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hisfavegirl · 2 months ago

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Loneliness - Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader.

summary : your mother's decision to leave you alone in the red keep and start a new life with daemon made you become cold to your own family. but you found something more valuable in the red keep.

The world had shifted, and so had you. The corridors of the Red Keep, once familiar, now felt colder and more suffocating. The weight of whispers followed you everywhere — quiet murmurs of “bastard” and “orphan” carried on the air like an ever-present shadow. But you had learned not to flinch. Not anymore.

Aemond’s injury at Driftmark had been a turning point, not just for him but for you as well. The rage, the blood, and the searing accusations that followed lingered in your mind like a bad dream that refused to fade. His loss of an eye became a symbol of the growing rift between your family and theirs. You had watched it all, your heart pounding in your chest, knowing that no matter what you said or did, it wouldn’t be enough to stop the storm.

Then came the departure of your father. Sudden. Unexplained. No goodbyes. One day he was there, and the next, he was gone. The ache it left in you was raw and hollow.

But the final blow came with the news of your mother’s marriage to Daemon. The whispers grew louder after that. The court’s disapproval was palpable, their eyes darting to you with barely concealed scorn. “Daughter of the princess and the rogue prince.” The words dripped with venom. It didn’t help that, after her marriage, your mother chose to return to Dragonstone — without you.

“It’s safer for you in the Red Keep,” she had told you, her voice firm but her eyes sad.

You had grown colder after that. Quieter. The smile you once wore so freely became a distant memory. You no longer sought out the company of others. You stayed in your chambers longer, speaking only when necessary, your heart guarded behind walls no one could breach.

The Greens noticed. Of course, they did. Queen Alicent’s watchful eyes never missed a thing. You felt her gaze on you at meals, in the training yard, and whenever you walked the halls alone. Sometimes she would speak to you, offering honeyed words about “duty” and “family unity.” Other times, she would simply watch, her face unreadable, as if trying to solve a puzzle only she could see.

But you had learned to keep your face still, your eyes sharp, and your words measured. They could call you “bastard” as much as they pleased, but they would never see you break. Not like before.

On one particularly cold evening, you sat by the window, gazing out at the courtyard below. You looked Aemond who were training with Ser Cirston, but you had little interest in watching. Your thoughts drifted like clouds in a stormy sky. You could see the sea in the distance, and it made you think of your father. Does he think of me too?

A knock came at the door, but you didn’t answer. It opened anyway, and you knew before you turned who it would be.

Queen Alicent.

She stepped inside with the same quiet grace she always carried. Her green gown trailed behind her like ivy creeping along stone. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her, her eyes calm but focused.

“You’ve been keeping to yourself more than usual,” she said softly, her voice like silk over steel. “It’s not good for a child to be so alone.”

You didn’t respond right away, your eyes still fixed on the sea.

“I’m not alone,” you finally said, echoing the same words you’d told her once before. “I have my thoughts. They keep me company.”

Alicent tilted her head, her gaze sharp as ever. “Thoughts can be dangerous if left unchecked,” she replied, stepping closer. “Sometimes, they lead us to dark places.”

Her words lingered, heavy with meaning. You glanced at her then, your gaze steady and cold. “I am not afraid of the dark, Your Grace.”

She raised an eyebrow, perhaps surprised by your boldness. But she didn’t scold you. If anything, her lips curved into a faint smile — though it was not one of warmth.

“No, I don’t suppose you are,” she said, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You are your mother’s daughter, after all.”

Silence hung between you, thick as smoke. She watched you for a moment longer, as if searching for something she wasn’t sure she would find.

“Be careful with that pride,” she warned before turning toward the door. “Pride has a way of making orphans of us all.”

Her words echoed long after she had gone, her footsteps fading down the hall. Alone once more, you sat by the window, eyes on the sea, your heart a fortress with walls higher than any castle. If pride would make an orphan of you, then so be it. You would rather stand alone in the storm than kneel before those who called you “bastard.”

You leaned against the headboard of your bed, the weight of the day pressing heavily on your chest. The dim glow of the fading sun seeped through the window, casting soft orange hues across the room. The stillness around you was suffocating, the silence broken only by the distant calls of seagulls and the gentle hum of the Red Keep’s endless murmurs.

Your gaze was distant, eyes locked on the ceiling as thoughts swirled in your mind like a storm at sea. What did I do wrong? The question had haunted you since the day your mother left for Dragonstone. It echoed with every quiet moment, every glance from Alicent, and every sharp whisper from passing lords and ladies.

Was I not enough? you wondered. Did I fail her somehow?

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, blinking away the sting behind your eyes. You were too old to cry over such things. But it was hard not to feel abandoned. Your mother was supposed to teach you, guide you, and be your shield. But instead, she had gone — with Jace, with Luke, with her new husband — and left you here. Alone.

A quiet knock pulled you from your thoughts. The door creaked open, and one of your maids stepped inside, her eyes lowered in respect. She held a small piece of parchment in her hands, the edges of it sealed with the unmistakable red wax of House Targaryen. Your heart leapt at the sight of it, the faintest flicker of hope blooming in your chest.

“A letter from Dragonstone, princess ,” the maid announced softly, walking toward you with careful steps.

You sat up quickly, heart pounding in your chest. She placed the letter in your hands, then stepped back, her gaze flickering with quiet curiosity before she lowered her eyes once more.

You stared at the seal for a moment, fingers tracing the mark of the three-headed dragon. Mother. For a moment, you hesitated. Part of you feared what it might say. Would it be filled with more promises to “see you soon” that never came true? Or would it finally be an explanation?

With a deep breath, you broke the seal and unfolded the parchment, eyes scanning the familiar, flowing script.

Your hands tightened around the parchment, the familiar ache in your chest returning tenfold. Her words were kind, warm, even loving — but they were just words. You couldn’t feel her arms around you through ink and parchment. You couldn’t hear her voice telling you everything would be all right.

The maid watched you carefully, perhaps waiting for some instruction or response, but you stayed silent. Your eyes lingered on the words “I love you with every breath I take.” For a moment, you believed it. But it didn’t fill the hollow space her absence had carved into you.

Slowly, you folded the letter and placed it under your pillow, as if keeping it close would make her feel closer too. You leaned back against the headboard, eyes once again drifting to the ceiling.

If you love me, why did you leave me? you thought bitterly. But you didn’t say it aloud. No one would hear you. No one ever did.

The next morning, you made the decision to visit your grandfather, King Viserys. You hadn’t seen him in some time, not since his illness had worsened and confined him to his chambers. There were whispers in the halls about his condition — how the disease was slowly consuming him, how he had become a shadow of the man he once was.

The walk to his chambers felt heavier than usual. Every step echoed against the cold stone walls, and the silence of the Red Keep pressed down on you. When you reached his door, the guards glanced at you briefly before stepping aside, allowing you entry.

The room smelled faintly of herbs and medicine, the air thick with the warmth of a fire that burned low in the hearth. Curtains were drawn, allowing only slivers of light to seep through. The soft, steady wheeze of your grandfather’s breathing filled the room, the sound uneven and strained.

He lay on the grand bed, his once-strong frame now frail and sunken. His face was pale, his skin stretched thin over his cheekbones, and his eyes, though closed, twitched beneath his eyelids as if he were trapped in a restless dream. His crown, once a symbol of his might, lay on a table beside him, cold and untouched.

Quietly, you approached his bedside, your heart aching at the sight of him. This is not the king I remember, you thought. The man who had once carried you on his shoulders during feasts, who had smiled so warmly when you brought him wildflowers from the gardens, was now barely a shadow of himself.

You pulled a chair close and sat by his side. For a moment, you only watched him, taking in every rise and fall of his chest, every line on his weathered face. Slowly, you reached out and took his hand in yours. His skin was cool to the touch, rough in places where age and illness had left their mark.

Gently, you ran your thumb across his knuckles, your movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid he might break beneath your touch. His fingers twitched slightly at the contact, and you wondered if he knew you were there.

“Grandfather,” you said softly, your voice barely more than a whisper. “It’s me.”

His breathing hitched for a moment, and you thought you saw his eyelids flutter. Slowly, his eyes opened — not fully, just enough to see you. His gaze was foggy, distant, but after a moment, recognition flickered within them. His lips parted, and his voice, cracked and hoarse, barely made it out.

“…child,” he rasped, his eyes squinting to focus on you.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but you blinked them away, refusing to cry. You smiled at him, leaning in a little closer. “Yes, it’s me,” you said, your voice more steady now. “I came to see you.”

He tried to smile, but it came as little more than a twitch of his lips. His gaze lingered on you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place — pride, perhaps, or sorrow. Maybe both.

“You look… so much like her,” he murmured, his voice strained with effort. “So strong… just like her.”

You knew he was speaking of your mother. People often said you resembled her, though you weren’t sure if it was meant as a compliment or a curse. Still, hearing it from him felt different.

“I miss her,” you admitted quietly, still stroking his hand. “She left for Dragonstone with Jace and Luke. I stayed.”

His brows knitted together in confusion or concern. His gaze sharpened just a little, like a dying flame flaring briefly before fading. “Alone?” he asked, his voice tinged with disbelief.

You nodded, feeling a familiar ache settle in your chest. “I stayed so she wouldn’t seem weak. So they wouldn’t say we were running away.” Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep speaking. “But sometimes… I wonder if she forgot me.”

Viserys’s eyes softened, his grip on your hand weak but deliberate as he squeezed it gently. “No,” he said with surprising clarity. “She could never forget you.”

The words broke something in you. Your head dipped forward, and you clutched his hand tightly, holding on as if he were the last tether keeping you from drifting away. His breathing grew more labored, but he didn’t let go of you. Not yet.

“You are her heart,” he whispered, his words faint but certain. “Her blood. No distance… no crown… can change that.”

You pressed his hand to your forehead, eyes shut tight as tears spilled down your cheeks. You didn’t make a sound, didn’t want him to hear you cry, but you stayed there, letting his words settle into you like warmth after a bitter cold.

You sat beside your grandfather, the warmth of the fire flickering against the walls of his chamber. The familiar weight of the old, worn book rested in your hands as you read aloud, your voice soft but steady. It was his favorite story — one he had read to you when you were younger, back when his voice was strong and his mind sharp. Now, it was your turn to read to him.

His breathing was slow and uneven, each inhale a struggle, but his eyes were closed in peace. Every so often, his fingers would twitch in your grasp as if to remind you that he was still listening, still here. Moments like these were rare, and you cherished them.

Your voice filled the quiet space, weaving the tale of knights and honor, of dragons and kings. It had always been his favorite — a story of legacy and duty. How fitting for him, you thought with a faint smile.

But then, the sound of the chamber door creaking open shattered the peace. You paused mid-sentence, glancing toward the entrance. Two figures stepped inside — one familiar, one foreign.

Your heart stopped.

It was her. Your mother.

Her silver hair flowed freely down her back, her presence commanding the room as if she had never left. By her side was him. Daemon Targaryen, his sharp features as unyielding as ever, his gaze sweeping the room with quiet calculation. His hand rested lightly on your mother’s back as if he had every right to be there.

They had returned.

You sat frozen for a moment, still clutching the book as if it were an anchor. Your eyes met your mother’s, and for a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Her gaze softened, lips parting slightly as if to say something, but the words didn’t come.

Too late, you thought bitterly.

Daemon’s eyes flicked to you, cold and unreadable, but he said nothing. He never had to. His presence alone was a statement, a reminder that everything had changed.

The silence stretched on, thick and heavy like fog. Slowly, you closed the book, the soft thud echoing louder than it should have. You stood, brushing off your skirts as if preparing for battle, your gaze sharp and steady. No tears. Not here. Not now.

“May I be excused?” you asked, your voice calm, measured, and far too grown for someone your age.

Viserys stirred, his eyes flickering open just barely. “Stay,” he rasped, his weak voice pleading. “She’s… here now.”

But you didn’t look at him. Your eyes were locked on your mother, waiting for her to speak. Waiting for her to give you a reason to stay.

Say something, you thought. Tell me you missed me. Tell me you’re sorry. Tell me anything.

But she didn’t. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and though her eyes brimmed with something — regret, guilt, love — it wasn’t enough.

You lowered your gaze, your heart feeling heavier than before. “I’ll be in my chambers,” you said softly, stepping away from the bed.

You didn’t wait for permission. You didn’t wait for her to call after you. You simply turned and walked toward the door, each step carrying you further away from them.

Behind you, you could hear Viserys coughing weakly, the quiet murmuring of your mother’s voice as she rushed to his side. But she hadn’t come to you. She had come for him.

And so, you left. Alone, as always.

You ran as fast as your legs would carry you, your heart pounding in your chest harder than your footsteps echoed against the cold stone floors of the Red Keep. The corridors blurred around you, familiar paths that you had walked a thousand times before. But now, they felt endless, like a maze you couldn’t escape.

The moment you reached the garden, you didn’t stop. You pushed past the hedges and flowers, past the sweet fragrance of blooming roses that felt so out of place against the storm in your heart. Only when you reached the large weirwood tree at the center of the garden did you finally stop.

Breathing heavily, you leaned against the rough bark, letting it press into your back like a grounding weight. Your head tilted up to the sky, eyes stinging with unshed tears. But it wasn’t long before they escaped, hot trails down your cheeks.

She didn’t even say my name.

That thought replayed over and over, sharp and cruel like a dagger twisting in your chest. She had looked at you. She saw you. But she said nothing. No “stay,” no “come here,” not even your name. It was as if you were no one at all.

You pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes, trying to stop the tears. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Not for her. Not for them. But the ache in your chest was too much, and the more you tried to hold it in, the harder it became to breathe.

“Crying doesn’t suit you,” came a cool, familiar voice from behind you.

You stiffened, slowly lowering your hands. The voice was sharp but steady, a quiet command that didn’t need to be loud to be heard. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was.

“Aemond,” you muttered, wiping at your face quickly, trying to hide any trace of weakness. “What do you want?”

Footsteps crunched lightly against the gravel path until he was closer. You could feel his presence, sharp and deliberate, like the edge of a blade hovering just out of reach.

“Nothing,” he replied simply. His tone was calm, but there was something beneath it — curiosity, maybe, or something colder. “I was only passing by. But it’s hard to miss someone running through the Keep like they’re being chased by a shadow.”

You scoffed, arms crossing over your chest as you turned your head slightly to glance at him. He stood a few feet away, his hands clasped behind his back, his posture straight and proud as always. His silver hair glowed faintly in the afternoon light, the eyepatch over his left eye making his sharp features seem even more severe.

“Then keep walking,” you said quietly, leaning your head back against the tree. You didn’t have the energy to argue with him today. “I’m not in the mood for your games, Aemond.”

But he didn’t move. He stayed where he was, his lone eye watching you carefully, studying you like one of his history books. His silence was heavy, expectant, like he was waiting for you to say something more.

When you didn’t, he stepped closer. “Did she say something to you?”

You froze at that, your fingers digging into your arms. You knew exactly who he meant. He always knew.

“Why do you care?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. You turned to face him fully, eyes still red but blazing with defiance. “Come to gloat, have you? Come to remind me I’m the forgotten child, the one they left behind?”

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his gaze narrowing as if considering your words. He didn’t smile, didn’t sneer — he wasn’t like Aegon. No, Aemond was too controlled for that.

“I don’t need to remind you of something you already know,” he said calmly, his voice cutting through the air like ice. “But you should know this — being forgotten isn’t the same as being weak.”

His words hung there for a moment, sharp and cold but strangely… honest. He stepped forward, and for once, you didn’t move away. He stopped just an arm’s length from you, his gaze unwavering.

“Do you think I don’t know what it’s like?” he continued, his tone quieter now, more deliberate. “They may look at me, but they don’t see me. Not as I am.” He glanced away briefly, jaw tightening, as if the admission had cost him something.

Your breath caught in your throat. For all the times you had argued with Aemond, for all the cold remarks and sharp looks exchanged, this was different. You recognized the weight in his words because it was the same weight you carried.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The garden was quiet except for the distant chirping of birds and the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

Finally, you sighed, looking down at your feet. “It hurts,” you admitted, barely more than a whisper. “No matter how much I tell myself it doesn’t, it still hurts.”

There was another pause, then the sound of footsteps. You expected him to walk away, to leave you to your thoughts. But instead, he stepped closer, his shadow falling over you. When you glanced up, he was right there in front of you, his face unreadable but his gaze steady.

“Then let it hurt,” he said quietly, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “Let it hurt, and then make sure they regret it.”

Your eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the quiet ferocity in his tone. He wasn’t offering comfort, not in the way others might. But he wasn’t mocking you either. This was something else — a challenge, perhaps. Or a promise.

For once, you didn’t argue with him. You didn’t have the strength.

You glanced away, wiping at the last of your tears with the sleeve of your dress. “You sound like Daemon,” you muttered, half-expecting it to annoy him.

But Aemond only huffed a quiet laugh. “Daemon thinks with his heart,” he said, his lips twitching into a brief, fleeting smile. “I think with my mind.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes narrowing. “Which one do you think is better?”

His smile faded, and for a moment, he seemed to genuinely consider it. “Both are useful,” he said finally. “But only one will win a war.”

You didn’t know if that was meant to be advice or a warning. Maybe both.

The two of you stood there in the quiet of the garden, side by side but not quite together. The ache in your heart had dulled to something more bearable. Not gone — it would never be gone — but bearable.

“Come,” Aemond said after a moment, tilting his head toward the path. “If you stay here too long, they’ll think you’ve run away.”

His words could have been a jest, but his tone was too matter-of-fact. You stared at him for a moment longer, then pushed away from the tree, your legs steadier now than before.

He didn’t offer his hand, and you didn’t ask for it. But he walked beside you, his stride matching yours as you made your way back toward the Keep.

And for once, you didn’t feel so alone.

As you and Aemond made your way down the hallway, the silence between you both felt less oppressive, though still distant. There was an odd sense of companionship in the quiet that lingered as you walked side by side, but it was short-lived.

As you reached the stairs, you spotted Alicent. She stood at the top, watching both of you with an unreadable expression. Her gaze flicked between you and Aemond, and for a brief moment, the tension between the three of you seemed to stretch thin, like a thread pulled too tight.

She descended slowly, her steps deliberate, until she reached the landing where you both stood.

“You,” she began, her voice steady, though there was an underlying sharpness. She looked directly at Aemond. “Take her to her chambers. I need to speak with you after.”

Aemond met her gaze, his expression unchanged. “Yes, Mother,” he replied, his tone respectful, though the slightest edge lingered in his voice.

You felt the air around you grow colder, her eyes now turning to you. They were calm, almost calculating, but there was a trace of something else beneath — concern, perhaps, or something more complicated that you couldn’t quite read.

“I’ll speak to you shortly,” Alicent said, her voice gentler now as she directed her attention to you. There was no warmth, but there was something like understanding, or at least the semblance of it.

You nodded silently, not trusting your voice to stay steady. For a moment, you thought of resisting, of telling her you didn’t want to meet her in her solar. But the words didn’t come, and the thought seemed almost futile. So, you allowed Aemond to guide you silently toward your room, knowing that an inevitable conversation with your mother loomed ahead.

Aemond didn’t say anything as he walked beside you, his presence more of a shadow than anything else. You couldn’t help but wonder what had transpired between them, what conversation lay ahead, and if you would ever get the answers you sought — or if it would only ever remain a silence, a chasm growing between you and those you had once trusted most.

You stepped into your room, the door creaking softly as you entered, your mind still heavy with the encounter on the stairs. You turned to Aemond, giving him a small, brief thank you. He only nodded in return, his expression unreadable, before turning on his heel and leaving without a word. His presence was gone just as quickly as it had arrived, and the silence that followed felt almost suffocating.

The moment he was gone, you closed the door behind you, your hand lingering on the handle for a moment before you turned away. Your gaze swept across the room, and something caught your eye — a soft green fabric sprawled across the bed.

A gown. A rich, flowing green gown. The fabric shimmered faintly in the dim light, elegant and carefully placed, as though it had been waiting for you.

You walked over, your steps hesitant as you approached the bed, your fingers brushing against the soft material. Confusion washed over you. What was this? Why was it here? The last thing you expected was to find a gown, especially one so formal — so… green.

It was then that a thought crossed your mind — the color. Green. The color of the greens. Was it a sign? A reminder of what was expected of you? You didn’t know, but the weight of it made your chest tighten. Why was it left here, and by whom? Your mother’s choice, or something else entirely?

You stared at it for a moment longer, your thoughts tangled in confusion and frustration. You didn’t want to wear it. Not today. Not when everything felt so wrong. But there was no time for indecision.

Just as you were about to turn away, you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching outside the door.

Your breath caught, and before you could stop yourself, you straightened up, knowing exactly who was coming.

You turned at the soft sound of footsteps, your heart tightening as you saw Queen Alicent standing in the doorway. Her presence filled the room with an air of authority, yet her eyes seemed softer than usual, though the resolve in them was unmistakable.

She stepped inside, her gaze briefly scanning the room before it landed on you. “There will be a proclaiming,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “To determine who will be the next Lord of the Tides. It is important that you stand beside me during this.” Her eyes flicked toward the green gown on the bed, her lips curling into a slight, knowing smile. “Please, wear this. It is fitting for the occasion.”

You stared at her for a long moment, feeling the weight of her words. The tension in the room seemed to grow heavier, as if the walls were closing in around you. A proclaiming. The announcement of a new Lord of the Tides. This was not just a simple event, but a reminder of the shifting allegiances and the subtle games at play. You had no choice but to be a part of it.

You glanced at the gown again, the rich green fabric glistening in the dim light. It felt like a symbol — of power, of expectations, of your place in the game. But you couldn’t bring yourself to refuse her. Not now.

“I understand,” you said softly, your voice betraying none of the turmoil inside you. “I’ll wear it.”

Alicent’s gaze softened for a brief moment, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes. She nodded and walked closer, her presence commanding yet strangely comforting. “I know this isn’t easy for you,” she said quietly, her voice gentler now. “But this is part of our duty, of our role in the realm. And we must play our part.”

You stood there, caught between the pull of duty and the ache of what you had lost. The world around you seemed like a distant echo, and you struggled to hold yourself steady.

“Once you’re ready,” she continued, breaking the silence, “I’ll send ser Criston to take you to the throne room. ”

With that, she turned and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the gown that lay before you. The decision was clear. There was no turning back.

You reached for the gown, your fingers brushing against the fabric as you prepared yourself for what was to come.

As you sat in front of the mirror, the soft hum of your servant’s movements filled the room. She carefully arranged your hair, pulling it into an elegant style, but your thoughts were far from the delicate strands of your hair. The reflection before you felt distant, almost unfamiliar, as if the person staring back was a stranger.

You wore the green gown that Queen Alicent had provided for you, its rich fabric flowing elegantly down your form. The color, so associated with the Greens, seemed to weigh heavily on your shoulders. You couldn’t help but wonder what your family would think when they saw you in this.

What would your mother think? Would she see the daughter she had left behind in King’s Landing, dutiful and obedient, yet broken by the distance between them? You remembered the warmth of her embrace when you were younger, the way she would comfort you, guide you. Now, with her absence, you felt the heavy responsibility of the crown pressing on you from every angle.

And Jace and Luke — your brothers. What would they make of all this? They had been so close to you, always protective, always there when you needed them. Now, they were far away, living their own lives in Dragonstone. Would they understand your choices? Or would they see this as a betrayal, as a surrender to the life they had feared for you?

Your reflection in the mirror seemed to mock you with its silence. You had once imagined yourself in a life full of love, happiness, and freedom. But now, all of that felt distant, slipping away like sand through your fingers. the alliances, the politics — they all had a price. And you couldn’t help but feel like you were paying it all alone.

You tried to push those thoughts aside, but they lingered, a constant ache in your chest. You had no choice but to play the part. To be the dutiful daughter, the obedient noblewoman, and stand by your mother, even as the weight of it all crushed you from the inside.

“Are you ready, princess?” the servant asked, her voice pulling you from your thoughts.

You gave her a small nod, but the truth was, you weren’t ready. Not for any of it. But the moment had arrived, and there was no turning back.

You turned your head toward the door, your heart racing as you saw Ser Criston standing at the threshold, ready to escort you to the throne room. His presence was as stoic and reassuring as always, though you couldn’t ignore the slight tension in the air.

You straightened yourself, taking a deep breath, and walked toward him, your head held high, despite the turmoil swirling inside you. As you passed through the halls of the Red Keep, the whispers started — soft at first, but quickly growing louder. You could hear them all around you: gasps of surprise, murmurs of disbelief. The green gown, the color of the Greens, a stark contrast to the black and red of House Targaryen, was the reason for their shock.

It was a deliberate choice, one that left no room for doubt. This was a statement. And you knew exactly what it meant. The gown was a symbol, not just of your family’s current position in the court, but of the power games at play. It felt like a chain, heavy and binding, even as you walked with the grace you had been taught since childhood.

The stares followed you every step of the way. Eyes widened in disbelief, some full of judgment, others perhaps curiosity. Some were too polite to stare openly, but you could feel their gaze burning into you as you moved past them.

And yet, you didn’t falter. You walked proudly, your back straight, your expression carefully neutral, though inside, you were anything but calm. The whispers stung, but you pushed them aside. This was your duty. You had no choice but to fulfill it.

Ser Criston walked beside you, his gaze ahead, ever watchful, ever loyal. He didn’t say a word, and neither did you. But his presence gave you a small sense of comfort, as if someone, at least, understood that there was more at stake here than just the gown you wore.

Finally, you reached the grand doors of the throne room. You paused for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on you, before you stepped forward, the heavy wooden doors opening with a creak, revealing the sea of faces awaiting you inside.

This was it. The proclamation was about to begin. And you, standing in Queen chosen gown, would have no choice but to face the consequences of every decision made in this ever-shifting game of power.

As you entered the throne room, your eyes immediately found Queen Alicent’s. She stood tall and regal, her gaze meeting yours as you approached. Her lips curled into a soft, approving smile. “You look very beautiful in green,” she said, her voice warm, though there was something else beneath it — a knowing smile, perhaps, or a hint of satisfaction in seeing you fully embrace the role she had set out for you.

You merely nodded in acknowledgment, not trusting yourself to speak. Her words felt like both a compliment and a reminder of the expectations placed on you, and you couldn’t bring yourself to truly believe in them.

Your attention shifted quickly back to the large, imposing doors at the far end of the room, your heart quickening in anticipation. Your mother, Rhaenyra, and your brothers, Jace and Luke, were yet to arrive. The throne room was silent but for the murmurs of the court, the weight of the moment hanging in the air.

The eyes of the gathered lords and ladies were on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet their gazes for long. You focused instead on the door, waiting for the sound of footsteps that would signal your family’s arrival. The uncertainty gnawed at you, and as you stood there, a part of you wished for the moment to be over, to have clarity — to know where you stood in this world of shifting alliances and loyalties.

But the time stretched on, the door still closed, the air thick with the tension of what was to come.

The heavy doors of the throne room creaked open, and there, standing in the doorway, was your mother — Rhaenyra, her posture regal and graceful, but something about her presence seemed different today. Her figure was rounder than before, the unmistakable sign of pregnancy clear to anyone who looked closely. At her side was Daemon, ever watchful, and your brothers, Jace and Luke, followed closely behind.

You could feel your heart skip a beat as they stepped forward, but your gaze locked onto Jace almost instantly. His eyes widened, a flicker of shock flashing across his face before it was quickly replaced with a deep, almost painful, disappointment. The sight of you standing with the greens, wearing their color, was something he hadn’t expected — a stark contrast to the loyalty you had once shown to your family, to House Targaryen’s black banner.

The disappointment in his eyes cut deeper than you anticipated, and for a moment, you felt the weight of every unspoken word between you both. He looked at you as though he didn’t understand, as though you had betrayed something sacred between you.

You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. The silence between you two stretched on as his gaze bore into you, so full of emotions that you couldn’t quite decipher. Was it betrayal? Pain? Confusion?

Rhaenyra and Daemon took their place further away from you, near the center of the room. Yet, your mind couldn’t pull itself from Jace’s stare. You tried to steady your breathing, but the realization of the rift growing between you and your family felt like a weight in your chest.

The room was charged with an uneasy tension, everyone watching the scene unfold — the daughter of Rhaenyra, standing with the Greens, while her family stood apart. The quiet disappointment from Jace was almost louder than anything else in that moment.

You felt the walls close in, unsure of how to navigate this new reality. All you could do was stand there, caught between the old loyalties and the new allegiances that were now expected of you.

Aemond stood beside you, his presence unwavering as he occasionally glanced at you with an almost unreadable expression. His words were calm but sharp, as though he was trying to reinforce something that you had already come to terms with, but the sting of it still lingered. “Green is your color, not red or black,” he said softly, his tone as cold as ever. It was a statement of fact, something that left no room for argument, and yet, it only made you feel more distant from everything you had once known.

You remained silent, the weight of his words settling heavily on your shoulders. You didn’t respond — there was nothing to say. You had already accepted your place in this new world, even if it came with a bitter taste.

The room fell into a tense silence as the proclamation began. Vaemond Velaryon, with all his pride and ambition, stepped forward. His voice carried through the hall, commanding attention as he declared, “I am the rightful heir and the only true choice to be the Lord of Driftmark.”

His words reverberated in the space, each syllable a challenge, a bold assertion of power and legitimacy. The room seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the reactions of those present. You could feel the weight of Vaemond’s claim, the undeniable tension that followed. This was more than just a family dispute — it was a battle for control, for legitimacy, and for the very future of House Velaryon.

Your mind raced, thoughts colliding in confusion and discomfort. The stakes had never been higher. Would your mother support Vaemond’s claim? Or would the blood of House Targaryen — your blood — be enough to sway the tide? You glanced at your mother and Daemon, standing nearby, their expressions unreadable.

The tension was palpable as the room awaited the response, each passing second heavier than the last.

The atmosphere in the throne room grew even more tense as your mother, Rhaenyra, stepped forward with a calm yet resolute expression. Her voice, steady and authoritative, filled the hall. “Corlys’ decision remains the same,” she declared. “He has chosen Luke as the next Lord of the Tides.”

A murmur ran through the room, some faces showing surprise, others nodding in agreement. The declaration was bold, but it was backed by the powerful figure of Rhaenyra, who stood unwavering in her stance. Her words were not just about the title; they were a symbol of defiance, a challenge to those who sought to undermine the legitimacy of her children.

Rhaenys, standing beside her, nodded in firm agreement, her voice calm but carrying the weight of years of experience and authority. “My husband’s decision has not changed,” she added. “Luke is and will always be the rightful heir.”

The room fell into a heavy silence, all eyes turning to Vaemond, who had no choice but to stand down for now, his claim weakening in the face of Rhaenyra’s unyielding support.

Then, your grandmother dropped another bombshell — one that took the room by surprise. “And as part of the future of House Velaryon, I am pleased to announce that Luke and Jace are betrothed to my twin grandchildren Baela and Rhaena.”

The words hit like a thunderclap. The idea of this new betrothal, the joining of two powerful houses, added yet another layer to the intricate web of politics, alliances, and promises that had been carefully woven over the years. You could feel the weight of those words as they settled in the room, many eyes darting between you and your brothers, whispers beginning to rise once again.

You could feel the eyes of the court on you, and your heart pounded in your chest. What would Jace think about this announcement? What about Luke? The news of their betrothals, coupled with the tension surrounding Driftmark, was only going to fuel the already high stakes.

Your thoughts raced, but you kept your gaze steady, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. The room buzzed with murmurs, but you remained focused, wondering what the next move would be in this dangerous political game your family had been forced to play.

As the tension in the room thickened, the doors to the throne room creaked open once more. All eyes turned toward the entrance, and the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath. There, standing with the aid of a cane, was King Viserys. His frail form was supported by a servant on either side, and his once-vibrant presence now seemed diminished by the ravages of time and illness. Yet despite his weakened state, there was an undeniable authority that still emanated from him.

The murmurs of the court fell silent as King Viserys slowly made his way to the front, his steps deliberate and measured. With a deep, rasping breath, he finally spoke, his voice strained but still commanding. “Otto,” he began, his eyes locking onto his Hand. “I will be the one to lead this proclamation.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Otto Hightower, standing near the throne, appeared taken aback by his father’s decision, but he quickly masked his surprise with a bow of his head, acknowledging the king’s authority.

The weight of his words reverberated throughout the room. King Viserys had reclaimed his place at the center of this crucial moment, despite his frailty. His determination to lead, to assert his authority even in his weakened state, was evident to all present.

You could see the shock and uncertainty in the eyes of the court members, and perhaps even in Rhaenyra’s and Daemon’s expressions. The course of events was shifting yet again, and with it, the balance of power in the room seemed to tip ever so slightly in the king’s favor.

Viserys, with a look of exhaustion but unwavering resolve, turned his attention to the gathered lords and ladies. “The time for further disputes ends now,” he said, his voice gaining strength with each word. “I will make my decision on this matter.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as King Viserys’ declaration rang out through the hall. “Luke shall remain the rightful heir to Driftmark,” he said firmly, his voice filled with the weight of his authority despite his frailty.

For a moment, the court seemed to hold its collective breath, but it was not long before Vaemond Velaryon’s voice cut through the tension, harsh and unrelenting. He stepped forward, his anger palpable, and his eyes were ablaze with fury. “This is wrong!” he shouted. “These children are bastards! They have no rightful claim to Driftmark, no matter how you spin it!”

His words were venomous, and as he turned his attention to your brothers, Jace and Luke, the venom in his tone grew sharper. “You two are no better than the filth you came from,” he spat, his words aimed directly at them. “You’re nothing more than the children of a whore, born from lies and treachery!”

The insult stung in ways that words could not fully capture. You could see the hurt and anger flash across Jace’s face as he stepped forward, as if ready to respond, but it was Luke’s stiffened posture that caught your attention. The weight of Vaemond’s accusations hung heavily in the air.

Vaemond’s fury, however, did not stop there. His gaze swung over to your mother, Rhaenyra, his expression twisting with contempt. “And you,” he sneered, his voice rising with scorn, “You are nothing but a cunning, deceitful whore, the one who corrupted the bloodline of House Velaryon.”

The insult was deliberate and cruel, a direct attack not only on your mother’s honor but on the legitimacy of your entire family. The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of Vaemond’s words hanging like a storm cloud. You could feel the tension spike, the atmosphere thick with the undercurrent of anger and betrayal.

Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, you thought you might break — but instead, your gaze hardened. You stood there, watching the scene unfold, unsure if you were more shocked by Vaemond’s audacity or by the way the room seemed to shift in the wake of his challenge.

The king, still gripping his cane, seemed poised to speak again, but the silence lingered, heavy and oppressive. It was as if the very air around you had been thickened with the weight of the words exchanged — the accusation of bastardy, the callous insult to your mother’s reputation.

You knew that this would not end quietly. The delicate balance of power had already been shaken, and the game was far from over.

The events unfolded in a blur, so sudden and brutal that it barely felt real. One moment, Vaemond's voice echoed through the throne room, his hateful words hanging in the air like the toll of a bell. The next, there was a flash of steel - sharp, quick, and final.

The sickening sound of flesh and bone being cleaved echoed louder than any shout. Gasps and cries filled the hall as Vaemond's head was split clean in two. His body crumpled to the ground, lifeless, with the top half of his skull tumbling to the cold stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, dark and glistening, seeping into the cracks of the throne room's tiles.

You froze in place, eyes wide with shock, your breath caught in your chest. It felt like time had stopped. Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out the horrified murmurs of the lords and ladies around you. Before you even realized what you were doing, your hands shot up to cover your eyes, blocking out the sight of Vaemond's mutilated body. But the image was already burned into your mind.

Helena's small, sharp gasp echoed beside you, her voice strained and filled with as much fear as your own. She pressed her hands to her face, her breathing shaky, and you knew she had seen everything too. You both stood there like statues, caught in a moment too terrible to process.

Daemon stood at the center of it all, calm as ever, his sword still raised, blood dripping from the blade in slow, deliberate drops. His eyes were sharp, unbothered by the stares or the gasps of the court. His gaze shifted only briefly to you, as if to ensure you were still standing, before he turned his attention back to the king.

"Say it again," Daemon's voice was low and deadly, his words laced with cold fury. But there was no one left to answer.

The silence that followed was suffocating. No one dared to speak, not even Otto Hightower, who watched with tightly pressed lips and narrowed eyes. Alicent's face was pale, her hands clasped in front of her as if in silent prayer. Even your mother, Rhaenyra, stood frozen for a moment, her eyes flicking between Daemon and the lifeless body of Vaemond.

King Viserys' breathing was heavy and labored, but he did not reprimand Daemon.

Instead, he raised a trembling hand, his voice brittle but clear. "I will have no more of this," he declared, his eyes hard and tired. "This matter is settled. Luke is the rightful heir to Driftmark. Let no one speak of it again."

The room remained still, filled with the metallic tang of blood and the quiet rustle of fabric as lords and ladies shifted uncomfortably in place. Your breathing was shallow, your fingers slowly lowering from your eyes. You glanced toward Aemond, whose gaze was locked on Daemon with an intensity that made your chest tighten. He wasn't horrified like the others. No, his face bore the faintest hint of something else - respect, or perhaps something darker.

Your eyes flickered back to Helena, her hands still over her face, her shoulders trembling.

Without thinking, you reached for her, gently placing a hand on her arm. She flinched but didn't pull away. The two of you stood like that for a while, the world around you too loud and too quiet all at once.

You felt Queen Alicent’s hand gently grip your arm, firm but not harsh. Her touch grounded you in the midst of the chaos, her presence a steady force as she guided you and Helaena toward the exit of the throne room. Your legs moved on their own, your mind still clouded by the horrific scene you had just witnessed.

Behind you, you heard it — Jace’s voice, sharp and desperate. “Sister! wait!” he called out, his footsteps echoing against the stone floor. For a moment, your heart ached, and you nearly stopped. Nearly.

But Alicent’s hand gave a gentle tug, and you kept walking. You didn’t turn back. You didn’t look at Jace. The weight of everything pressed on you too heavily to face him right now. Helaena walked quietly on your other side, her hands still clasped tightly together, her eyes darting around like she was trying to wake herself from a nightmare.

The echoes of the throne room faded as the heavy doors closed behind you. The hallway outside was quieter, colder, the distant hum of the Red Keep filling the silence. Your breathing was shallow, your mind replaying the moment Daemon swung his sword, the flash of steel, the wet sound of impact. You squeezed your eyes shut, willing the image away, but it clung to you like a shadow.

Alicent slowed her pace, her gaze flickering between you and Helaena. Her brow was furrowed, a mixture of concern and calculation playing on her face. She said nothing for a while, her eyes searching your face like she was trying to read every thought you were too afraid to voice.

“Come,” she said softly, her voice carrying a weight of certainty that left no room for argument. “You don’t need to see any more of this.”

Her words were kind, but there was something beneath them, something deeper. Protection, yes — but also possession. You were under her care now, just as Helaena was. She was making that clear to you with every step you took away from the throne room.

Your chest felt tight, a swirl of emotions you couldn’t name twisting inside you. Shame, fear, anger — they all swirled together like a storm you had no control over. Jace’s voice echoed in your mind, that one, desperate call of your name. But you kept walking. You didn’t look back.

You glanced up at Alicent, your voice steady but quiet. “May I return to my chambers, Your Grace?” you asked, your hands clasped neatly in front of you, just as you had been taught.

Alicent turned toward you, her eyes soft but searching, as if she were trying to gauge your state of mind. Her gaze lingered for a moment before she gave a small nod. “Of course,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her sleeve. “But be ready for tonight. The king has requested a family supper to welcome everyone back.”

Her words carried a weight you couldn’t ignore. A “family supper” sounded simple, but you knew it would be far from it. Everyone would be there — your mother, your brothers, Daemon, and the greens. You could already imagine the tension that would fill the air like a storm waiting to break.

“Yes, Your Grace,” you replied, lowering your head slightly in respect. Without another word, you turned and began walking toward your chambers.

Your footsteps echoed softly in the corridor, each step pulling you farther from the garden’s stillness. You could feel Alicent’s eyes on your back as you left, watchful and calculating as always.

When you were far enough away, you let out a slow, steady breath. The weight of everything — the throne room, the blood, Jace’s eyes filled with hurt — pressed down on you all at once. You kept walking, your face carefully blank, just as you had learned to do. But inside, your thoughts churned like a restless sea.

A family supper. It sounded so simple, but you knew better. There would be glances that lingered too long, words that cut sharper than swords, and silence that spoke louder than any proclamation. You would have to endure it all — just like you had endured today.

When you reached your chambers, you closed the door behind you and leaned against it, your eyes shut tight. The world outside felt so far away, but it was never truly gone. You could still hear echoes of it in your mind — the clash of duty and blood, of love and expectation.

For now, though, you had a moment of peace. You crossed the room and sat by the window, gazing out at the distant sea. It shimmered under the afternoon sun, vast and endless. For a moment, you allowed yourself to dream of it — the idea of flying away, of escaping it all. But dreams, you knew, were dangerous things.

With a quiet sigh, you turned away from the window and sat at the edge of your bed. You would be ready for supper. You had to be.

You stood in front of the mirror, your hands smoothing over the deep red fabric of your gown. It fit you perfectly, every stitch a reflection of your house’s pride and legacy. Red, the color of House Targaryen. The color of fire.

A sudden knock echoed from the door, pulling you from your thoughts. Your brow furrowed as you turned to face it. Without waiting for your response, the door creaked open, revealing one of Queen Alicent’s handmaidens. She stepped inside with careful grace, her gaze lowered in quiet submission, but her presence alone was enough to send a ripple of unease through you.

In her hands, she carried a gown. It shimmered in the soft glow of the chamber’s lanterns — a rich green fabric adorned with delicate golden embroidery, the sigil of House Hightower subtly woven into the design. It was beautiful. Too beautiful to be ignored.

“The queen requests that you wear this for supper tonight, princess,” the handmaiden said softly, her eyes flicking up to meet yours for only a moment before lowering again. Her words were spoken with the same practiced courtesy all of Alicent’s attendants used, but you could feel the weight of them pressing against you. Requests — no, it was not a request. It never was.

Your gaze lingered on the gown, your chest tightening as a quiet storm brewed within you. You glanced back at the mirror, your reflection staring back at you. Red. The color of Targaryens. Your house. Your blood. Your mother.

But now, green had come to claim you. The queen’s color. The color of peace, they claimed. But you knew better. It was the color of strategy, of quiet conquest. The queen’s influence wrapped around you as tightly as this gown soon would.

You turned slowly to face the handmaiden, your eyes sharp but your expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched thin like a thread about to snap.

“…Leave it on the bed,” you said at last, your voice calm but firm. The handmaiden hesitated, perhaps expecting you to argue, but she nodded and placed the gown carefully on your bed. She gave you a small curtsy before slipping out of the room as quietly as she had come.

You stood there, frozen in place, your eyes locked on the gown. It gleamed with an almost unnatural brightness, as if it demanded to be seen. Demanded to be worn.

Your hands curled into fists at your sides. You took a step toward it, your heart pounding in your chest. Every step felt heavier, like you were walking toward a choice you could never take back.

You reached out, fingers hovering just above the soft fabric of the green gown. Your breathing was shallow, each inhale sharp and uneven. This gown would change how they saw you. How she saw you. How they saw you.

Your hand trembled as it hovered between the two choices. Red, the gown you had chosen. Green, the gown she had chosen for you.

As you stood before the mirror, the soft fabric of the green gown slipped over your skin, the color striking against your complexion in a way that felt almost too deliberate. It was beautiful—there was no denying that. But it was more than just fabric. It was a symbol. A symbol of a decision you never wanted to make but felt you had no choice but to accept.

Your fingers trembled as you adjusted the gown, the weight of the choice pressing down on you like a stone. A betrayal. That’s what it felt like. You were wearing the colors of the queen—the very woman who had pulled your mother away from you, who had taken her from the Red Keep, from you. You had always held onto the hope that your mother would return, that she would come back and find you the way you had left her, but now… it felt like you were abandoning her too.

You had never wanted to choose this path, you thought, your eyes staring back at you in the mirror. But a quiet part of you—the part that had been wounded by her departure—found a strange sense of justification in it. This was your answer. Your response to the cold distance she had placed between you and her.

You couldn’t hear your mother’s voice anymore, not in your thoughts, not in your heart. Instead, you heard the sharp command of Queen Alicent, whose presence seemed to linger in every corner of the Keep. A woman who had woven her influence around you so deftly, it was almost invisible, like the subtle green of the gown now hugging your frame.

The handmaidens moved around you with quiet care, pinning your hair into place, but you felt disconnected from their hands. It wasn’t their fault, you knew, but each touch felt like a reminder of everything you had lost. The warmth of your mother’s guidance. The presence of your brothers. The certainty that had once been the foundation of your life. Gone.

Instead, you chose to free your hair. The weight of the green gown already made you feel bound, and the act of letting your hair fall in loose waves around your shoulders felt like a small rebellion. The strands framed your face, a visual testament to the woman you had once been before everything began to crumble.

You glanced at yourself once more in the mirror, the reflection of the woman staring back at you felt unfamiliar. A part of you wanted to scream at the image, to demand that this not be your future, but there was no escaping the reality.

When you were ready, you took a deep breath and turned away from the mirror. Tonight, you would attend the feast. Tonight, you would play your part. But inside, a quiet resolve had settled within you. Whatever came next, you would face it head-on. Just like the Targaryens always had.

Even if you had to sacrifice everything to get there.

The hallway felt longer than usual, each step echoing in the quiet corridor. The weight of the green gown pressed down on you with every movement, the gold accents catching the dim glow of the torches. Your fingers brushed against the fabric at your sides, grounding yourself as you neared the private solar of King Viserys.

Your heart beat steadily, but with each step closer, it grew louder. You knew what awaited you on the other side of that door. Your family. Your brothers. Your mother.

You hesitated for a moment, glancing at the large wooden doors. Beyond them lay gazes that would judge, eyes that would accuse. Your grip on your skirt tightened, but before you could waver, the doors were pulled open by the guards.

The room was warm with the glow of the hearth, and the soft hum of conversation died instantly as the sound of the doors opening echoed through the space. Every head turned. Every gaze fixed on you.

Your breath hitched in your chest, but you didn’t falter. Your head rose higher, your steps deliberate, slow, and steady. If they would look at you, then you would let them look. You wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing doubt on your face.

The first face you noticed was Jace. His brown eyes widened in shock, his lips parting as if he was about to say something—but he didn’t. His gaze swept over you from head to toe, taking in the unmistakable green of your gown. Disbelief twisted his features into something sharp and pained. Betrayal. That’s what you saw in his eyes.

Luke wasn’t much different. His confusion was more childlike, his brows drawn together, lips pressed into a tight line. He looked up at Jace, as if seeking an explanation for what he was seeing. But Jace’s eyes never left you.

Daemon leaned back in his chair, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He didn’t look surprised, only entertained, like he had predicted this moment long before it happened. His sharp gaze followed you like a hunter stalking prey, eyes half-lidded with amusement, his fingers drumming lazily on the armrest of his chair.

Then, there was her. Your mother. Her face was unreadable at first, her eyes sharp and searching, like she didn’t recognize you. But slowly, her expression shifted, her lips pressing into a thin, almost pained line. Her eyes softened with something akin to sorrow—or perhaps disappointment.

The silence in the room was suffocating. You could hear the quiet crackle of the fire and the distant call of gulls outside the window. No one spoke. Not yet.

You didn’t dare look at Alicent, though you knew she was watching. You could feel her gaze, steady and unwavering, like a silent claim on you. She had won this battle, and she knew it.

You moved toward the only empty seat, your chin held high as you passed them all. Their stares felt like knives in your back, but you didn’t flinch. You wouldn’t flinch.

When you sat down, your eyes flickered briefly toward Jace. His gaze was still on you, hurt and confusion written plainly on his face. His jaw was tight, and you could see him clenching his fists on his lap, his knuckles white. He leaned in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the air.

“Why are you wearing that?”

The words hit you harder than you expected. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye but didn’t answer. What could you say? That you had no choice? That you had been abandoned and left to fend for yourself? No. Jace wouldn’t understand. Not now. Not like this.

Silence lingered for a moment longer before Daemon’s soft chuckle broke it. “Looks like the little dragon has found a new den,” he muttered, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Rhaenyra shot him a warning glare, but he didn’t stop. He tilted his head at you, watching you the way a cat watches a bird.

“Careful, child,” Daemon said, his voice dripping with false sweetness. “Green may suit you now, but remember — dragons breathe fire, not peace.”

Your hands curled in your lap, nails pressing into your palms. You refused to look at him. You refused to give him the reaction he wanted.

“Enough,” Alicent’s voice cut through the air, sharp and commanding. Her presence was like a wave crashing onto the shore, and all eyes turned to her. She stepped forward with the calm authority of a woman who knew she had already won. Her gaze swept over Rhaenyra, over Jace and Luke, over Daemon, and finally settled on you.

“Tonight is meant to be a night of peace,” Alicent said with an air of finality. “We are family, no matter the colors we wear.” Her gaze softened slightly as she looked at you. “And family deserves to be welcomed, not judged.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat, your gaze falling to your lap. Family, she said. But which family did you belong to now?

Jace was still staring at you, his eyes hard but filled with quiet hurt. You had never seen him look at you like that. Like you were a stranger.

Family, you thought bitterly. Whose family do I belong to now?

The weight of the silence hung heavily in the room, broken only by the soft clinking of goblets and the faint crackle of the hearth. You glanced around, feeling the pressure of their stares. Your heart thudded in your chest, but you lifted your chin, unwilling to be seen as weak.

“I did what I had to,” you said firmly, your voice steady but laced with quiet defiance. “No one else stayed for me.”

The words lingered in the air like the smoke from a dying fire. Jace’s eyes narrowed, his brows furrowing deeply. Luke glanced between you and him, uncertainty in his young gaze. Daemon raised a brow, his lips twitching into that infuriating smirk. He tilted his head back and let out a low, amused chuckle, the sound rumbling like distant thunder.

“Spoken like a true player of the game,” Daemon said, raising his goblet in a mock toast before taking a slow sip of wine. “Careful, that kind of thinking will have you wearing a crown before you know it.”

His words dripped with mockery, but there was a glint of something else—approval, perhaps? It was hard to tell with Daemon. His eyes gleamed with mischief, as if he enjoyed the chaos brewing in the room.

The tension was palpable, every breath measured and every glance sharp as blades. Rhaenyra’s eyes were locked on you now, her lips pressed into a thin line. She looked at you not with anger but with something deeper—disappointment. It stung more than you cared to admit.

Before anyone could say another word, the grand doors at the end of the room creaked open. The sound echoed loudly, commanding the attention of every soul in the room.

The slow, uneven footsteps echoed like a drumbeat of fate.

All eyes turned toward the entrance, and there he was. King Viserys. The weight of his crown was visible on his frail body, his once-proud frame now hunched and weakened by disease. His breaths were shallow, his face pale and worn. His robes hung loosely on his frame, and his eyes—though clouded with pain—were still sharp with purpose.

He was not alone. Two Kingsguard knights supported him on either side, their grips firm on his arms as they helped him walk forward. Every step was a struggle, but he pressed on with the resolve of a king who had no time left for weakness.

The room fell utterly silent, all eyes now on him. Even Daemon’s smirk faded as he sat up straighter, his eyes narrowing at his brother’s arrival. Alicent moved forward instinctively, her eyes full of concern, but she did not approach him.

You felt your chest tighten at the sight of him. This was not the man you remembered from your childhood—strong, warm, and full of life. Now, he was a shadow of that man, worn down by years of pain, loss, and duty.

“I am glad…” Viserys’s voice was hoarse but resolute as he was guided to the head of the table. The Kingsguard helped him into his chair, and he leaned back, his chest rising and falling with every labored breath. He lifted his head slowly, his eyes moving over each face in the room. “I am glad… to see my family… together again.”

His words hung in the air like a prayer. No one dared to speak.

His eyes found you, and for a moment, his gaze softened. The tired, weathered king saw you—not as a child, not as a player in the game, but as his granddaughter. His lips twitched into a faint smile, one that you hadn’t seen in so long.

Your throat tightened, and you looked away before anyone could see the shine in your eyes.

Alicent moved to his side, adjusting his blanket as he sat at the head of the table. She whispered something softly in his ear, and he nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving his family. His whole family.

“Tonight,” Viserys said slowly, his voice strained but clear, “we put aside… our grievances. Tonight, we are… one family.” His gaze shifted from Rhaenyra to Alicent, lingering there, as if willing them to understand the weight of his words. “Let us dine as such.”

Silence filled the room once more, but this time, it was different. No sharp gazes. No cutting words. Just the weight of a king’s final wish.

The servants began to move, placing dishes of roasted meats, bread, and fruits onto the long table. The warmth of the food mingled with the warmth of the hearth, and for a moment, the Red Keep felt less like a battleground.

You glanced at Jace. He was still looking at you, his jaw tight, his hands clenching and unclenching. Luke was whispering something to him, trying to pull him back from whatever thoughts had taken hold of him.

You turned your eyes to your plate, suddenly feeling the weight of every gaze upon you. But when you dared to glance up again, you saw him.

King Viserys was still watching you. His eyes, heavy with pain and wisdom, met yours, and for a moment, it felt as if he saw you completely. Not the girl in green. Not the daughter of Rhaenyra. Not the pawn in someone else’s game. Just you.

His lips moved slowly into a smile, small but true. You pressed your lips together, holding back the emotions swirling in your chest.

If only it were that simple, you thought to yourself as you lowered your gaze once more.

The soft melody of the music filled the hall, weaving through the gentle hum of conversation. Plates clattered lightly as servants moved around, pouring wine and placing fresh dishes on the long table. Laughter echoed from different parts of the room, a sound so rare in the Red Keep that it felt almost out of place.

You sat beside Helaena, her gentle smile and quiet musings a welcome comfort in the tense atmosphere. She spoke of her children, her dreams, and the little things she found joy in—like the pattern of a moth’s wings or the way the light danced on water. Her words were simple, yet they felt like a balm to your heart.

A soft laugh escaped you as she made an offhand comment about how “even the crickets have more sense than most lords.” She giggled too, her soft, airy laugh lightening your spirit in a way you hadn’t expected.

But then, your eyes wandered. You didn’t mean for them to, but they did. They found her—your mother.

She was seated at the other end of the table, her face illuminated by the warm glow of the firelight. Her silver-gold hair framed her face like a crown, her smile soft as she leaned toward Daemon. He whispered something to her, his lips close to her ear, and whatever he said made her smile widen, her eyes crinkling with genuine joy.

Genuine joy.

Your heart clenched, a deep ache blooming in your chest. The warmth you felt from Helaena’s laughter was gone, replaced by a dull, hollow pain.

There she was—the mother who had left you behind. The mother who had taken Jace and Luke with her to Dragonstone, but left you alone in the Red Keep. The mother who smiled now, so freely, so openly, as if she had not abandoned you. As if she hadn’t left you to stand among people who questioned your very right to exist.

Her gaze never once drifted to you. Not once.

You swallowed hard, your fingers tightening around the goblet in your hand. Your nails dug into the cool metal as you fought to steady your breathing.

“Does it hurt?” Helaena’s voice was soft, almost distant, as if she were speaking to herself.

Your eyes darted to her. She wasn’t looking at you, her eyes instead focused on the table, tracing patterns on the wood with her finger.

“What?” you asked, your voice quiet but sharp.

“Being unseen,” she said softly, her voice lilting with the strange tone she sometimes took when speaking of things only she understood. Her eyes lifted slowly to meet yours. For a moment, it felt as if she knew. As if she could see everything you’d been trying to hide behind your carefully raised chin and unwavering gaze.

Your throat felt tight. You didn’t know how to answer, so you said nothing. But Helaena only smiled that sad, knowing smile.

“It does,” she said for you. “It hurts.”

Her words settled into the quiet spaces of your heart, filling them with a truth you didn’t want to admit. Your eyes flickered back to your mother, watching as she laughed softly, her hand resting on Daemon’s.

She looks happy, you thought bitterly. She looks happy without me.

Your gaze fell to your lap, your vision blurring slightly. You blinked rapidly, refusing to let the tears fall. Not here. Not in front of them.

But even as you tried to push it down, the weight of it was suffocating. The betrayal. The loneliness. The unspoken truth that, no matter how many times you wore green or smiled for Alicent, it would never be enough. It would never fill the space your mother had left behind.

And yet, here you were. Alone, in a room full of people.

You leaned back in your chair, feigning interest as Aegon rambled on about his day with his usual blend of arrogance and mischief. His words drifted in and out of your mind, more noise than substance, until a presence settled beside you — steady, calm, and unmistakable.

You glanced to your side and met Aemond’s eye. His gaze was sharp, as it always was, but there was something more tonight. Without a word, he extended his hand toward you. His fingers were long and calloused, his palm facing up — an offering.

“Shall we dance?” His voice was low, a quiet murmur meant only for you.

For a moment, you hesitated. You knew every eye would be on you if you accepted. You knew Jace and Luke were watching, just as you knew your mother would see it too. But as you glanced around the room, you saw her still seated with Daemon, her gaze not even flickering in your direction.

She doesn’t care.

So, you placed your hand in Aemond’s, your fingers curling lightly around his. His grip was firm but not unkind. Together, you rose from your chair, the weight of a hundred stares pressing on your back as you walked to the center of the room.

The soft hum of voices dimmed, replaced by the quiet, expectant melody of the music. Every step echoed louder than it should have, but you kept your head high, your gaze unwavering.

Behind you, you could hear them.

“She’s changed,” Luke muttered, his voice sharp with disbelief.

“She’s with them now,” Jace replied, bitterness lacing his tone. “Look at her.”

You didn’t turn around. You didn’t give them the satisfaction.

Aemond’s hand found its place on your waist, his other hand still holding yours. His gaze remained fixed on you, as intense as the flames that lined the hall. You placed your hand on his shoulder, and for a moment, the world fell away.

The music guided you both, your movements precise, controlled. Each step, each turn, was deliberate. There was no softness in Aemond’s hold, but there was control — sharp, steady, and sure. It was nothing like the dances you had shared with Jace in your childhood. Those had been filled with laughter, stumbling steps, and teasing grins. This was something else entirely.

“You wear green well,” Aemond said, his eye flickering down to take in your gown. “It suits you better than red ever did.”

You didn’t answer at first, letting the silence linger between you as you spun together. His words were a test, you knew that. But you were not a child anymore.

“Green is a color of peace,” you replied evenly, your eyes meeting his. “Strange how it always seems to follow war.”

His lips twitched at that, just a slight upward pull at the corner, too small to be called a smile. “Peace is often born of fire and blood,” he said, his voice as sharp as the edge of a blade.

You twirled under his arm, the fabric of your gown sweeping the floor like a wave. As he caught you back into his hold, you felt his grip tighten ever so slightly. Not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you that he was there — that he would always be watching.

“You hear them, don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head ever so slightly toward Jace and Luke. Their voices were quieter now, but you could still hear the murmurs of your brothers behind you, still feel their gazes burning into your back.

“I do,” you admitted softly, eyes distant for a moment before you refocused on him. “But it doesn’t matter.”

Aemond tilted his head, studying you with a look that felt too knowing for comfort. “Doesn’t it?” he murmured, his voice so low it was nearly lost to the music.

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because deep down, it did matter. It mattered that Jace and Luke saw you. It mattered that your mother didn’t. And it mattered that you were here, in a green gown, dancing with the man they hated most in the world.

But you wouldn’t let it show. Not tonight.

So you held Aemond’s gaze with all the strength you had left and let him lead you across the floor. For once, you didn’t falter. Not even when Jace’s voice cut through the air one last time.

“Traitor.”

The word was quiet, but it struck like a sword.

You felt Aemond stiffen ever so slightly, his hand pressing more firmly against your back. His gaze flicked briefly past you, his lips curling into something far too dangerous to be called a smile.

“Ignore him,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your heart ached. “He still thinks love will save him.”

Aemond’s gaze returned to you, his expression unreadable. “And what do you think will save you?”

You looked at him for a moment, really looked at him, and for once, you let yourself be honest.

“Nothing.”

As the final notes of the dance faded, you began to step back from Aemond, only for another hand to seize yours with a sudden, playful grip. You turned, startled, to see Aegon standing there with his ever-present smirk.

“Mind if I steal her, brother?” he drawled, his voice laced with mockery as he gave Aemond a pointed look. Without waiting for a reply, he pulled you toward him with a dramatic spin, earning a few quiet chuckles from onlookers.

“Aegon,” you muttered, a hint of exasperation in your tone. His antics were as familiar as the Red Keep’s stone walls.

“What?” he said with a grin, placing one hand on your waist and holding your hand with the other. “I figured you’d had enough of the one-eyed shadow for one night.”

You glanced briefly at Aemond, who stood at the edge of the dance floor. His face was a mask of indifference, but his gaze followed your every move.

“Careful, Aegon,” you warned, your eyes narrowing. “You’re starting to sound brave. Bravery doesn’t suit you.”

He barked a short laugh, spinning you with a surprising amount of grace. “Bravery suits me just fine, dear niece,” he teased, his grin sharper now. “But wine suits me better.”

You rolled your eyes but allowed him to lead the dance. He wasn’t as precise as Aemond, nor as steady. His steps were a bit too loose, his movements too relaxed, but somehow, it still felt easy. There was no tension, no pretense. Just him being the same Aegon you had always known.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he said after a moment, his grin dimming into something softer. His voice had lost its usual edge. “Not like you.”

You glanced up at him, surprised by the shift in his tone. He wasn’t mocking you, not this time. He was looking at you with something that almost resembled concern.

“I suppose I’ve had a lot to think about,” you replied, glancing down for a moment.

“Ah,” he hummed knowingly. “Let me guess — it’s them, isn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, but your silence was enough. He gave you a slow nod, his face unusually serious.

“Don’t let it get to you,” Aegon muttered, his eyes flickering toward where Jace and Luke sat. “They’ll always hate you for standing where they can’t reach.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” you replied quietly. “They never loved you to begin with.”

His eyes snapped back to yours, sharper than before. For a moment, you thought you’d gone too far, but then he snorted a bitter laugh. “True enough,” he muttered, his gaze distant for a heartbeat before he looked at you again. “But that’s exactly why I can tell you this — it’s better to be hated than forgotten.”

His words hit harder than you expected. You knew what it felt like to be forgotten. You’d been living with that feeling since the day your mother left you in the Red Keep.

“You think I should be proud of it, then?” you asked, your voice quieter now.

Aegon tilted his head, his grin returning, but it was smaller this time — almost sad. “No,” he said. “But you should wear it like armor. People are less likely to stab you if they know the blade won’t break you.”

You both moved in silence for a while, the music filling the space between words. His grip was looser than Aemond’s, but there was something comforting about it. No pretense, no expectation. Just Aegon being Aegon.

When the dance finally ended, he leaned in close, his breath smelling faintly of wine. “You look good in green,” he whispered, his voice too low for anyone else to hear. “But you already knew that, didn’t you?”

He pulled away with a wink, leaving you standing in the middle of the floor as he sauntered off toward the wine table. You stood there for a moment, letting his words settle.

Your gaze drifted back to your brothers. Jace was staring at you, his jaw tight, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and disbelief. Luke sat beside him, quieter but no less disappointed. Their faces said everything they wouldn’t.

But you remembered Aegon’s words — it’s better to be hated than forgotten.

So, with steady hands, you lifted your chin, turned away from them, and walked back toward the table where Alicent and Helaena were waiting.

Alicent’s gaze lingered on you as you returned to your seat. Her smile was warm, almost maternal, as if she were proud of you for wearing the green. She reached out to adjust a stray strand of your hair, tucking it gently behind your ear.

“You did well,” she whispered, her voice as soft as silk. “They see you now.”

You nodded, offering her a small, strained smile. But the weight of it all sat heavy on your chest.

King Viserys, seated at the head of the table, raised his cup, his voice raspy but firm as he addressed the gathered family. “It brings me great joy,” he began, pausing to catch his breath, “to see my family together again.” His gaze flickered between you, Jace, Luke, and your mother. “My grandchildren… soon to be wed. Jace to Baela, Luke to Rhaena. A union that will strengthen our house for generations to come.”

The room erupted in polite applause, but you barely heard it. Your eyes flicked toward Jace, who was watching you closely, his face unreadable but his gaze sharp.

Then, as if struck by a sudden idea, Viserys coughed and leaned forward, his eyes searching the faces at the table. “But there is another of my grandchildren whose future we must also secure.” His gaze stopped on you. “She has grown strong, wise… and beautiful.”

You felt every eye in the room shift toward you. Your heart began to pound in your chest.

“Yes,” Viserys continued, his smile soft but determined. “It is only right that we speak of her future as well. A match that will honor her lineage and ensure her protection in these troubled times.”

Silence fell over the room, thick with unspoken tension. Your hands gripped the edge of your chair as you glanced at your mother. She sat stiffly, her face a mask of calm, but her eyes were fixed on you with a mixture of concern and calculation.

Daemon raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair as if amused by the sudden shift in conversation. His eyes darted toward Alicent, catching the faintest twitch of her smile.

“An excellent suggestion, my love,” Alicent said, her tone smooth and agreeable. She glanced at you, her eyes filled with something you couldn’t quite place. Pride? Possession? “She is of age, after all. And there are many fine suitors who would be honored to claim her hand.”

Your chest tightened as you realized what was happening. They weren’t talking to you — they were talking about you, as if you were a prize to be bargained over.

“Her future should be decided with care,” Rhaenyra interjected, her tone sharp, her eyes cutting toward Alicent. “She is still young, and such decisions must be made with her consent.”

Alicent tilted her head, a gentle smile still on her face. “Of course, Princess,” she said sweetly. “But surely, as her mother, you must understand the urgency of ensuring her safety. A strong match would protect her from the dangers that surround us all.”

“Her safety was never in doubt until you made it so,” Rhaenyra shot back, her voice laced with venom.

Viserys raised his hand, his face twisted with exhaustion. “Enough,” he rasped, his voice strained but firm. “This is a family matter, not a battlefield.” He turned his gaze back to you, his eyes soft with affection. “My dear girl, you will have a say in this. No match will be made without your will. You have my word.”

For a moment, you felt relief wash over you. But then Daemon’s quiet laugh echoed from the other end of the table.

“Words are wind,” he muttered into his cup of wine, glancing sidelong at Viserys. “Promises mean little when thrones are at stake.”

His words hung in the air, sharp and cutting. Alicent’s fingers drummed softly against the table, her gaze flicking toward Aemond, who sat with his arms crossed, his face as unreadable as ever.

Aegon let out a low chuckle, leaning toward you with that same mischievous grin. “Careful, little niece,” he whispered, his breath warm with the scent of wine. “They’ll have you betrothed before dessert.”

Your eyes darted to him, but you said nothing. Your mind was already racing. You could feel it — the weight of it all pressing down on you. It wasn’t a choice. It never had been.

Aemond’s voice broke through the tension like a blade through silk. “If she must marry, it should be someone worthy.”

His single eye landed on you, sharp as a dragon’s gaze. He didn’t smile. He didn’t blink. His words carried no jest, only a cold, calculated certainty.

“Someone strong,” he added, his eye slowly moving toward Jace. “Someone who knows the meaning of loyalty.”

Jace leaned forward, his eyes locked on Aemond, his jaw clenched tight. “Careful, uncle,” he muttered. “Loyalty is a word you use when you have none of it yourself.”

The table grew still. The air was so tense it felt like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

But you could feel it. This wasn’t about you anymore. This was about them. All of them. Your fate was just another piece on the board.

Silence fell over the room like a shroud. Every movement stopped — goblets paused mid-air, glances darted from one face to another. You froze, your breath caught in your chest.

King Viserys leaned forward in his chair, his milky eyes filled with quiet determination. “Aemond is a fine match,” he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. “A bond of blood. A union that will heal the wounds that have festered far too long.”

Your eyes darted to your mother. Rhaenyra’s face was pale but firm, her lips pressed into a thin, unmoving line. Her eyes found yours, silently pleading with you to stay calm.

Daemon let out a low, mocking laugh, swirling the wine in his cup. “A fine match, indeed,” he drawled, his sharp eyes flicking between Viserys and Alicent. “How convenient for some.”

Alicent kept her composure, folding her hands neatly in front of her. Her gaze shifted to you, her eyes filled with gentle resolve. “It is a wise decision, husbanb” she said softly, her tone carrying the weight of finality. “It strengthens the family, unites the bloodlines, and ensures her protection. It is what’s best for her.”

You glanced at Aemond. He sat still, his face carved from stone, his single violet eye locked on the table in front of him. No flicker of surprise, no sign of agreement or resistance. Just silence.

“Has anyone asked her?” Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, sharp as a blade. Her gaze burned with defiance. “Has anyone thought to ask my daughter what she wants?”

Viserys turned his gaze to you, his expression softening. “What say you, child?” he asked gently, his voice kind but expectant. “Would you accept this match for the good of the realm? For the good of your family?”

Every gaze in the room turned toward you. Jace stared at you in disbelief, his mouth opening as if to speak but no words came out. Luke’s wide, innocent eyes were full of confusion and hurt.

You felt your heart pounding in your chest. This was it. They were offering you the illusion of choice, but you knew the truth. This was not your decision to make.

Your eyes moved back to Aemond. His gaze was on you now, piercing and unwavering. He said nothing, but something about the intensity of his stare unsettled you. There was no kindness in it, no affection — only cold, hard calculation.

Rhaenyra rose from her seat, her voice trembling with barely restrained rage. “She is a child, Father. My child. She is not a pawn to be traded for your fleeting sense of peace.”

“She is not a child anymore, Rhaenyra,” Alicent replied, her voice deceptively soft but firm. Her eyes stayed on you, unyielding. “She is a young woman, and a young woman of her station must understand the duties that come with it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes narrowed, her chest heaving with quiet fury. “You mean your duties, don’t you, Alicent? Duties that serve only your ambitions.”

“Enough!” Viserys’s voice boomed, louder than you had ever heard it before. His eyes burned with a fleeting glimpse of the king he once was. “We are family, and family must stand together!” His gaze softened once more as it returned to you. “Child, speak your heart. I will hear you.”

The weight of every gaze in the room pressed down on you like a mountain. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Speak your heart, he said, as if it would truly matter.

Aemond tilted his head slightly, his eye still locked on you, studying you as if he already knew what you would say. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe — he simply watched.

Jace leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “You don’t have to do this,” he said, his eyes searching yours. “Say no.”

But Daemon snorted, raising his cup in mock salute. “Say no, and they’ll find another way to force you,” he muttered, taking a slow sip of wine.

The silence stretched, endless and suffocating. Your gaze met your mother’s once more. She gave you the barest shake of her head, her eyes pleading with you to refuse. But in those same eyes, you saw something else — helplessness. If you said no, it would change nothing.

You took a slow, steadying breath, feeling your fingers tremble at your sides. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to have a choice.

“Grandfather,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you felt. “If this is what is best for the realm… then I will not refuse it.”

Rhaenyra’s face crumpled like parchment. “No,” she whispered, taking a step toward you. “No, don’t do this. You don’t have to—”

“I do,” you said, cutting her off, your eyes flicking to hers with quiet resolve. “I do.”

The room erupted in murmurs. Luke’s small voice echoed faintly in the background, “Sister…?” Jace slammed his hand on the table, his chair scraping back as he stood. His face was flushed with anger and betrayal.

“You’re letting them use you,” Jace hissed, his voice trembling. “You’re letting them win.”

You turned away from him, your gaze fixed firmly on the stone floor. If you looked at him, at Luke, at your mother — you knew your resolve would crumble.

“Then it is decided,” Viserys declared, his tone final, his breath heavy with exertion. “The betrothal is sealed. She will wed to Aemond.”

Aemond finally moved. He stood slowly, his eyes never leaving you. He walked toward you, his footsteps steady and deliberate. When he stopped in front of you, he reached out his hand, palm up.

You stared at it for a moment, heart pounding, before placing your hand in his. His grip was firm, almost too firm, his fingers cold like steel. His face remained impassive, but his eye burned with something you couldn’t quite name.

Possession.

“Wise choice,” he said quietly, his lips barely moving. “You’ll find I am not as cruel as others would have you believe.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, but they sent a chill down your spine.

Rhaenyra was staring at you, her face hollow with betrayal and heartbreak. Jace’s eyes burned with disbelief and fury. Luke, sweet Luke, simply looked confused and hurt, like a child who didn’t understand why the world had suddenly changed.

Alicent placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, her touch light but firm. “You will be well cared for, my dear,” she said softly, as if she had won a great victory. “This is the beginning of a new future for you.”

But you knew the truth.

You hadn’t won anything.

You’d been claimed.

The room fell into a suffocating silence. All eyes turned to you as the words you had never dared to say finally spilled from your lips.

“You have no right over me, Mother. Not after you left me."

Your voice was steady, but the weight of it was undeniable. Rhaenyra flinched as if you had struck her. Her eyes widened, her breath caught in her chest.

“I left to protect you,” she said, her voice shaking with emotion. “I left to protect all of you."

“No, you didn’t,” you replied, your voice rising with the anger that had simmered for far too long. Your hands curled into fists at your sides. “You left with Jace. You left with Luke. You left with Daemon. But you left me here — alone.” Your chest heaved with each breath, and every word dripped with the pain you’d been forced to swallow for so long.

Jace took a step forward, his face contorted with guilt and disbelief. “It wasn’t like that—”

“It was exactly like that!” you snapped, cutting him off. Your gaze turned to him, your brother who had always been your partner in everything — until he wasn’t. “You followed her, didn’t you? You followed her to Dragonstone, and you didn’t look back. Not once.”

Luke’s wide eyes filled with tears, his small voice barely a whisper. “We didn’t want to leave you…”

You shook your head, your lips pressed together tightly. You didn’t want to hear it. Not now. Not when the wounds were already wide open.

“Don’t pretend it wasn’t a choice,” you said coldly, eyes locked on Rhaenyra. “You chose them. You chose Daemon. You chose your crown. But you did not choose me.”

Rhaenyra stepped toward you, her eyes desperate. “I never stopped loving you,” she pleaded, her voice cracking under the weight of her own guilt. “I thought you’d be safe here, with your grandsire —”

“Safe?” you echoed bitterly, your eyes narrowing. “Do you even know what it’s like to live here without you? To have everyone whispering about me, calling me a bastard to my face? ” Your voice broke, but you didn’t care. “You weren’t here, Mother. You don’t get to decide for me now.”

“How dare you speak to me like that?” Rhaenyra’s voice was trembling with a mix of disbelief and hurt. Her face twisted in pain, as though you had struck her. “You are my daughter—”

“You left me,” you interrupted, your voice cold and steady despite the pain that twisted in your chest. “You left me alone here, and now you’re telling me what I should do with my life? You have no claim over me anymore.”

The words stung, even as you said them, but there was a part of you that felt a small sense of relief. Finally, the weight of everything you had held in for so long had been released.

Rhaenyra’s eyes searched yours, her lips trembling as though she were trying to find the right words, but they eluded her. “You know that I had no choice… I did what I had to do for my children.”

“Your children? What about me?” you asked, your voice rising despite yourself. “What about me? I was supposed to be your daughter, your priority. But you left. You chose Dragonstone over me, over us.”

Her eyes filled with sorrow, and for the first time, you saw the weight of her guilt. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

The weight of your words settled over the room like a storm cloud. Jace looked at you as if he didn’t recognize you anymore. Luke looked heartbroken, tears spilling down his cheeks. Even Daemon, so often unbothered by the chaos around him, regarded you with quiet curiosity, his eyes sharp with recognition.

But it was Rhaenyra who wore the most pained expression. Her lips quivered as if she wanted to say something, anything, to refute your words. But she couldn’t.

Alicent stepped forward then, her presence steady and deliberate. She placed a gentle hand on your back, a silent show of support. Her green dress shimmered in the light of the flames, and for the first time, it didn’t feel suffocating. It felt safe.

“She has spoken her mind, Princess,” Alicent said softly, though her gaze was firm. “Her choice is clear.”

“Her choice was forced,” Rhaenyra shot back, her eyes blazing with fury as she turned on Alicent. “Do not pretend you had no hand in this, Alicent.”

“I did nothing but offer her a place where she was valued,” Alicent replied, her voice smooth as silk. Her hand remained on your back, grounding you. “Can you say the same, Rhaenyra?”

The words hit like a dagger. Rhaenyra’s breath hitched, her eyes darting to yours as if searching for something — forgiveness, understanding, hope. But you gave her none of it.

“Leave it, Mother,” you said, your voice hollow. Your eyes dropped to the floor, no longer able to look at her. “It’s already done.”

Your gaze lifted to Aemond, his sharp features calm but watchful. He said nothing, merely offering a small nod, as if he knew this moment had been inevitable.

Rhaenyra took a step forward, but you stepped back, shaking your head slowly. “Don’t.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and she clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m still your mother.”

“Then act like it,” you whispered, your voice cutting through the air like a blade. “But you don’t get to act like it now.”

Aemond, standing at your side, watched the exchange silently. He didn’t speak either, his face unreadable. But there was something in the air between you — a quiet understanding, perhaps. He didn’t need to say anything because the truth had already been laid bare.

Finally, it was Viserys who broke the silence, his voice shaking with the effort. “Enough,” he rasped, his frail form leaning heavily on his cane. “This is not the time for more conflict. Let us move forward with peace.”

But Rhaenyra’s eyes never left you. “I won’t let this happen,” she whispered, almost to herself. “You will not be forced into a marriage you don’t want, not by him.” Her voice was a low growl, filled with desperation and a hint of defiance.

“I’ve already made my decision, Mother,” you said, the words heavy on your tongue. “And I’m not asking for your approval anymore.”

The room seemed to shrink in the silence that followed. Rhaenyra’s face crumbled, the weight of your words settling deep within her. But you couldn’t bring yourself to regret them.

Daemon’s laugh echoed through the hall, cruel and mocking. “There it is, Rhaenyra,” he sneered, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your precious daughter, no longer your little princess.”

Aemond took a step closer to you, his presence solid and unyielding. The tension was palpable, but he said nothing, only standing by your side as your mother and Daemon exchanged heated glances.

For a moment, you felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders, and yet, for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt a sense of freedom.

The silence stretched on, and though the room was heavy with unspoken words and emotions, you knew one thing for certain: you would no longer let your mother dictate your life. You would not be a pawn in this game anymore.

The decision had been made. And nothing would change it.

The sudden pull of Jace’s hand, harsh and forceful, sent a jolt of pain through you. You winced, feeling the weight of his grip, but your heart ached more from the words you knew were about to follow.

“Stop, Jace!” you gasped, struggling to break free from his hold. “Let me go!”

But he didn’t listen. His face was twisted with anger and desperation, and his eyes were filled with hurt as he tried to pull you away from the chaos, as though he could fix everything. “You can’t do this! You can’t marry him, you—”

Before he could finish, Aemond stepped forward, his hand swiftly clasping Jace’s wrist, pulling it away from you with surprising strength. The tension between the two brothers crackled in the air, and the room fell silent for a brief moment, everyone holding their breath.

“Let her go,” Aemond said, his voice low but commanding, his eyes never leaving Jace’s.

But Jace wasn’t done. In a fit of rage, he swung his free hand at Aemond, landing a sharp blow to his face. The room erupted with shocked gasps as Aemond stumbled back, more surprised than hurt, but his glare burned with intensity.

“You will not touch her,” Jace spat, his chest heaving with anger. “Not like this. Not ever.”

“Enough!” you shouted, your voice shaking but firm. The words felt like they came from somewhere deep inside, pushing past the confusion and hurt you felt. “Enough, Jace!”

You tore your hand from Aemond’s grasp and turned to face your brother. Your eyes, filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow, locked onto Jace’s. “You are not my brother anymore,” you said, the words leaving your lips like poison. “Not after everything you’ve done to me. Not after you abandoned me here, alone.”

Jace froze, the words sinking into him like daggers. His eyes softened, as if he didn’t understand what you were saying, but the hurt in your voice was undeniable.

“You think you can control my life just because we’re family?” you continued, your voice shaking with emotion. “You don’t get to decide what happens to me, not anymore. Not when you’ve done nothing but leave me to fight for myself.”

Aemond, now standing tall beside you, didn’t move, but his presence was a stark contrast to the chaos around you. He watched you with an unreadable expression, his hand still clenched at his side.

Jace stood there, his anger faltering as he processed your words, but his face twisted with disbelief. “I never left you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve always been here for you.”

“No,” you responded coldly, shaking your head. “You haven’t. Not when it mattered.”

The silence in the room was deafening, the weight of your words hanging in the air like a thick fog. The tension was so thick you could almost feel it pressing against your skin.

Jace took a step back, his face crumpling with a mix of guilt and confusion, but you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Not when everything you once believed in had been shattered so completely.

Without another word, you turned away from Jace, your heart heavy with the painful truth that you no longer recognized the people who were once closest to you. You didn’t look back as you walked toward the exit, your steps steady but filled with a new sense of resolve.

This was no longer a family. This was a war, and you had chosen your side.

Alicent’s arms enveloped you, pulling you into a tight embrace. Her warmth, unexpected and gentle, washed over you, grounding you in the midst of the chaos. For the first time in so long, you allowed yourself to break. Tears, which you had kept bottled up for so long, finally spilled down your face as you buried your head in her chest.

You had been strong for so long, but in this moment, the weight of everything—your family’s betrayal, your pain, and the overwhelming sense of loneliness—became too much. You cried in silence, unable to stop the flow of emotions.

Alicent didn’t say anything, but her hold on you tightened, a silent comfort that you hadn’t known you needed. She didn’t judge you, didn’t try to fix things; she just let you cry, offering a shoulder when the rest of the world seemed too cold to care.

Through your tears, you caught sight of your mother standing at the other end of the room, her eyes filled with sorrow. There was no anger, no harsh words—just a deep sadness. She looked at you as if she understood, as if she saw the broken pieces of the child she had left behind.

But that only made the pain worse. Her gaze pierced you, a reminder of the distance that had grown between you both. She didn’t come to you, didn’t offer comfort, and that only deepened the wound in your heart.

Alicent seemed to sense the shift in your emotions. She gently pulled away, cupping your face in her hands, her green eyes meeting yours with an understanding that felt both foreign and familiar. “You don’t have to face this alone,” she whispered softly.

You nodded, wiping your tears away, though they kept falling. But you knew, deep down, you had already made your choice. You had already chosen who would be there for you, who would stand by you when your family turned their back. And as much as it hurt, you knew the road ahead would be one you would walk alone, despite the faint hope that things could have been different.

Your mother’s eyes lingered on you from afar, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look at her. Not now. Not yet.

The silence between you and Aemond as you walked toward your chamber was deafening. Every step seemed to stretch on forever, the weight of what had just been decided pressing down on you like an unbearable burden. You couldn’t even bring yourself to speak, the words trapped in your throat, your emotions tangled up in confusion, anger, and sorrow.

Aemond, for his part, said nothing either. His usually sharp, intense gaze was focused ahead, but there was an odd stillness to him. You could feel his presence beside you, the tension in the air thick enough to be felt, but there was no comfort in it. He didn’t offer any words of solace, nor did he attempt to break the silence. It was as though both of you were stuck in a strange limbo—neither fully facing what had just happened nor able to walk away from it.

As you reached the door to your room, Aemond stopped, his hand briefly resting on the handle before he turned to look at you. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes seemed to search yours for something—maybe understanding, maybe regret, or perhaps something else entirely.

“You should rest,” he said finally, his voice low, almost indifferent. “There will be much to prepare for in the coming days.”

You nodded, your gaze dropping to the floor. You didn’t trust yourself to speak, not without breaking down, not without giving voice to the emotions swirling inside of you. The last thing you wanted was to show any more weakness in front of him, or anyone, for that matter.

Aemond hesitated for a moment longer, then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts then.” He turned and walked away, his footsteps fading as he left you standing at the threshold of your room.

As the door closed softly behind you, you let out a shaky breath, the floodgates inside of you threatening to open. But you held yourself together. You couldn’t afford to break—not now, not in front of anyone.

Your mind raced as you stared at the empty space in front of you. The reality of the situation seemed impossible to accept. The wedding, the marriage, everything that had just been decided felt like it belonged to someone else, not you.

But there was no escaping it. This was your fate now. And no matter how much you wanted to rebel, to run, you knew you were tied to this family, to these bloodlines. The only thing left to do was endure.

With a heavy heart, you collapsed onto your bed, burying your face in your hands as the tears finally came.

As you walked through the quiet garden, the path ahead was bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. The air was cool, a slight breeze carrying the scent of blooming flowers, but it did little to calm the storm raging inside you. Your heart felt heavy with every step, each one taking you further from the bright, unbearable reality of your wedding preparations.

You couldn’t escape the thoughts that constantly echoed in your mind—the betrayal, the abandonment, the silence that had grown between you and your family. It was impossible to reconcile what was happening with the love and loyalty you once felt for them.

In the distance, you spotted Jace and Luke, their figures emerging from the trees, walking toward you. They had likely come to try and make amends, to explain themselves, but you knew their words wouldn’t change anything now.

You stopped in your tracks, holding up your hand to stop them before they could reach you. Your chest tightened, and a coldness crept over you. You had once been close to them, but now… now they were strangers to you. Their betrayal, their silence in the face of your suffering, stung deeper than anything else.

“Don’t,” you said, your voice cold and firm, though the pain behind it was undeniable. “I don’t want to hear it. I hate you both.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than you expected. Jace’s face faltered, his expression one of shock, but Luke—Luke’s eyes were full of something that hurt even more: regret. Yet, none of it mattered. It couldn’t matter.

They didn’t deserve your forgiveness, not after everything that had happened. Not after they had stood by as your life was stolen from you, as you were cast aside in favor of their own selfish desires.

Jace opened his mouth, as if to speak, but you shook your head, silencing him. You didn’t want to hear any more excuses or apologies. You had heard it all before, but it was never enough.

“Go back to your own lives,” you added, your voice trembling slightly despite the anger. “Stay out of mine.”

Without another word, you turned away from them, walking quickly in the opposite direction. You could feel their eyes on your back, but you didn’t care. There was no turning back now. You had made your decision, and it was too late for apologies.

As you left them behind in the garden, a part of you felt a strange emptiness—an ache where the love you once had for them used to reside. But you knew it was for the best. There could be no more pretending. You couldn’t keep clinging to people who had abandoned you when you needed them most.

You entered your room, the weight of the day’s preparations still heavy on your shoulders, only to be met by the presence of Alicent and Helaena. They were waiting for you, their faces soft with anticipation. Helaena smiled warmly at you, her eyes filled with quiet admiration, while Alicent’s gaze was approving, though there was something more restrained in her expression.

“Come, my dear,” Alicent said gently, guiding you toward the mirror. “It’s time to try on the gown.”

The dress, a stunning white creation, shimmered under the light as you stepped into it. The fabric clung to your form in all the right places, its delicate lace and intricate embroidery making you feel like you were stepping into a dream, albeit one you never wished for. The gown was undoubtedly beautiful, but it was also a constant reminder of the role you had to play in this political arrangement.

As you stood in front of the mirror, Alicent and Helaena’s gazes lingered on you, their approval evident.

“You will be the most beautiful bride the realm has ever seen,” Helaena said softly, her voice filled with wonder. “The gown suits you perfectly.”

Alicent nodded, a faint smile on her lips. “Indeed. Aemond is lucky to have you. This marriage will solidify not only your family’s power but also your beauty, my dear.”

You felt their words, meant to be comforting, yet they seemed hollow. In that moment, the gown felt like a shackle more than a symbol of celebration. The compliments were warm, but they couldn’t erase the feelings of betrayal, the weight of your family’s expectations, and the uncertainty of what your future with Aemond would hold.

Still, you forced a smile, nodding as they admired the way the gown fit you. “Thank you,” you said quietly, though your heart wasn’t in it. “It’s beautiful.”

Alicent’s expression softened, as if sensing the quiet storm raging within you. She placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, offering a small, reassuring smile. “This is a new beginning for you. You must embrace it, no matter how difficult.”

But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a new beginning at all—it was the closing of another chapter, one that left you questioning everything you thought you knew about your family, your future, and yourself.

As you sat alone in your room, your gaze fixed on the flickering flames of the fireplace, the warmth doing little to chase away the chill in your heart. The weight of the approaching wedding, the tension in the castle, and the heavy silence that seemed to engulf you were overwhelming. For a moment, you closed your eyes, hoping to escape the reality of your situation, but then a sound broke through your thoughts—the scraping of stone against stone, followed by a faint, almost imperceptible sound of footsteps.

You turned, startled, as a figure emerged from the shadows at the far end of the room. Aemond. His presence, once so commanding, now seemed almost surreal as he stepped from the darkness of the secret passage. The cold air of the corridor seemed to follow him, making the room feel even colder than before.

“I needed to see you,” Aemond’s voice broke the silence, low and steady, as he closed the distance between you. His pale eyes locked onto yours, unreadable, as always.

You remained silent, unsure of what to say. He was always like this—so distant, yet somehow insistent on maintaining his place in your life, even when it felt as if there was nothing between you but obligation.

Aemond’s eyes flicked to the fire, then back to you. “I know this marriage isn’t what you want,” he said quietly, his tone almost softer than you’d expected. “But it’s necessary. For both of us.”

You could feel a mix of emotions swirling inside you. His words, though practical, didn’t erase the hurt, the resentment, the confusion. He stood there, seemingly unaffected by the circumstances, and yet… his presence in your room, at this moment, felt like a faint attempt at connection. An attempt that was too little, too late.

“Necessary,” you repeated, your voice carrying a bitter edge. “Yes, I know.” You turned back toward the fire, trying to keep the emotions from spilling over. “For both of us. But what about what I want? Or what you want, Aemond? Is this really what either of us wanted, or is it just what’s been forced upon us?”

He remained silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving you. When he spoke again, it was measured, almost as if he were considering every word carefully.

“I don’t know if I want it,” he admitted, his voice surprisingly honest. “But I have a duty. And so do you.” His words hung in the air between you like a heavy cloud. “This marriage… It’s just another duty to be fulfilled, nothing more. But we’ll get through it, together.”

The weight of his words settled in your chest like a stone. You turned to face him fully, trying to find any trace of sincerity in his eyes, any indication that he might understand what you were feeling, what you were going through. But there was nothing. Only cold determination.

“Together,” you echoed, the word tasting bitter on your tongue. “Yes, I suppose we will.”

Aemond’s gaze softened for the briefest moment, but it was gone before you could fully process it. He looked away, his jaw tightening as if he were trying to steady himself against the emotions you both knew were lurking beneath the surface.

“You should rest,” he said quietly, his voice no longer as firm. “Tomorrow will be another busy day.”

You nodded, though you felt no comfort in his words. There was no rest for you, not with the weight of the coming days pressing down on your shoulders.

You looked at Aemond, a mixture of emotions swirling within you. His presence, despite the weight of your situation, somehow brought a sense of comfort—something you hadn’t realized you craved. You didn’t understand why, but for a fleeting moment, it felt like you weren’t entirely alone.

“Aemond…” you began, your voice soft but tinged with something that resembled vulnerability. “Stay. Just for a little while.”

His gaze met yours, his sharp, cold eyes seemingly surprised by your request, but he didn’t speak, just took a hesitant step closer, as if he, too, felt the strange pull between you. But before either of you could say anything more, a sharp knock on the door broke the silence.

You froze for a moment, instinctively bracing yourself. It was your mother. You could hear her voice—gentle but strained—calling from the other side.

“May I come in?”

Aemond’s presence suddenly felt too heavy, too dangerous in this moment. You didn’t want your mother to see him, not now, not like this. You quickly motioned for Aemond to hide, a silent plea in your eyes. His jaw clenched, but after a long pause, he nodded and slipped into the shadows of the room, his figure vanishing from sight like a shadow in the dim light.

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself for what was to come, and then called out.

“Come in.”

The door creaked open, and there she stood—your mother, her face etched with a mixture of regret and sadness. She stepped in cautiously, her eyes searching you as if she were looking for some sign of forgiveness. But you felt none. Not yet. Maybe never.

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion. “I should never have left you alone here. I… I failed you, and I know that.”

You felt a coldness settle in your chest as you looked at her, the years of pain and abandonment rising to the surface like a tide you couldn’t stop. Your heart, once full of love for her, now felt numb.

“I’m not sure that apology matters anymore,” you replied, your tone flat, devoid of the warmth you used to give her. “You left. And I was left behind. I’ve learned to live without you.”

Her face fell, a tear slipping down her cheek. But you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It wasn’t about the apology anymore. It was about what she had done—and what she hadn’t done when you needed her most.

“Please,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t shut me out.”

You shook your head, the words coming out harsh, like the bitter truth you’d buried deep inside you for so long. “You don’t get to come back now, Mother. You don’t get to walk in and pretend like you can fix everything. You chose them. You chose to leave me.”

She seemed to flinch at the weight of your words, but you didn’t care. You couldn’t care. Not anymore.

“Leave,” you said, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. “Please, just go.”

Your mother stood there for a moment, silent, tears streaming down her face. She seemed to hesitate, torn between reaching for you and walking away. But in the end, she turned and left, the door closing softly behind her.

As the sound of her footsteps faded, you sank back onto the chair by the fireplace, your heart heavy but somehow… relieved. Aemond reappeared from the shadows, his eyes meeting yours in the silence that followed.

He didn’t speak, but his presence was comforting—an odd, unspoken understanding between the two of you. For a moment, it felt like you were not entirely alone in the world, and that strange comfort lingered in the air, even as you struggled to process the emotions swirling within you.

But for now, you didn’t have to face them alone.

You froze, startled by Aemond’s sudden movement, but before you could react, he gently pulled you into his embrace. His grip was firm, yet strangely comforting, as if he was offering a shelter from the storm that raged inside you. His hand moved up and down your back in a soothing rhythm, the tension in your chest slowly starting to ease with each touch.

“Everything will be alright,” he whispered softly, his voice low and steady. The words were simple, but the way he said them—calm, reassuring—brought an odd sense of peace you hadn’t expected.

For a moment, you felt the weight of your emotions shift. You had expected the emptiness, the bitterness, the pain. But in his arms, there was none of that. Just a strange, unfamiliar sense of security.

You didn’t know why, but in that moment, you allowed yourself to believe his words, if only for a second. It was as if his presence was a small promise that, no matter how twisted your world had become, you wouldn’t have to face it alone.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his embrace, the familiar ache in your heart slowly beginning to quiet. “Thank you,” you whispered, unsure of what else to say, but grateful for the moment of solace he had given you.

The day of your wedding had finally arrived. You sat still, surrounded by your servants who were fussing over your hair and dress, their hands moving quickly to ensure every detail was perfect. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, your heart heavy with a mix of emotions—nervousness, uncertainty, and an aching emptiness. The woman staring back at you seemed so different, yet familiar. The elaborate wedding gown, the delicate veil, the way everything had come together… it all felt like a dream.

As you sat there, lost in your thoughts, the door creaked open and Alicent stepped into the room. She paused for a moment, her gaze sweeping over you with a mixture of awe and pride. Her eyes softened as she took in the sight of you, the woman you had become.

“My dear,” she said, her voice trembling slightly with emotion. “You look… absolutely breathtaking.”

You managed a small, bittersweet smile, not quite sure what to say in response. Your eyes met hers, and in that moment, something shifted. Her presence was warm and comforting, and for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

Alicent stepped closer, her gaze tender as she placed a hand on your shoulder. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful woman,” she continued, her voice softening. “And I… I think it’s time for you to start calling me ‘Mother.’”

The words hit you like a gentle wave. “Mother.” You had never called her that before, not in the way she probably wanted. But now, in this moment, you realized that maybe it was time to accept the bond she was offering. There was no turning back now, and despite the complicated feelings you harbored, you felt a sense of comfort in her words.

With a deep breath, you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper. “Mother,” you said, testing the word on your lips. It felt strange, but somehow, it also felt right.

Alicent’s expression softened, her eyes glistening with emotion. She gave a small, proud smile, her hand gently cupping your cheek. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

The room fell into a comfortable silence as you both took a moment to soak in the weight of the occasion, the sense of change, and the new life that was about to unfold.

The journey to the sept was a quiet one, the rhythmic movement of the carriage the only sound accompanying the silence between you and Alicent. Your fingers nervously traced the edge of your veil, your thoughts swirling with uncertainty and apprehension. The weight of the day felt heavier with each passing moment, and despite Alicent’s comforting words, you couldn’t shake the anxiousness knotting in your stomach.

“Everything will go smoothly,” Alicent said gently, her voice calm and reassuring, as though she sensed the turmoil brewing inside you. “You’re ready for this.”

You gave a soft nod, though the tightness in your chest betrayed your uncertainty. The silence stretched, the muffled sound of hooves on cobblestones echoing outside the carriage. You closed your eyes for a moment, steadying yourself as the weight of the moment settled over you.

Eventually, the carriage came to a halt with a soft jolt, and the door was opened by one of the attendants. Alicent helped you out, her hand steady on your arm. As you stepped onto the ground, you were greeted by a wave of sound—a chorus of cheers and applause from the gathered crowd. The people of the Red Keep and beyond had come to witness the union, their excitement palpable in the air.

The sight of the crowd was overwhelming. The colorful banners fluttered in the breeze, the sun casting a warm glow over the scene. People called out your name, their voices filled with enthusiasm, but all you could focus on was the way the crowd seemed to part for you as you moved forward, your heart pounding in your chest.

Alicent, walking beside you, smiled proudly, her presence a shield against the storm of emotions swirling within you. “This is your moment,” she said softly, her eyes meeting yours with a look of reassurance.

As you walked towards the sept, your gaze lifted and you saw the familiar, yet distant, faces of your family standing at the altar. The weight of their gazes, mixed with the nervous excitement that filled the air, made everything feel surreal. The sound of the crowd, the warmth of the sun, the flutter of your veil, and the presence of Alicent beside you—it all blurred together in a haze of emotions.

The time had come, and despite the storm of feelings inside you, you knew there was no turning back.

As the High Septon’s voice rang through the hall, the final words of the ceremony echoed in your ears. “By the light of the Seven, I declare them husband and wife.” You stood there, the air thick with anticipation, the eyes of your family and the crowd on you. Aemond, beside you, remained composed, his gaze steady and intense, never leaving yours.

The moment felt surreal, the weight of the vows just spoken sinking in. You could feel the tension building, as the next words hung in the air.

The High Septon then turned to Aemond, his voice clear and firm. “Aemond, you may kiss your wife."

For a brief moment, there was a quiet stillness, and you felt the world around you blur. Aemond’s eyes locked with yours as he slowly stepped forward, his hand gently cupping your face. The soft brush of his touch sent a shiver down your spine, and in that moment, you understood the gravity of the life you were about to share with him.

Then, with a movement as deliberate as it was tender, Aemond leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that felt like the beginning of a new chapter. The kiss was brief but full of unspoken promises, sealing the union in front of all who gathered.

As you pulled back, your heart raced, unsure of what the future held, but in that moment, you were bound to him, for better or worse. The cheers and applause of the crowd filled the room, but you were lost in the silence that followed, in the realization that your life had just changed forever.

As you and Aemond descended the steps from the altar, your hand firmly in his, the cheers and applause of the gathered crowd filled the air, echoing through the sept. The weight of the moment settled heavily upon you, but there was a strange, quiet calmness in the chaos of celebration.

Amidst the joyful noise, your gaze found Alicent. Tears shimmered in her eyes, reflecting the light of the candles around you. Without thinking, you reached out and embraced her, the warmth of her embrace offering a fragile sense of comfort in the whirlwind of emotions.

“You’re beautiful,” Alicent whispered softly, her voice full of pride and love. Her arms tightened around you for a moment longer before she pulled back, wiping her eyes gently.

As you stood there, holding her, you couldn’t help but notice the figure of your mother standing at the far end of the hall. Her eyes met yours, and in them, you saw a sadness so deep it nearly took your breath away. Her face was an expression of regret, of longing for something that had been lost.

But it was too late, wasn’t it?

You couldn’t stop the lump that formed in your throat as you held Alicent, her comforting presence a stark contrast to the emptiness you felt when you looked at your mother. You knew you had to turn away from her. Your life had changed, and the bonds of the past could not be rekindled so easily.

Yet, even as you walked away with Aemond, his presence beside you strong and resolute, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of your mother’s gaze on your back, knowing that this new chapter of your life had already set you on a path that would never allow you to go back.

As the carriage rocked gently, you sat beside Aemond, your hand resting on your lap, and your thoughts a whirlwind of emotions. The celebration was still fresh in your mind, and the weight of the vows you had just taken hung heavily in the air around you. Despite the grandiosity of the wedding, the tension between you and your new life was palpable.

Aemond sat with his usual composed demeanor, his eyes gazing ahead through the window, his face unreadable. The silence between you both was thick, a stark contrast to the celebrations you had just left behind. He glanced at you briefly, his sharp gaze briefly meeting yours, before turning back to the window.

You could feel the unease in your chest, the uncertainty of what the future held now that everything had changed so dramatically. The faces of your family, especially your mother’s sad, distant eyes, lingered in your mind. You wanted to ask Aemond something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come.

After a few moments of silence, Aemond finally spoke, his voice low and steady. “This is just the beginning,” he said, his tone unreadable. “Tonight will be a celebration, but our real journey starts now.”

You nodded silently, unsure of how to respond. His words, while true, only served to deepen the unease in your heart. The path ahead felt uncertain, filled with obligations and expectations that you hadn’t been prepared for.

The carriage jolted slightly as it continued down the road toward the Red Keep, and you couldn’t help but wonder what awaited you there. Would it be a new chapter of your life, one you could come to accept? Or would it be a never-ending struggle, one you were ill-prepared for?

For now, you stayed silent, lost in your thoughts, while Aemond remained ever watchful, his presence a constant reminder of the new reality you both now had to face.

The grand hall of the Red Keep was filled with an air of formality as the feast began. The tables were laden with food, and the chatter of the nobility filled the air, but the weight of the moment hung heavily over you. You sat beside Aemond, your hand resting lightly on the table, surrounded by the most important figures of the realm.

Alicent sat beside you, her presence a reminder of the expectations that now rested on your shoulders. Across from you, your mother sat next to Aemond, her face carefully neutral, though you could feel the distance between you. Aegon and Helaena flanked the table, their expressions unreadable, their usual carefree demeanor absent.

The king, Viserys, raised his goblet, his voice booming through the hall as he stood to give a speech. “Tonight, we celebrate the union of two great houses,” he began, his eyes briefly meeting yours with a solemn smile. “Aemond, my son, and my dear granddaughter, we welcome you into this new chapter of our family’s legacy. May your marriage strengthen the ties that bind us all.”

The guests raised their glasses, their eyes upon you, as the king continued with a few more words of congratulation, but his voice felt distant. You could feel the tension in the room, the expectations, the silent judgment of those who were watching you both closely. It was as though your marriage was not just a union of two people, but a political alliance with the power to shape the future of the realm.

Aemond remained calm, his gaze steady and unwavering, as always. His posture was perfect, the image of a prince, and yet you couldn’t help but feel the distance between you both. Your fingers tightened on the edge of your goblet, your mind swirling with the reality of the path ahead.

The king’s speech concluded, and he returned to his seat, raising his glass one more time in honor of your union. Everyone followed suit, including your mother, who briefly met your eyes, her expression a mix of sorrow and pride.

But you were left with your own thoughts, the words of your new husband echoing in your mind. “This is just the beginning.” What did that truly mean for you, for your family, for your future?

The night continued on, the banquet proceeding with laughter and conversation, but the weight of it all remained on your shoulders.

As Aemond stood and extended his hand to you, the noise of the banquet seemed to fade into the background. The warm glow of the torches in the hall illuminated his intense gaze as he led you to the center of the room. You hesitated for only a moment, before accepting his hand. There was a silent understanding between the two of you as he guided you to the dance floor.

The music played softly, its slow, melodic rhythm matching the beating of your heart. Aemond’s grip was firm, his touch grounding you as you moved together in perfect harmony. For the briefest of moments, the weight of the world seemed to lift. The chaos, the whispers, the tension—they were all forgotten as the two of you danced.

“You don’t have to think about any of it,” Aemond’s voice broke through the silence between you, calm and assuring. “The whispers, the looks, the expectations—they don’t matter now. You have me.”

His words, simple yet resolute, settled into your chest. The unspoken bond between you both deepened in that moment, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you allowed yourself to feel something other than the heavy pressure of duty and destiny.

You met his gaze, a small, quiet smile playing on your lips. His presence, steady and unwavering, was a comfort amid the storm of your emotions. You didn’t have to say anything. His words alone, as rare as they were, were enough.

The dance continued, your bodies moving effortlessly together, and for the first time in a long while, you let yourself believe that maybe, just maybe, things could be different. Perhaps there was more to this than just an arranged marriage—perhaps there was a chance to build something real, something of your own.

For now, it was just you and him, lost in the rhythm of the music, the eyes of the world no longer mattering in that moment.

As the music reached its crescendo, Aemond spun you gracefully, your gown swirling around you like waves of silk. The world seemed to slow, the flickering glow of the torches casting golden light on the two of you. When you turned back to face him, his hands found your waist, steadying you with a firm but gentle hold.

His gaze locked onto yours, unwavering and intense. There was something different in his eyes—not the usual cold calculation, but a warmth reserved only for you. Without a word, he leaned in, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t.

When his lips finally met yours, the room erupted in cheers and applause. The lords and ladies clapped, their voices rising in celebration, but it all faded into a dull hum in your ears. The kiss was soft but sure, filled with a quiet kind of promise. His touch was not a claim of possession but one of reassurance, grounding you in a way you hadn’t realized you needed.

Your heart pounded in your chest, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his tunic. The warmth of him, the weight of his presence, was steady and constant. You could feel the world watching, but for once, you didn’t care. Here, in this moment, it was just the two of you.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on you, his hand lifting to brush a loose strand of hair from your face. His eyes traced your features as if memorizing them, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. The cheers grew louder, but Aemond didn’t turn to face them. His eyes remained on you, as if to say, Let them watch. Let them see who you belong to—but more than that, see who belongs to you.

The moment lingered like a held breath before he finally turned with you in his arms, facing the crowd with that familiar cool, commanding presence. But his hand never left yours, his thumb tracing soft circles on your palm—a silent reminder that, no matter who watched, he was yours now, and you were his.

The hall fell silent at the lord’s boisterous shout, the echo of “Bedding ceremony!” reverberating off the stone walls. Whispers spread like wildfire through the crowd, lords and ladies exchanging glances with growing excitement. The atmosphere shifted, filled with a mixture of amusement, expectation, and mischief.

Your mother, Rhaenyra, rose from her seat, her face tense with barely restrained anger. “That will not be necessary,” she said firmly, her voice cutting through the noise with regal authority. Her eyes darted toward you, a silent plea for you to follow her lead.

But before she could say more, you stood. Your eyes swept across the crowd, meeting the stares of lords and ladies alike. Their gazes carried a mixture of curiosity and judgment, but you did not falter. Aemond’s hand tightened around yours, a steadying presence at your side.

“Tradition is tradition,” you said, your voice clear and calm. The murmur of the crowd quieted as your words settled in the air. “If this is what is expected of us, then we shall fulfill it.” You raised your chin, every inch the daughter of a queen. “Let them see that I am not afraid.”

Aemond glanced at you, his gaze unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, the corner of his mouth curved into a small, sharp smile. Pride flickered in his eye, and he turned to face the hall, his voice sharp and commanding. “You have asked for tradition,” he said, his tone like steel wrapped in silk. “Then tradition you shall have.”

The lords erupted into cheers and laughter, their earlier whispers turning into roars of approval. A few of the younger knights began to rise from their seats, ready to follow the old custom of carrying the bride and groom to the marriage bed.

Alicent’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parting as if to protest, but she quickly pressed them into a thin line. She glanced at you, her face filled with something that looked like pride… and perhaps a flicker of guilt.

Rhaenyra, however, looked furious. She stepped forward, her eyes locked on you, pleading silently. But you didn’t look away. This was your choice now. Her power over you had waned the moment she left you in the Red Keep. She knew it too.

As the knights approached, you glanced at Aemond, and he inclined his head ever so slightly—a silent promise. You knew, in that moment, that you would not be alone in this. You were no longer just a daughter of Rhaenyra. You were now a wife, a queen in your own right, and with Aemond by your side, you would not be moved by whispers or judgment.

The hands of the knights reached for you and Aemond, lifting you both into the air as the crowd’s cheers grew louder. Your heart pounded in your chest, but not from fear. You met Aemond’s gaze as you were carried together toward the chamber doors. His eye was sharp with focus, his lips barely moving as he whispered words only for you to hear:

“Let them watch. Let them know we are unbreakable.”

And as the doors to your chamber swung open, the noise of the crowd behind you felt distant, their jeers and cheers like echoes from another world. The heavy oak doors shut behind you with a resounding thud, cutting off the outside world entirely.

In the quiet of the chamber, with only the soft crackle of the hearth to fill the silence, Aemond’s gaze shifted. Gone was the sharpness, the command. His eye lingered on you with something softer—something only for you.

“Are you afraid?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You met his gaze, steady as your heart finally calmed. “No,” you replied softly. “Not anymore.”

He reached for you slowly, his hands gentle as they touched your face, his thumb brushing lightly along your cheekbone. “Good,” he said, his voice a whisper of steel and warmth. “Because neither am I.”

you looked at aemond, his hand gently caressed your cheek. his touch was so soft, you closed your eyes when you felt his lips touch yours. he slowly untied your dress until it fell around your feet, then he led you towards the bed without breaking the kiss.

you lay down while staring at his face, his silver hair framed his face softly. he slowly opened the tunic that was attached to his body, you could hear whispers from behind the curtains in your room. they were watching. but you weren't afraid, no.

Aemond kissed you again and then he moved to kiss your shoulder, you sighed softly when he started kissing your neck. "are you ready?," he whispered softly in your ear, making sure only you could hear his voice. you nodded.

without thinking aemond kissed you again, you put your hands around his neck. giving him orders to do more to you, his hands began to untie his pants and now he and you were both naked.

"I need your permission" he breathed into your skin.

his fingers dancing around your entrance. you can feel the eagerness radiating off of his body, daring him to push forward into you. He needed to hear you say it.

"Oh god..." you breathed, "yes- Aemond please."

Without warning, he pushed two fingers deep inside of you, hitting your sweet spot. Your mouth dropped open, silent gasps escaping between those swollen lips. You pushed your hips up against his hand, searching for more. You was searching for release but he didn't want to give it to you yet.

His thumb flicked against your clit, sending your eyes into the back of your skull. "Fuck, she looked so fucking good like that." he thought as he feel his erection growing and pushing against your inner thigh. It was enough to drive him mad - utterly insane.

"I want you..." he hissed into your mouth, your breath mixing together in perfect harmony.

"Then take me….." you fired back, That's all the permission he needed you to say. His lips crashed into your with passion and hunger. Your hands moved up into his hair, yanking and pulling at it.

He snaked his head back down to your neck, sucking the sweet, sensitive spot that he knew would cause you to moan.

Sweet, earth shattering moans escaped your lips and your eyes rolled back in your head. Instantly, you pushed and pulled against him, trying to get the friction to release the pressure that you was feeling between your thighs. You wrapped her legs around him tightly and he pulled you in closer, feeling his cock push against your cunt. In one smooth motion, you both feel backwards into the bed. Your kisses become erratic and sloppy as you gripped onto each other for dear life. It was like you couldn't get enough of each other in that moment; you both needed more.

Herubbed his hand over his throbbing length. Slowly, he rubbed his tip over your opening, feeling your arousal coating the tip.

"this one might hurt" he breathed through clenched teeth.

He grabbed your hips and slowly pushed into you, letting you adjust to his size. He watched as your back arched in sheer pleasure and pain.

"You are squeezing my cock" he growled, "relax." as he kissed your face, he pushed into you deeper, gripping your hips tightly. He slowly move in and out of you.

"You are so tight" he breathed.

He felt your walls squeeze his length tightly. He watched as you squirmed under him, wanting more from him.

"Please, Aemond fuck me " she demanded.

You reached up for him, pulling his body against your own. The feeling of your bare flesh against each other was so erotic. he could feel your all around him in that moment. You snaked your hand around his neck, pulling his head to your's as your foreheads collided.

"Fuck..." you both moaned in unison.

His hips thrusted into you over and over again, causing you to cry out in pleasure each thrust. He watched you under him arch your back in sheer pleasure. His hands pushed into your hips, keeping you steady while he fucked you as deep as he could.

"I'm going to...." your eyelids fluttered shut.

"That's it-" he breathed into you, "come undone for me, love."

He hovered over you, throwing your legs over his shoulder, thrusting deeper inside of you. You felt so good, he was losing his mind. Your walls clenched around his, as your mouth fell open. He felt a rush of liquid move over his cock as you covered him with your wetness. He wasn't finished with you just yet. He grabbed your hips and in one swift movement flipped you around, bending you over the bed.

He wrapped one hand around your hair, yanking your head back. His other hand reached around your body. Moans escaped your lips, echoing throughout the stonewall of your chambers. He watched as his cock slid in and out of your wetness.

"Fuck" he breathed.

You looked over your shoulder at him, your wet hair plastered to her face and your dark eyes bright.

"Come for me, Aemond" you breathed. "fill me with your seed"

those words made him come inside you, you moaned as you felt his warm seed fill you up. you felt him kiss your shoulder and then he hugged you and laid you down on the bed

He pulled the blanket over you with gentle hands, his touch careful and deliberate. Leaning down, he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead — warm, steady, and reassuring. It wasn’t the fiery passion you expected from a husband, but something deeper. Something that made you feel safe.

“Rest now,” Aemond murmured, his voice low but firm, the kind of tone that left no room for argument.

And for once, you didn’t argue. Your eyes grew heavy as exhaustion from the long day finally claimed you. The last thing you felt was the warmth of his presence next to you, the steady rise and fall of his breathing lulling you to sleep.

When you woke the next morning, the sun was peeking through the curtains, casting soft golden rays across the room. You blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. Slowly, you sat up, stretching out the stiffness in your limbs.

But something was missing.

You glanced to your side, your hand brushing against the cold, empty space on the bed where Aemond had lain. Frowning, you scanned the room. The chair near the hearth was empty. The sound of footsteps, the rustle of clothes — none of it was there. He was gone.

Your fingers lightly grazed the pillow he had used, still faintly warm but already cooling. A sigh escaped your lips. You knew where he was. It was Aemond, after all. Of course, he was already up.

“He must be training,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing your eyes. It was just like him to be up at dawn, perfecting his swordplay while the world still slept.

You lay back down for a moment, staring at the ceiling with quiet thoughts swirling in your mind. It wasn’t like you expected him to stay, but… a part of you had hoped he would.

You stood before the mirror, smoothing down the fabric of your gown. The rich green silk hugged your form perfectly, adorned with delicate golden embroidery that shimmered in the morning light. This color — once foreign to you — had become a part of you now. It no longer felt strange. It felt inevitable.

With a steadying breath, you turned from the mirror, lifting your head high as you made your way toward the door. The clinking of your heeled footsteps echoed down the stone corridor as you stepped out. Your gaze was sharp, forward-facing, and unwavering.

Servants and courtiers paused as you passed, their murmurs and whispers too faint to hear but their eyes loud with judgment. Some glanced at you with shock, others with disapproval, and a few with quiet respect. “The daughter of Rhaenyra, wearing green,” you imagined them saying. But none of it mattered. Not anymore.

You didn’t slow your pace. You didn’t lower your head. Let them stare. Let them talk. Their words were hollow, and their gazes held no power over you. You had learned that power didn’t come from pleasing them — it came from walking forward, unbothered and unyielding.

The warmth of the sun filtered in through the narrow windows, streaking the cold stone with golden light. The air smelled faintly of the sea and ash, a scent so familiar it had become part of you. Your gown flowed behind you like a banner, the symbol of your new place in this game of thrones.

Green. Not red, not black. Green. And as you walked, you realized something. You no longer felt the need to justify it.

You were walking along the corridor of the Red Keep, your steps light as you made your way to the balcony that overlooked the training yard. The sounds of clashing swords and the shouts of soldiers filled the air, the yard alive with activity. You spotted him almost immediately—your husband, Aemond, sparring with Ser Criston. The two were moving with precision, their swords flashing in the sunlight.

A small smile tugged at your lips as you watched him. There was something oddly reassuring about seeing him in his element, focused and commanding, even in the midst of a battle. You felt a warmth spread through you, a strange comfort knowing that this was the man you were now bound to.

But before you could indulge further in the moment, you heard footsteps behind you. A familiar voice interrupted your thoughts.

“Is this how you spend your days now?” Jace’s voice was tinged with frustration as he appeared in your line of sight. His expression was a mix of sadness and anger, but it softened when his eyes met yours.

You turned to face him, your smile fading slightly as you noticed the hurt in his gaze. “Jace,” you greeted softly, feeling the tension in the air. “What brings you here?”

He stepped closer, his eyes flicking toward Aemond in the yard, then back to you. “I had hoped you’d be different,” he said quietly. “I never thought you would join them, that you would choose this… this life.”

You felt a pang in your chest. Jace’s words, though quiet, cut deeper than you’d expected. But you couldn’t let them sway you, not now. You had made your choice.

“I didn’t choose this easily, Jace,” you replied, your voice steady, though there was a hint of sadness lingering. “But it is my choice, now."

Jace looked at you for a long moment, his face softening. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could speak, you turned your attention back to the training yard. Aemond had finished his sparring and was now walking toward the side of the yard, wiping sweat from his brow. He was still too far to hear, but you could feel his presence in the air.

“Please understand,” you murmured, more to yourself than to Jace. “This… this is the life I have now.”

Jace didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on you. It was clear he wasn’t ready to let go of what once was, but you had to. You had no choice.

Aemond’s voice cut through the tension, his presence near you a steadying force. Both you and Jace turned to face him, and you could see the protective glint in his eyes as he stood beside you, his posture poised but fierce. He glanced at Jace for a moment, his gaze sharp, before looking back at you.

“Is he bothering you again?” Aemond’s voice was low, but there was a clear edge to it.

You shook your head quickly, not wanting the situation to escalate. “No, Aemond. Everything is fine,” you said, offering a small smile, though there was a lingering sadness in your heart. You didn’t want Aemond to get involved in this—didn’t want him to see the cracks in your relationships with your family.

Jace, however, didn’t look convinced. His gaze lingered on Aemond for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully before speaking. “I’m not here to cause trouble,” Jace said, his tone cooler now. “I just wanted to talk. But it seems things have changed.”

You sighed, stepping away from the edge of the balcony, feeling the weight of both men’s eyes on you. “Things have changed, Jace,” you said softly, unable to avoid the truth. “I have changed.”

Aemond’s hand subtly brushed against your back, a silent gesture of support. His presence was a comfort, even if Jace’s disappointment was hard to ignore.

Jace took a step back, his gaze lingering on you one last time. “I wish you hadn’t chosen this, but… I understand.” There was no anger in his voice now, just a quiet sadness. He turned to leave, but before he did, he looked back once more. “Take care of her,” he said to Aemond, his voice surprisingly soft.

Aemond gave a curt nod, his expression unreadable, but you knew that he would honor the unspoken promise. As Jace walked away, the silence between you and Aemond grew, but it wasn’t uncomfortable.

“You okay?” Aemond asked, his voice now gentle, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

You looked at him, grateful for his understanding. “I am now,” you whispered.

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