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deadmenandthedivine · 1 year ago

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DEAD MEN § THE DIVINE

chapter ten: an old man’s guilt

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, disassociation, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 9023

The velvet fabric of her large, brick red evening gown hung on her body with the weight of an entire castle gate. The dress could more accurately be described as a tent as the skirt flared out directly under her bust and was larger than her own wingspan. The bishop sleeves were fitted at the wrists, but were just as extravagantly large and drapey with the elbows cascading to her knees. It had a scooping round neckline that dipped just low enough to tease her cleavage and exposed the tops of her shoulders. The dragon embroidery and detailing was black, burlwood brown, and turtledove ivory. Her bronze jewelry contained eye-catching white selenite and pearls that brought out the ivory detailing. Rings, bracelets, necklaces, and the tiniest headpiece. She was undoubtedly regal. The clacking heels of her shoes echoed down the corridor along with the squeaking and clunking of her knight’s armor. Ser Gunthor had taken over watch from Ser Eddrin, and his footsteps were just as loud and heavy as ever. Though he tried his best. She was thankful for that much. Aside from the disruption from the two, the corridors were quiet. It made her feel like a bull in a ceramics market, despite the absence of actual destruction in her wake. Her thoughts were pandemonium in her head. They echoed and bounced between the inner walls of her mind as she wondered how angry her father would still be. She imagined his face and the witty insults he’d hurl. It was always better to expect the worst. If she were lucky, his mouth would remain shut, but she was never a lucky girl. Her legs were tired by the time she finally reached the doors to the Small Council chambers, their dining hall for the evening. The longer she walked, her gown only became more of an obstacle. So large, she had to hold up the front and kick out the skirt with each step in order to keep from tripping onto her face. The prettiest of dresses were always the least practical. There was not even an opening in the side for her to slip her hand into her waistpocket. Not that she would need to, she left the stones in Ser Eddrin’s care. At least she would not land on them if she fell.

Staring at the golden door knobs, the princess briefly contemplated running off in the opposite direction. If only she could actually run in her sea of a dress. The only thing that held her back was the knowledge that she would not make it far before she was caught and reprimanded. Much to her dismay, the doors opened before she had given the signal — revealing her to the room as she stood. There would be no turning back. She felt all their eyes snap over to her, but she could not meet them. She glanced about the table without meeting a single stare, despite the over abundance of attention she held. There were two empty chairs left. One in the center of the Northern side of the table, the King’s, and one to the left of her father at the lower head of the table, her’s. When she finally crossed the threshold, the princess realized that she was the last to arrive — aside from the King, who would always enter last. Her heart fluttered with fear, hoping that she had not kept them all waiting. She did not want something so trivial to be her father’s last straw. A possibility that felt far too likely. Much like in the corridor, her footsteps echoed as she moved to take her seat. She felt like a rabbit surrounded by foxes. One wrong movement and they would descend on her in droves of claws and teeth. She held back the flinch as her father pushed himself out of his chair in order to pull out hers. All of her muscles tensed. She sat slowly and carefully. With her back turned to her father, it would be so easy for him to reach forward and strangle her. It would be so sudden, perhaps the many guards would be too stunned to stop him. She would be on the floor, just like Lord Corlys’s nephew, before their swords would even be unsheathed. Yet he never moved to hurt her. He simply pushed in her chair. Her heart pounded as she was scooted closer and closer to the table. The feeling that something was off, was about to attack her, remained just as palpable as ever. The worry pumped through her veins quicker than a downhill river. The delirium of a hot flash began to make her feel clammy. It was only a family dinner, she had to remind herself. She should be safe. Yet her eyes scanned the table for more danger. Queen Alicent, Princess Rhaenyra, Ser Otto, and her father who retook his seat all avoided eye contact with each other. There was a tension between the four of them that couldn’t be cut with Valyrian steel. They sat in their chairs in a way that looked as if iron rods had been driven up their rear ends.

Ironically, the four were sat in line with each other. A forced proximity that would not allow them a moment of relief. Alicent sat right to the King’s empty chair with her father to the right of her. They looked so similar despite their lack of connection. Their owlish eyes judging the scene before them. Meanwhile, Rhaenyra sat left of the King’s chair with her husband to the left of her. The two leaned in towards each other. Almost conspiratorially. If one of them were to utter anything, they would be the only two to hear it. On the other side of the table, the three young couples of the family were sat in another line. Unfortunately, Prince Joffrey and the other young boys were absent as they had been deemed too young to join the rest of them. Prince Aegon and his wife Princess Helaena were located across from their mother and grandsire. The King’s oldest son had already been deep in his cups, and was clearly ignoring his sister wife beside him. She mostly kept her gaze down at the plate as she hunched over in her chair. The princess-by-title was shocked such posture had not been beaten out of her as a child as it had been for herself. Helaena briefly looked up to meet her cousin’s gaze, and the girls shared a quick greeting smile. But it did not last long before they returned to what they had been doing. The two eldest princes sat beside each other, Aegon and Jacaerys. They were turned away from each other as much as physically possible. The spitting image of the way their mothers treated each other. Lucerys got to sit in between the twins. He looked far more comfortable than his brother. Baela and Rhaena sat with perfect posture. The older twin idly talked with her betrothed who attentively listened while the younger kept her eye on a swivel, taking note of each and every attendee. Directly across from Maetilda, at the other head of the table, Aemond was already watching her closely. His expression was unreadable, but his posture alluded to an air of confidence. Sitting at the head of the table was an honor, undoubtedly boosting the second son’s ego. Just like the day prior, his eye was locked on her before she had even looked at him. He made the prey-like feeling bubble in her gut. She quickly looked away from him, and turned to Rhaena to the left of her. Her younger sister smiled at her encouragingly upon noticing her attention. Without saying a word, the girls reached out and grasped each other's hands. The younger one gave the older one a squeeze. Before anything else could happen, the creak of the doors echoed throughout the hall, pulling everyone’s focus back toward the entrance.

On the other side of the doors, the king was perched in a platformed chair. The platform had long handles on each corner where a member of the Kingsguard each gripped firmly. They held his Grace up evenly at the height of their chests. King Viserys looked just the same as he did before. Grey and covered with sores, thin and frail, breathing hard and bearing down so as not to show just how much pain he was truly in. He was finely dressed in evening robes, his crown, a golden mask over half of his face, and matching jewelry throughout his person. He was a regal man, no matter his state. All at the table stood in respect. Together, the knights marched in step over to the empty chair. A servant promptly removed it for them, and the Kingsguard carefully lowered the chair to the ground. It was not until the chair was settled that the rest of the table sat; the Queen being the first of them. Viserys’s deep breaths carried across the room. No one dared utter a sound. It was he who had called them all to dinner, it was he who would have the first word. The princess anxiously chewed at a spot on the inside of the corner of her lip. He cleared his throat of any phlegm before he spoke.

“How good it is to see you all tonight. Together.” The King greeted slowly between inhales for air.

“A prayer before we begin?” The Queen suggested.

“Yes,” His Grace nodded in reply.

The table joined hands, closing their eyes and bowing their heads together. It felt foreign to the Princess, almost like a staged event. Yet as the Queen rattled off her prayer, she glanced up from behind her brows to find the Hightower brood all piously crouched in prayer. Even Aemond. Instead of staring at her like some amateur spy, his eye was closed and his face was relaxed. Maetilda couldn’t help but feel a bit entranced with him. It was easier to observe him without his watchful eye on her. Without her having to worry about what he was thinking, if she was among those thoughts. If he hated her, he hadn’t necessarily shown it in the Godswood, but he could be plotting something. Perhaps that had been why both her father and her gut had been on edge the past three days. If Aemond had always been intelligent, perhaps he had grown calculating with the years apart. He could take after his owlish mother’s side in that regard. He seemed to already favor their religious fervere. The princess had never found herself to be religious. What sort of gods would seek out to create such a treacherous world? What gods would cause famine, drought, and suffering throughout its continents? What gods would take a mother away from her daughter of only one nameday? Why would she pray to those who have only brought her pain and turmoil? She wondered what Aemond could possibly be praying for in his own head. For enough food to satisfy his beast of a dragon. For land and a castle of his own. For a pretty, submissive, and ditzy lady wife with no trueborn brothers and lots of money. For the downfall of she and her brothers. It was harder for her to guess now. Before Driftmark, it would have been for a dragon of his own. That had been all he seemed to ever want, but he now had it. What would one wish for after they receive their deepest wish?

“And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the gods give him rest.”

Her father scoffed as the hair on her neck and arms stood on edge. She felt her blood run cold at the mere mention of his name. Even Ser Otto shook his head almost unnoticeably as the table awkwardly unbowed their heads. Prince Aemond looked straight back up, and promptly caught Maetilda staring at him. In panic, she snapped her gaze over to the King. Embarrassment, shame, and fear pounded at her insides.

“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young princes and their betrothed…”

Goblets and glasses were raised all around. Maetilda tried to hold back the shaking in her hand from her overwhelm of emotions.

“Here, Here!” Aegon exclaimed with mock enthusiasm, although his sarcasm was muddied with his drink.

Each at the table took a gulp of their wine to seal the toast. At her uncle’s words of unity and celebration, her father only seemed to tense. His muscles grew hard and rigid. An icy warmth radiated off of him. It reminded her of his cold blooded actions the day prior, which did not help the princess’s already clammy hands. She tucked her hands under the table and rubbed them on the sides of her brick red skirt. The velvet was not very absorbent. Briefly, she wondered who her father would attack first, if it came to it. Certainly it wouldn’t be his brother, perhaps the King’s Hand. Though he would have to cross three whole people to get to him. Because of this, she thought the Kingsguard would be more likely to stop him. For once. Regardless, she found herself guiltily relieved to see someone else occupying her father’s stuck-in-his-warlord-days mind.

“Well done, Jace. You’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” The King’s oldest son’s whisper was not much quieter than a shout. It was enough to indirectly pull the princess out of her mental spiral.

“Let us toast as well Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.” The King continued his toasts.

“Here, Here!” Rhaenys echoed much more eloquently.

“You’ll be great.” Rhaena agreed, offering her future husband a gentle smile to calm the nerves that began to service at the mention of his name.

The room was silent as they all took another sip. From behind her cup, the princess smiled at her brother and sisters. They looked so content and peaceful in their pairings. It warmed her heart to see them so. While she was envious, they more than deserved it. They all did their best to be the best individuals they could be, all had a sound moral code, and were usually level headed. They had all faced hardship in their own right. They deserved a life of comfort and happiness. Before the princess could get too secure, Princes Aegon turned to the nephew on his right. Her heart pounded as she watched.

“You do know how the act is done. I assume?” Aegon continued his jeers at his not so silent volume, “At least in principle? Where to put your cock and all that.”

“Let it be, cousin.” Baela warned.

“You can play the jester if you wish, but hold your tongue before my betrothed.” Jacaerys pushed out his chest protectively.

Aegon giggled as he sat back in his chair. One of the servants refilled his goblet. Although they probably should not have. The King regained the table’s attention with the click of his walking stick upon the floor. After a few rings of his gavel, he slowly but surely rose from his chair. His knees shook beneath his weight. Just like in the Throne Room, he relied heavy upon his walking cane to keep him upright. He gave each person sitting a look of a thousand emotions before gathering his breath.

“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to these faces around the table.” The King began, “The faces most dear to me in all the world. You’ve grown so distant from each other in the years passed.”

He groaned with labored breaths as he reached up to unbuckle the clasp on his golden mask. Its powerful THUNK thundered throughout the Small Council chambers. The sound made the princess wince. Her royal uncle was missing both an eye and a piece of his cheek. Certainly not what she had expected to lay beneath his mask. Although she was not sure what she thought had lay beneath before. It was hard to imagine anything else after she studied him as he stood there. He almost looked like a skeleton with skin stretched over the bones. The edges of the hole in his cheek resembled the sores that littered his skin. Part of her wondered if the sores would all eventually progress to that state. Is that what had happened to his eye? She tried her best to focus on the one that remained and not the dark socket as he looked around at each person once more.

“My old face is no longer a handsome one. If it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a King, but your father, your brother, your husband, your cousin, your uncle, and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.”

The thought saddened her. Though it was always inevitable, she hoped his passing would never happen. So much of what she knew would change. She could not bare to imagine it. Rhaenyra would make a wonderful queen, that much she was certain. But the rest was enough to keep her up at night. Would Ser Otto riot after Rhaenyra did not name him Hand of the Queen? What would happen to Alicent? Would Princes Aegon and Aemond live in the castle forever? Would Rhaenyra allow it?

“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The Crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. Set aside your grievances! If not for the sake of the Crown, than for the sake of this old man. Who loves you all. So dearly.”

He took a deep breath and rose his goblet of wine into the air. In his hands, it looked as heavy as a full carafe. “Which is why — despite the pushback at negotiations this morning — I have decided to officially tie the two halves of my family together. Once and for all. My second son, Prince Aemond, and my darling niece, Princess Maetilda, shall wed in three moons time. It is my hope that they shall have a long and fruitful marriage. May it inspire us all to cease the plotting and petty insults, and love each other as family should.”

He was haggard from his own words as he lowered himself to the table. Yet the echo from each syllable still rang about the room. Their power could be felt within the air. The entire table briefly froze. The princess-by-title’s eyes instinctually darted towards her father. His jaw was set. A thousand flames burned behind his eyes. Smoke poured from his ears. He was furious, but he was not surprised. Perhaps she had not heard His Grace clearly. But as she replayed the words in her mind she felt as if she would lose her meals from the day all over the table. Her ears rang like her head was inside a bell. Without any sort of warning her fate had been sealed. She would no longer be a spinster, but a second son’s wife. He would take charge of her castle and all of the banners swore to it. On her wedding night, both she and her keep would be conquered. The King had declared it so. It had been so many years since she had known her cousin; perhaps Aemond would be an honorable husband. He was always nice to her and his older sister in their youth. But he no longer radiated kindness and warmth. He was a man in his head, just as her father. He was calculating and intimidating. That’s what he was attempting to do with his stare. He was studying her and plotting. Perhaps he had known of the King’s plans since before their arrival to King’s Landing. With every interaction, he had more or less been sizing her up. How had she not seen it all coming? What else did he know that she hadn’t? Abruptly taking her goblet into her hand, the princess Rhaenyra swiftly stood. The legs of her chair groaned against the floor behind her.

“I wish to offer my congratulations to my brother and my stepdaughter. May you have a peaceful and happy matrimony. I could not think of a better match for the both of you. I am pleased that our family shall be reunited once more,” She cleared her through, clearly uncomfortable with her own words before she continued, “I would also like to raise my cup to her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honor. For that, she has my gratitude. And my apology.”

Silence screamed through the dining hall as the Realm’s Delight took her seat once again. Maetilda watched the line of adults with careful eyes. The Queen stared at her childhood friend with glazed eyes. Alicent glanced at her own goblet, she swayed in her chair as if she were possessed. The words were a shock, but clearly inspired by the King’s speech. He wanted love and unity amongst his family. So he should have it. Alicent glanced about the table in hesitation before she, too, opened her mouth.

“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess,” Her first sentence was whispered, but her next words were far more confident, “My love and well wishes to the new betrothed. All of the newly betrothed. It warms my heart to see the new generation of my husband’s dynasty blossom with such honor, pride, and strength. And to my husband’s first daughter… We are both mothers and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow.”

The Queen’s chair dragged behind her as she too stood with her goblet raised, “I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine Queen, and an even finer grandmother to our future shared grandchildren. Congratulations, once again, to everyone.”

Alicent sat in her chair with a thud, scooting it back in. Starting with the King, all around the table drank from their goblets in toast. Maetilda looked at her family with wide eyes. As if they had not just heard the same words as she. They each sipped from the rims of their cups with the normalcy of any other dinner, albeit with much less tension sitting in their shoulders. Jace and Luke held back smiles as they exchanged looks from behind the rims of their cups. Baela and Rhaena each sipped politely. Ser Otto closed his owlish eyes as he joined in. Even her father choked back the wine from his own goblet in an attempt to drown out any outward protests. Her eyes moved about the table until they landed on her betrothed. She was not surprised to find his eye back on her again. The bright lilac held an air of confidence. He idly gripped the stem of his goblet in a pinch of his long fingers. She tried to hold back her look of pure shock and fear. It was the worst time for her to show any signs of weakness. She was a dragon, and she was to prove it. From Aemond’s end of the table, his older brother stirred. Prince Aegon dramatically finished the last of his wine and dropped the goblet onto the table. Almost like an actor in a theater show, he looked to his nephew on his right and formulated his next move forward. Maetilda could see the cogs turn in his head. The King’s eldest son swayed away onto his feet before he sauntered over to the wine carafe that sat in front of Baela. A smug smirk sat behind a mask of innocence. He was far more put together than the other night in the corridors when he was drunkenly running from the Cargyll twins. The lack of vomit down his front actually made him a bit intimidating. Like a wild animal who’s next move you could not predict.

In one fluid movement, Aegon reached for the golden carafe and leaned into her sister’s ear before whispering, “I, umm, I regret the disappointment you are soon to suffer. But if you ever wish to know what it is to be well satisfied, all you have to do is ask.”

As the oldest prince finished his sentence, Jacaerys slammed his fist onto the dinner table, using the momentum to push him to his feet. Maetilda’s breath hitched in her chest, over aware of everything but not completely comprehending anything going on around her. Her oldest younger brother turned to Aegon, ready to attack. His features were shriveled around his scrunched nose. His chest rose and fell rapidly with fists clenched at his sides.

“Jace,” Princess Rhaenyra whispered, breaking the tension.

He cleared his throat, seemingly to cover up any insults he had remaining for his uncle. It was clear that Rhaenyra’s camp, including Maetilda, were to be taking the high road with the Hightowers no matter what. But as the princess-by-title watched Jacaerys linger, Aemond rose to his feet menacingly. The princess’s neck snapped over to her cousin. The way he stood, he loomed like a threat over their entire party. Much taller than anyone there, including her father. The mere sight of him would have sent a shiver down her spine even if she hadn’t already seen what damage he could do with a sword. She wondered how many knights and guards it would take to subdue him. Despite the guilt she felt for thinking so, she was relieved his stare was locked on Jace and not her. Yet the relief did not do much to make her feel better. Rather she was waiting for the dragon to blow his fire. She looked back and forth between her brother and her cousin in fear of what would happen next. Coming up with his excuse to stand on the spot, Jace grabbed his goblet to make his own toast.

He gave Aegon’s shoulder an awkward teasing punch and took a deep breath before he began, “To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family’s good health, dear uncles. Both present and future. Prince Aemond… May you treat my sister with honor.”

“To you as well,” Aegon muttered.

Both Aemond and Jace slowly returned to their seats as the table drank from their goblets in toast again. All except for Helaena. She whispered what sounded like a poem or perhaps a hymn to herself as she played with her hands in her lap. Maetilda strained to hear what she said. The princess-by-title wondered if it had anything to do with what the King’s second daughter had said beneath the Weirwood Tree. Or if it were something entirely different. The side of Maetilda’s face began to burn with the all too familiar feeling as she detected a certain someone’s watch return to her. It was a different itch than that of her knights and the other guards. It was the difference between the hot sun warming one’s skin and a hot iron melting it. She wanted to wince and scream and jump away from the feeling, she wanted her pain to cease. Yet there was nothing she could do, utterly powerless. She had three knights sworn to protect her, yet she felt nothing but weak and helpless. He made her feel like that. He watched her carefully, like one watches over mindless sheep. It was like he was ready for anything, to spring into action at a moment’s notice. Like an overexcited guard dog, alert and hungry. And somehow, his exterior spoke nothing but composure and indifference. He looked calm and cool and collected. Not a hair or thread out of place. He confused her to no end. Was he the same man she spoke to in the Godswood? Who had escorted her to the training yards? Certainly not.

The King’s walking cane gavel pulled Maetilda out of her thoughts, “Well done, my boy.”

“I would like to toast Baela, Rhaena, and Maetilda,” Helaena announced as she too rose to her feet. She looked a bit hesitant in her place, but Maetilda only stared back with shock and curiosity, “You’ll all be married soon. It isn’t so bad. Mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.”

The princess-by-title heard her father laugh a genuine laugh, but it almost sounded underwater as her ears began to ring again. She would be married soon. In three moons time. She would be married to a man that her father considered to be a Hightower spawn, her own cousin. How would her father ever look at her again? What would he do to level the playing field? The King had declared it so, yet the very thought of any consequences made her feel sick. While the table kept reiterating their praise, the words sounded like lies. Like an elaborate joke. In which case, her father’s laughter would be appropriate. They were all crafting some sort of practical joke that she would be the butt of. It would all unravel itself soon. It had to. She could not fathom otherwise. The princess felt like she was floating out of her chair. Like her spirit left the shell of her body to sit at the table as she escaped in the only way she knew how. She could have been one with the chandeliers. If the Gods favored her, they would have opened up the skies and welcomed her home. At least she would not so easily be called a spinster by the rest of Court with a husband on her arm. No matter who he was. Although words were only words. Without a husband, she would have something that most ladies did not — an ancient seat and her own inheritance. The names and insults could not take that away.

“Good,” Alicent whispered to Helaena in praise.

“Let us have some music!” The King declared.

The instruments sounded immediately. They served as a tune to her downward spiral. The melody was light and joyous. Notes in the key of C Major. The lutes, the pipes, the dulcimers. Normally, she would smile and sway in her chair. She would hum the lyrics to the songs and tap her foot beneath the table. Instead, she sat still and rigid. The music was a stark contrast to what lurked inside her mind, where she questioned everything she had once known. Had she truly wished to stay a spinster? Part of her screamed yes. A prospect that utterly terrified her. Becoming engaged had seemed to be everything she had ever wanted. Yet being promised to Aemond felt like a prison sentence, a ball-and-chain. He had stole Baela’s dragon and nearly bashed her brothers’ heads in with a rock. He openly mocked Rhaenyra and her children, alongside his mother. For a majority of her life, he was an enemy to her. Aligned with the wrong side. It felt wrong to then align herself with him, sacrilegious even. But it was not her choice, it was never her choice to be had. She would marry him regardless of whether she wanted to or not. The sound of chair scooting legs across the ground pulled her back into her body for a brief moment. It was Jacaerys’s chair. He leaned over and whispered words to his intended before he turned to his left. The entire table watched him approach his aunt with a sincere smile and politely ask her to dance. Maetilda did not realize she had smiled until she felt the pinch in her cheeks. Jacaerys and Helaena paced over away from the table and began to leisurely dance. Conversation began to sprinkle through the table. More smiles and laughter. A new air of relief breezed through them. As if the two representatives from the two different factions dancing together had made a bridge of peace. For all except her and her father. Prince Daemon tried to act normal, jovial even, but failed miserably as he nursed his cups almost like Aegon. Maetilda watched the table out of her peripheral vision as her gaze fell to the table itself. She still did not feel like her whole self, like she could get washed away by a river at any moment. But before the water could completely pull her under, there was a light tap on her shoulder. When she turned, her heart stopped. Above her stood Aemond. He lightly smiled down at her with his hand held out for her to take.

“Our siblings look as though they are in need of company. Princess Maetilda, may I have this dance?”

No thoughts had processed through her mind before she had nodded her head and took his head. Wordlessly and as stiff as boards, Aemond lead the two over to the space near Jacaerys and Helaena. Her cousin grinned to her midstep as she noticed their company. For the first time since they had started dancing, Jacaerys tripped over his feet. Being the graceful prince that he was, he had managed to recover relatively smoothly. He tried to hide the furrow of his brow, but Maetilda noticed the twitch nonetheless. The band soon ended their first song and started up another. The Maids that Bloom in Spring. Another one in C Major. Just as she had been trained for most of her life, she rose her arms up to meet his. Her left hand rested on his bicep while her right was soon cradled in his left. A lump grew in her throat as they started the first steps of the dance. A man always starts off on his right foot; Maetilda took the first step with her left to mirror him. They parallel chasséd in the shape of a seven pointed star before breaking away to perform the next 14-counts. This was the first time Maetilda stumbled. Forgetting to kick the skirt of her dress out before sidestepping, the yank on her gown would have pulled her directly onto her face had she not caught herself. In her ears, she could already hear the later rumors of how clumsy all of Rhaenyra’s children were. She was only roped in as one of her children whenever it was convenient for whoever was talking.

Trying to salvage whatever dignity she had left, she grabbed her skirts and lifted them just high enough to be out of the way so that she could finish out the more complicated footwork section. In doing so, she abandoned the arm movements, which were supposed to match up with Aemond’s. She glanced over at him in panic. His face was flat and stoic as he was already watching her. Although there was something in his eyes that gave her encouragement. She wondered if he had seen her near-crash. Regardless, he had certainly heard it, which was embarrassing enough. She could still barely wrap her mind around what was happening, and a part of her still felt like it was stuck in the chandeliers. As the next counts required the two of them to rejoin hands, she took a deep breath and dropped her skirts. Aemond took more care with his footing as they made another seven pointed star. His smell mixed into the air she breathed. Oud, sandalwood, and red clay. She wondered if she smelled just as strong, just as dumbfounding. Before she was quite ready, there was another turn. Aemond released her right hand as he spun her with her left. She had made it halfway through the turn before she faltered again, catching another corner of her dress under her shoe. Before she could stumble very hard, there was a hand on her waist to steady her. Maetilda cursed under her breath as she came face to face with Aemond again. There was a very light smile on his face now. It wasn’t mean or necessarily teasing. However, she would not look at him for long before the dance would require for her and Helaena to both spin and switch places.

The princess-by-title gritted her teeth before she kicked out her skirts and dove into the spin with gusto. With the dress kicked out before the spin, the skirts caught the air and glided through it gracefully. Much to her delight, she executed a flawless turn. As smooth as water on a windless day. Although as the power of her spinning skirts only grew, she struggled to stop herself due to the weight of all the fabric. Jacaerys caught her easily. Maetilda smiled up at her longtime practice partner, basking in the brief moment of his familiarity. She and her step brother performed the next turn in the choreography with relative ease. The princess remained cautious of her skirts and managed to avoid them. Jacaerys simply nudged them out of his way with his foot. Even as she and Helaena reversed their earlier movements by spinning and switching partners again, the skirts continued to cooperate. A sense of relief washed over her as she managed to make it back to Aemond without shaming herself. It was apparent that she had little faith in her capabilities, yet she did it anyway. The rest of the dance would only be more of the same until the big finish. She actually felt she could do it as long as she remained mindful. In the next section, the newly betrothed couple circled each other as their arms mimicked the wings of dragons. Diligently, the princess kicked her skirts out before each step. More spins followed more seven pointed stars. The dance continued on through the song. Their movements mimicked that of spring flowers with occasional flight of a dragon. It was an older dance that they had all started learning as children. She had always pictured her partner as a tall and brooding lord. Perhaps a Stark, a Baratheon, a Lannister, or a Tyrell. Maybe even one from Dorne. He would’ve come from money and had a castle in his own right if her father had anything to do with it. The more afraid of him the better. Yet she always wanted one who was the opposite. She would fantasize about him as the perfect portrait of a brave knight, afraid of nothing. He would have been fearless in his defense of her, but also know when to be gentle. He would have been a man who appreciated art. His skill in combat and with weapons would have provided him elegance in dance. He would have had hobbies like poetry or drawing, botany or animals. Anything that would allude to his patience and empathy. He would compliment her because he meant it and not because he wanted something from her. He would seek out her opinions and knowledge; he would honor her word. His presence would bring her both relief and ease. All that time she had spent thinking, yet she never thought he would be Aemond. Not even for a brief moment. Next to Aegon, he would have been the very last on her list of options. Facing him as a reality, she felt numb. Was she happy with the match? Sad or scared? She could not tell. Not in his face at least.

The emotions in the music swelled, encouraging quicker and stronger movements. Arms opened up like flowers before flapping away like dragon wings. The princess took deeper breaths as she felt herself tire. Yet there was one last lift she would have to power through still looming overhead. In the next section, the couple joined hands again before repeating many of the same steps from earlier — even switching partners back and forth once more. The couple seemed to ease as they fell into rhythm, and Maetilda mastered the perfect skirt-kicking technique. As the two carried on, the princess found herself wondering if her future would not be so awful. Perhaps the prince would make a suitable match. At the very least, they would be able to dance at their wedding feasts. The thought of such feasts in their favor caused a wave of nausea to roll up her throat. Not about to suffer the humiliation of getting sick at dinner, she started breathing through her nose in an attempt to shove it back down. Dramatically, the couple took seven paces away from each other before turning back around along with the dulcimer feature. As the instrument took to its solo, the choreography required the princess to symbolize the spring maiden. A low curtsy — the lower, the better. Another 7-counts of modest twirls. Then in time with the beat, Maetilda and Aemond paced toward the inside of the gap. As they met in the middle, the prince gripped his betrothed’s waist firmly and lifted her straight into the air with ease. Eliciting a shocked gasp from the princess. She used her arms to mimic a flower in the sun as she kept the rest of her body pin straight. Her tent of a skirt nearly swallowed him, and certainly obscured the entirety of his vision as he spun them in a slow circle. Whenever she had practiced the dance with Jacaerys in the past, his arms had always shook. But Aemond’s never once did. Not even as he slowly lowered her to the ground. A small smile of relief graced her face as soon as she was balanced on her feet once more. He had made it look effortless, like the extended hold was no more than a fly on his arm. Despite the numbness in her person, she could feel her heart flutter. Suddenly, she was more nervous than she ever had been that entire evening. The next steps to the choreography escaped her memory; her entire mind went blank. The chandeliers cursed in disappointment as they watched her. With his right hand, Aemond guided her into the next turn. Luckily, the next moves were partner movements. She allowed him to lead her, and took her first step after his. Forgetting to kick out her skirt, Maetilda slipped and did not catch herself. Instead, she crashed forward. Her head crashed hard into Aemond’s chest. He was quick to steady her with his own arms, lifting her back onto her feet. She felt her face heat to a temperature far hotter than it ever had before. It was absolutely inflamed. Without another thought, the princess dropped her dancing stance and curtsied to her partner.

“Pardon me, Prince Aemond. I must go sit back down.” She quickly muttered, not waiting to be excused before turning to do exactly as she said.

The pressure of watching eyes cut at her skin as she turned back toward the table. Just as before, she avoided all of them. Her chair was colder when she returned to it. The sound of her father’s stifled laughter was ever present. Pointedly, the princess grabbed the nearest carafe and topped off her goblet. She threw its contents back. Chugging the entire thing. Without hesitation, she filled her goblet again. No time was wasted before she was nursing her seconds. Only after she had taken a few more gulps did she have the courage to let her eyes search for her betrothed. Aemond had also returned to his chair and drank generously from his cup. For once, he was not looking at her. He looked anywhere but. An action that twisted her insides more than she thought it could. She had embarrassed herself more than she thought. After she finished her second serving of wine and had helped herself to a third, Maetilda took the chance to glance about the table. Alicent and Rhaenyra were smiling and chatting. Lucerys was practically lecturing his newly intended with the rate at which he spoke to her. His cheeks were pink with wine, and he swayed in his seat as he tried to sit upright. Rhaenyra had never allowed him to drink much wine at Dragonstone. He clearly had taken advantage of her relaxed watch over him. On the other end of the table, Aegon was drinking even more as he avoided the sight of his nephew and wife. Ser Otto attempted to engage his grandson in conversation, but he was simply ignored. Yet Ser Otto didn’t seem all too offended… or surprised.

A sharp cry left the middle chair on the Northern side of the table. After the cry came whimpers and moans, it was the sound of someone in deep pain. With the flick of the Queen’s wrist, the guards were lifting the ornate chair again and carrying it out of the chambers. All the while, sounds of helpless pain poured out of the King’s mouth. As the noises traveled down the table, each seated person turned to face him. To watch him shake and shiver as he was carried away. Jacaerys and Helaena moved out of the way to allow them to pass. Perhaps in an attempt to distract them all, the servants brought out the next course of dinner. The click of the doors closing behind him was cleverly disguised by the various clunks of large dishes being laid out on the table. Quail, shepherd’s pie, mushroom pasties, haddock in saffron sauce, and a fresh large hog with an apple in its mouth. Maetilda watched her younger brother as his eyes took in their newest course. He licked his lips until he spotted the hog. As soon as he saw it, his eyes darted to Aemond — who met his nephew’s gaze as if already anticipating what the boy had been thinking. The heir to Driftmark giggled under his breath. A smirk danced across his lips as he seemed to have a silent conversation with his uncle. A layered conversation, filled to the brim with a lifetime’s worth of history. Their faces twisted with emotion as the unspoken words passed between them. Lucerys wore a playful smirk. One that she certainly would have smacked him for had it been directed toward her. Aemond’s bore rage, resentment, and vindictivity. The passion only boiled and grew. His nose scrunched and top lip curled up to show his teeth like a growling dog. Maetilda felt as if someone had thrown a boulder into the lake inside her stomach. Aemond slammed his fist aggressively onto the table as he shot out from his chair. With his other hand, he extended his goblet out in front of him.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews. Jace, Luke, and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise — hm — and strong.” He spoke proudly.

“Aemond.” The Queen warned.

“Come,” The King’s second son smirked as he rose his goblet up even higher, “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”

“I dare you to say that again.” Jace spat out in defense from his place still on the dance floor.

“Why?” Aemond pressed further, “‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself strong?”

The two moved in slow motion. Jace angrily marched toward Aemond, who confidently sauntered over to meet him. Goblet still held up in toast. The punch from Jace was quick. It landed clean across Aemond’s jaw. Yet the snap of his head served as the only indication that it had happened. Aemond hardly even flinched. His feet remained firmly planted. Not a drop of wine had spilled out from his cup. The princess gasped as Lucerys smacked the table. He launched away from the feast only to be intercepted by Aegon, who clotheslined him before throwing his entire torso onto the table. The older prince held him down firmly, one hand on Lucerys’s head.

“Jace!”Rhaenyra gasped, lagging behind the action as it moved so quickly.

“That is enough!” Alicent attempted.

The princess-by-title knew she had to do something, anything. Before a single thought had processed through her mind, Maetilda sprung to her feet and grabbed the closest freshly topped wine carafe. She did not so much as blink before she had launched its contents at the King’s eldest son. It was enough to stun Aegon into releasing his grip, yet the princess was not so confident he was done. Without so much as blinking, she launched the carafe itself at his head. Despite his normally slowed reactions from the amount of drink in his belly, Aegon ducked before the solid gold could hit him. The clank, skid, and screech across the floor stung her ear drums. All she saw was Aegon and the color red as she marched forward to personally confront him, pulling her skirts up and out of her way. Before she could do so much as take three steps, two white-armored white-cloaked guards had seized her by the arms. She fought desperately against them, but their combined strength was overbearing. Her knight stood back with his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword, and calmly attempted to convince the men to release her to him. The kingsguard only told him that there would be deadly consequences if he attempted to interfere with their orders. With their rough and assertive hands, they clamped down on her shoulders and held her hands behind her back. Desperation in every word and movement, the princess called out to Ser Gunthor. Unable to release her without attacking the guards, he could only pace around them like a caged animal waiting to pounce. Maetilda thrashed against her restraints to no avail. She felt helpless. The walls closed in on her as her breathing quickened. Her eyes shot about the room wildly. Despite the aggression he carried himself with, the sworn knight called back words of comfort in an attempt to soothe the princess’s anxieties. Yet the hall only succumbed to more chaos. With a single hand, Aemond shoved Jacaerys onto the ground. As if the brunette were no more than a little boy. The Velaryon prince groaned angrily as he stood, only to be seized by white cloaks as well. Aemond laughed in triumph before taking a sip of his unharmed drink. The Queen was at her second son’s heel in an instant. Jacaerys was yanked over until he fell in line with his other siblings. Each of them springing to try and free themselves. Jace and Luke growled and grunted as they wrestled against the guards. From between the two of them, Maetilda could hear nothing else. The Queen gave her second son a pleading look as she spoke words the princess could not hear. Alicent’s mouth moved frantically, losing all sense of her stiff upper lip.

Aemond turned annoyed from his mother as he ripped his hand out of hers, “Though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

Ignited by another wave of fury, Jacaerys wiggled free from his guards and immediately darted toward his uncle. Not at all phased by the return of a challenge, Aemond pivoted to face him head on. The boys charged at each other in a foot-joust without lances. Before the two could gain too much momentum, Prince Daemon shot into the middle of them. Maetilda’s entire body tensed. She watched his movements carefully. Like a mouse in hiding would watch a hawk soaring up above. Her own guards loosened their grips as they turned to assess the situation. She immediately took the opportunity to slip from their grasp and launch herself toward her sworn knight. The bronze of his armor was cold to the touch, but the presence of it was more than welcoming as his arms shoved her body behind him. Her guards scrambled to recapture her.

“Wait, wait!” Her father’s voice cut through the chaos like a master-at-arms’ in a training yard.

The room froze at once. All waiting with baited breath to see what moves the Rogue Prince would take next. He had already killed a man, only a day prior. A man that committed treason, but had not yet been sentenced for his crimes. It did not sit well in the princess’s gut. Her father seemed too proud of himself. He had ended a life just the day before, and yet he smirked as he glanced back and forth between his nephew and his eldest stepson. He seemed to spend more time calculating his next moves in that moment than he ever had in the throne room prior to swinging his sword against Lord Corlys’s nephew. The princess-by-title chewed on the inside of her cheek and held onto her sworn knight with a death grip as she watched her father. First, he set his sights on Jace, gifting his stepson a firm wordless nod. But then he turned. Maetilda felt her heart drop into her stomach as her father began taking prideful steps toward Aemond.

“Go to your quarters. All of you go. Now.” Rhaenyra commanded the lot of them as always.

Maetilda stayed firm in her place, trying to hide the shaking in her body from behind her knight. Her eyes never wavered from her father as he came to a stop about a dueling’s distance away from her betrothed. Daemon sighed as if the whole situation was below him. Even from behind his back, she could tell that her father was staring down at Aemond from behind an upturned chin. The King’s second son was the first to break eye contact. He looked over her father’s shoulders and directly at her. Aemond held her gaze for a thunderously silent pause. Maetilda was too shell shocked to look away.

“Hm,” Without another word, he sauntered out of the hall.

As he passed her, the prince sent a single curt nod. A respectable enough farwell. Much like with the King, the doors clicked loudly closed behind him. The princess nearly breathed a sigh of relief before she caught the look on her father’s face.

A/N: AAAHHH!! I knew if I was going to do another scene from the show, that I had to put more of a twist on it. At the end of the day, Maetilda is not gonna let her brothers brawl without her. No one gets to pin Luke to the table on her watch. Wanted to post this diddy so we weren’t left on the note of the last chapter for too long. I’m going to try to write some more so I can post a few chapters at a time. Idk I’m still trying to find the right groove/writing schedule.

Thank you to @faesspace @imsoshygirl @aemondswifeisme @wxb-slingrr for your wonderful comments. As I have been returning to writing, I love to see the different reactions. Literally giggling and kicking my feet. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!! I’m gonna figure out how to reply with this blog and then we’ll hopefully get some actual discourse going 😂 Big big big thank you to everyone reading in general!

TAGLIST: @snh96 @marvelescvpe

xoxo messy

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