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“Rhaena.”
Rhaena set down the book that had captured her so thoroughly as of late. Instinctively, she concealed it beneath another, almost certain her father would discourage the recent interest she found in tales of passion and love; tales only possible upon a page.
“Father?”
Daemon beckoned her beside him. A leather-bound book was in front of him. He inched it towards her.
“Would you read this for me?”
Upon closer inspection of the worn pages, Rhaena came to realize it was not necessarily a book, per se, but more of a journal, or a diary. The breath she took to begin reading died as the indecipherable scrawls bypassed her comprehension completely.
“It is beautiful.” Rhaena could not lift her eyes away from the page. “What does it say?”
“Indeed, what does it say?” Daemon clapped, “This, my child, is the only handwritten document left by The Black Bride.”
“Queen Rhaena!”
“Yes.”
Very quickly the diary became the most fascinating thing in existence. Rhaena could not hold her excitement!
“But, what does it say?”
Daemon smiled, “I am afraid that remains a secret to the both of us.”
Rhaena could not accept that. Though, if her father could not decipher it, then how possibly could she? That only made her drawn to the diary even more, lowering her face and squinting as if suddenly the words would become clear.
“Do not fret—“
“It is in High Valyrian.”
Daemon paused, surprised at the speed of his daughter’s observation, one that had not even occurred to him, despite making perfect sense. Rhaena mumbled, stopped, and went over it again. Daemon observed her concentration, recognizing a familiar sentiment he held towards the histories as a younger man. Her mother was still alive then, a time that felt so long ago.
“Look. Right here it says, Patiently, forever I wait, for my—“ she pointed, then attempted to hand it back to him, “I do not know this word.”
Her father glanced down at the still puzzling document, shook his head, and placed a tender hand over hers.
“Keep it. It is now yours.”
Rhaena made it her mission to decipher the diary of Queen Rhaena. It was always with her. She ate with it. Slept with it. Nearly had it confiscated during her weaving lessons, almost ruined it while swimming with her half and step-siblings, and was very close to losing it forever upon Vermithor.
To give up was to betray the women she was named after, and that would not do.
“That must be a metaphor,” her father suggested. “Much meaning can be lost in translation to the Common Tongue.”While acceptable, something nagged. Metaphors were not Queen Rhaena’s preferred style.
Before she could express this, her father insisted that he had something of great importance to tell her. When he was finished, she clutched the diary close to her heart. It began beating wildly, but she ignored it, agreeing with her father as duty required of her.
“Our family will leave for King’s Landing come the morrow.”
While the proposal had not been his idea, Daemon understood that the permanence of their privileged positions was contingent upon the fulfillment of duty. By The Seven, how his younger self would find him unrecognizable. Noticing his daughter’s concealed distress, Daemon reassured her with an embrace.
“I know this may be different from your desires, but there are worse men to wed.” Rhaena nodded, halfheartedly. “Lucerys is a man now, but still young like yourself. His time with Vaemond has made him experienced with the tides. It has come time for him to inherit Driftmark from The Sea Snake.” Demon held her shoulders, “Come a year's time, you will be Lady of Driftmark and inherit their substantial Valyrian
library.”
Rhaena gave a small smile, at least there was that.
“Yes, father. I understand.”
It was wonderful to see Baela again. While their separation on Dragonstone and Driftmark was interrupted by sporadic visits each year, every instance which they reunited was without lapse or disconnect. Their connection was seamless until it was not. It appeared Baela was to wed Jacaerys, and unlike Rhaena, was fully ecstatic about it.
Indeed, Lucerys was no longer the short, baby-faced boy she remembered. He stood taller than her now and exuded a rugged confidence only a man of the sea could develop. He was kind, yes, but their interests hardly aligned. When she shared the diary project that had passionately taken hold within her life, he questioned the worth of deciphering the words of those long-dead.
While Rhaena was sure he meant no offense, it bothered her. It was as if he had insulted Queen Rhaena herself, and the words that had become such an extension to her.
Rhaena sought refuge among the maze of bookcases within the library of the Red Keep. It would be hours until they noticed her disappearance, and she planned to take full advantage.
Rhaena and Lucerys’ engagement was the celebration of the week, well, depending on who you asked. For her, it was an unnecessary drag.
The worn diary was opened and nothing else mattered after that. Rhaena fervently deciphered her ancestor’s beautiful handwriting, occasionally whispering the words to herself. In her concentration, she missed the opening and closing of a door, along with the careful footsteps that neared her. Once recognizing the weight of being observed, Rhaena jolted in fright and met the eye of her scrutinizer.
“Cousin,” she gasped, placing a hand over her chest “you frightened me.”
Prince Aemond had a talent for not blinking. His gaze was oppressively heavy and exposing, sharply shifting between herself and Queen Rhaena’s diary, this immediately made her self-conscious.
The words of Lucerys rang in the back of her mind, and she instinctively applied them to Aemond. No doubt her cousin, famously considered the best swordsman in the realm, would call her a silly girl playing historian. Rhaena shrunk in her embarrassment and set herself to leave. Pointedly looking forward with the aim to depart unscathed.
While his words stopped her, it was the disbelief and frustration in his voice that made her turn around.
“Do I disgust you to such a magnitude that you cannot even stand the presence of me?”
“I—I am afraid that I do not know what you mean,” Rhaena confessed, confused and greatly affected by the sudden hardness of his face. What had she done?
“Sure you do not. All of you do not. I may no longer have two eyes, but I can see just fine.”
Rhaena was speechless. Did he mistake her abrupt departure for dissatisfaction with his appearance?
“I am—“
“Hold your apologies. I wish not to hear them. Let me excuse myself before you run off in fright.”
“Wait!”
Rhaena called out, clutching the diary. Aemond turned to her, only presenting the unscarred side of his face.
“My departure is not for your appearance it—well, I have never gave any thought to the way you look, well besides your—“ His frown deepened, and she decided to be fully transparent. “I was going to leave because I believed you would find humor in my diary.”
“Hm. And why would I care for the lovesick drivel of my nephew’s betrothed?”
This time, Rhaena thoughtlessly reached for his hand, refusing to be misinterpreted.
“Not my diary, but The Black Bride’s. Queen Rhaena’s. I have been attempting to decipher it,” Aemond did not take his from her hand on his, “And well, some do not approve.”
His silence and scrutiny revived the embarrassment of before, though when she attempted to remove her hand, he would not let her.
“Show me.”
At first, it had bothered her, but quickly it never failed to surprise her each time Aemond fluently deciphered the words of Queen Rhaena. His grasp on the subtle meanings lost in the translation between High Valariyan and the Common Tongue was far stronger than hers.
“The connection she shared with Dreamfyre is one every dragon rider yearns for.”
“Hm. Does Vermithor resist you?”
“Hardly, it is just—“
“Not as described in the diary.”
Rhaena agreed.
“You must know that you could certainly decipher the entire diary.”
“What would the fun be in that?” Aemond handed the diary back to her and began to stand. Rhaena felt an indescribable jolt.
“Before we finish, there is one section that I cannot seem to understand. Shall we give it a look?”
While Rhaena knew there was nothing wrong with her intentions, they were merely two appreciators of history, bonding over their shared interest after all, but it would be untruthful to say that with each meeting, her desire to remain with him increased exponentially.
Aemond regarded the diary between her hands before agreeing. He analyzed the passage that she directed him towards, a smile ghosting his face on occasion.
“Tell me, what do you take this word to mean?”
Rhaena thought, “Pet?”
“Yes, that could work as well,” he hummed. “Rhaena is referring here to a lover.”
A lover? It had never occurred to her that could be the context. Rhaena felt herself heat up, but it was unclear why.
“Plausible. But pet?” Aemond rose a brow, clearly not understanding her confusion. “Does that not strike you as an odd term of endearment?”
“Not at all.”
The heat did not decimate, especially considering the manner in which Aemond looked down at her. It was a quick, fleeting, inconsequential moment where she wondered how he would sound if referring to her as that.
Rhaena was unsure of what to say, unsure of why the diary had transformed into a barrier between the two of them. Reminding them not to cross it.
It was Aemond who made a suggestion. “It has been a long day. Vhagar becomes restless in the absence of flight. Would Vermithor share the same sentiment?”
Rhaena agreed non-verbally. She did not trust herself to speak.
“It appears someone is infatuated with another.” Rhaena had the largest smile spread on her face while observing her content dragon. “He is never this agreeable with the smaller dragons.”
Vermithor twisted his neck and cried out towards the she-dragon a few meters away who was absolutely ignoring him.
Rhaena laughed, “She has you under a spell, does she not?”
Vermithor snorted smoke.
“Hm.”
Rhaena turned towards Aemond, swearing he had spoken. But his mouth remained closed, standing beside Vhagar, and watching her while she caressed Vermithor.
“Sorry, would you repeat that?”
“It was nothing, princess.”
Rhaena attempted to run quickly, but her skirts were simply not designed for such activities. Instead, she found refuge among the labyrinth of shelves within the library. Calming her breathing as much as possible.
“Did you really think that you could begin a chase within the skies and it would not transfer on the ground?”
In the distance, Aemond spoke directly to her, though she could not see him, and neither could he see her.
It was painful not to correct him, because truthfully, Vermithor had begun that chase independently. He was terribly lovestruck, and of course, Rhaena had no choice but to hold on for the ride.
“And, did you truly believe that I would not catch you?”
Rhaena began taking light steps away from the direction she believed Aemond was coming from. No, she did not intend on him catching her. There was something within her, an instinct possibly, that hinted being captured by Aemond was not a good idea. Not good at all.
With a turn, Rhaena nearly sighed in relief as he was nowhere to be seen and the library entrance was merely a few meters away. Before making a bold move towards the exit, Rhaena let out a cry as she was caged from behind in a strong embrace
“I caught you.” It was a whisper against her ear.
As if underwater, words failed to release from her upon taking note of their sudden closeness. The rise and fall of his chest touched her back while his breathing tickled her ear and neck. Rhaena compelled herself to ignore the feeling of his arms beneath the leather, but the more she tried, the harder it became.
What was happening to her?
Aemond partially released, allowing her to face him but still keeping her trapped by his arms.
Were his lips always so soft and enticing?
Lips?
Soft and enticing?
Gods.
And Gods, indeed, for Rhaena felt the most deliciously unfamiliar feeling in her lower abdomen, it gave her a fright. Why did this feel so beyond right, yet incredibly wrong.
Succumbing to his own inner turmoil, Aemond tightly shut his eye and shook his head before opening them again and giving her waist a squeeze. He then lifted her paralyzed hands to his lips and tenderly caressed her fingertips, making it her turn to close her eyes.
Soft and enticing.
“Aemond—“
Aemond mumbled against her fingers, slipping one into his mouth which enraged whatever feeling was brewing in her stomach. Rhaena repeated his name, unsure of why, but thought of doing nothing else. He continued to chant incomprehensibly, and she continued to repeat his name.
“Rhae? Rhae? Are you in here? Baela and Jace are—“
The surprise of Lucerys standing at the library entrance in amazement, accompanied by Aemond continuing to kiss her fingers did not resonate with her until the latter spoke with an indifferent voice.
“Nephew.”
Lucerys starred between the two of them, uncertain but unwavering.
“What is going on here?”
The delay in her response must have displeased him. “Luke, I can—“ He left. Rhaena made an attempt to follow, but Aemond did not let go of her hands.
“Let go.”
“Is that what you desire?”
Was it? There was no response from her, so he released her.
“Father? Princess Rhaenyra? Have you seen Lucerys? We may have had a misunderstanding that I wish to rectify.”
Her stepmother looked upon her curiously before departing without a word, leaving Rhaena with her father. Daemon appeared thoughtful before directing her forward.
“Sit here.”
“Father—“
“Sit.”
She obeyed and waited for what felt like the longest breath of a second. “Father, let me—“
He held up a hand, indicating there was no need for an explanation.
“This is not a fault of yours, but one of mine. I witnessed your happiness this past week, encouraged it even, thinking that finding another close to your age with similar interests would help you make peace with your engagement.” Daemon breathlessly laughed, “Looking from then till now, I suppose it should not have surprised me so.” As if remembering himself, her father’s smile turned into a hard line. “I remember clearly my thoughts as a young man such as Aemond. I can assure you that no good would come of any further contact. You will cease this infatuation with the Prince. Your literary discussions will not continue, your dragon riding must not coincide with his—“
Rhaena interrupted, insisting her father was mistaken. There was nothing inappropriate occurring between herself and Aemond besides…mere historical enthusiasm. Nothing more. Nothing less. Though, the memory of him sucking on her index finger ignited that wonderful feeling within her once again, telling a very different story.
“Rhaena, listen to me. One of the Baratheon girls is promised to Prince Aemond. You are promised to Lucerys Velaryon. Therefore, there will be no further contact. We leave for home this evening.”
“Yes, father. I understand.”
But she did not.
Rhaena knew what her father told her, but she could not leave without saying goodbye.
With the diary clutched to her heart, she spotted him peering outside a balcony. Though upon further inspection, she realized he was in fact passionately writing within a leather-bound book of his own.
He greeted her, “Cousin,” but did not stop the movement of his quill.
Rhaena spoke his name, but he did not respond, and that pained her to no end. Tentatively, she placed her hand onto his moving one. His writing stopped, but his eye did not meet hers.
“We are now leaving for Dragonstone.” Aemond remained silent. “I wanted to leave you with this.” She indicated towards Queen Rhaena’s diary, “You are the only one who can fully decipher her when it would take me two or three lifetimes to do so.” Still, he did not speak, so she continued. “Aemond, I—I do not know when we will see each other again. Though, I could not depart without telling you, our short time together will be one of the most cherished memories of my life.”
Finally, he met her gaze.
“I fear Vermithor may never forgive me for taking him away from the love of his life.” Aemond ducked and shook his head, hiding a smile. “Please, say something.”
Lifting his head once more, the imaginary smile had disappeared and instead replaced it with an intense fire all too fitting for a dragon. Taking the Queen’s diary, he looked it over.
“No. This is yours. I would never take this from you.”
But he did not indicate for her to take it back, almost as if hoping, knowing, that she would not leave without it.
“My father, he forbade…” and yet still she was unsure what exactly he had forbidden.
This time, Aemond did not hide his smile, knowingly chuckling to himself, “Of course he did.”
There was a pause, and neither one of them moved, prolonging the inevitable.
“Rhaena—“
“Aemond—“
Without a thought, she wrapped her arms around his midsection, taking a death breath to brand the memory of him within her forever.
“You stink of dragon.”
Nothing brought more pleasure than hearing and feeling his laugh through his chest. Aemond placed The Queen’s diary with his book upon the balcony ledge, before embracing her, trailing his fingers from her back to the nape of her neck, then her cheek, and eventually her chin. He lifted up her head towards him, simultaneously shaking and nodding his head in disagreement with himself before finally giving a single nod of determination.
“Princess, I am afraid there is no stopping what I am going to do next.”
And she let him.
Upon arriving home, Rhaena immediately slipped away to her favorite spot within the library. While certainly not as large as her Uncle’s in King’s Landing, it served to shield the sudden tears that had arisen once alone.
Rhaena whipped them away to no avail until they ceased on their own terms, and she let out a tired breath.
Surely, those passion and love tales had never described that it would hurt this much.
Opening Queen Rhaena’s diary, she noticed the leather felt slightly different than she remembered, but that thought was quickly dismissed as a disorienting symptom of heartbreak. Though even that explanation could not account for the beautiful handwriting laid in front of her.
Worry not. Queen Rhaena’s diary will remain in safe hands, though, until reunited with its owner, I am afraid any deciphering will be halted indefinitely.
Within this diary, my heart partially resides, for our days together have filled more pages than the few years combined of it being in my possession. Read it if you wish, though, if you were more agreeable to a live rendition, you know where to find me. After all, it was your father who once believed that as dragons, we take what we want.
Your Love, Forever,
Aemond Targaryen