when a breeze hits your cheek you can do nothing but lift your head to see her. Standing at the top of the steps, bowing back to you.

Tears fall quicker, and your throat stings from it as you turn to grab the princes still outstretched hand, and as the last remnants of the second queen fade the last memory of her is lead away to the docks, clutching the lost necklace tightly in the pocket of a dress she once sewed.

And you know, that just as your mother once did, you would meet your fate with your head held high.

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. They cannot break me.

But you hadn’t quite known what Kings Landing had in store for you, no one had expected it really.

(It's been a minute since I wrote something like this and this is the first time in months that writing hadn't felt like a chore. I hope you enjoy it!)

Part 2.... maybe?

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