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The air in Driftmark is crisp and salty. Cold seawater lightly sprays on Aemond's face as he descends on Vhagar. The wings of the great beast causes the waves to crash harder against the rocky coves of the shore and the lush trees to bow. In Aemond's head, this is a testament to his greatness; far from the Aemond who had first set foot on Driftmark all those years ago.
While Aemond never particularly enjoyed any circumstance which required him to see his relatives, he is, at least, slightly grateful that the festivities would be held in Driftmark, rather than in Dragonstone. The island was barren and rocky, with a heat too punishing to sustain much variety of life. He does not know how his sister's arrogance and entitlement allowed her to accept residence in such a revolting place.
The welcoming party was sparse; it was not a surprise. Aemond was a mere second son. He had flown ahead of his weak-willed father, mother, grandfather, and siblings to ensure that the apartments are ready for the King's and his family's arrival. With him, a large group of other lords from both major houses and minor houses have arrived with their respective parties.
Aemond scoffs at their extravagant displays; multiple carriages carrying gifts, a whole party of knights, and loudly colored banners boasting each house. A poor attempt to assert greatness which simply is not there. After all, what do they expect to get from the festivities? They were simply there for the week-long celebration of a second son's nameday.
As he descends the great beast, Aemond sees the likes of Cregan Stark and Qoren Martell present. He knows that these fools only want to show whatever poor skill they have during the tourney set for tomorrow - the first of the many nauseating events planned for Lucerys Velaryon. Winning any of the competitions, even the tourney, would not lead to any favor that these other houses may hope for; the daughters of Daemon Targaryen are already betrothed to his weakling nephews. He simply could not see why such a fuss had been made by these people.
Aemond mentally reminds himself to tell his mother that he will not participate in the tourney. He loathes tourneys - hates how it makes pathetic boys think they are good enough with the sword and the lance, hates how shamelessly supposedly honorable men act frivolously as they ask for the favors of the maidens, and hates its pretentiousness and vulgarity.
High Tide stands in its pale beauty with an almost welcoming manner, much kinder than how both King's Landing and Dragonstone appear. It seems as if The Velaryons spared no mind as to how much the nameday of their heir would cost. That much was clear. Even the drawbridge had hangings of rich silk in varying hues of blue. Aemond thinks that such is a safety hazard, but he is not surprised; The Sea Snake always seemed too fond of his heir and "grandson".
The arriving party was welcomed by too many people this time, Aemond decided. There were more than a handful of servants waiting on them; a number of stable boys took the horses of the arriving lords and squires, attendants oversaw the care of whatever possessions these visitors dragged with them, and upon arrival at the main gate, each were presented with welcoming gifts, including a ring made of Valyrian Steel and adorned with an impressive pearl at the middle.
While most of the lords and noblemen appeared impressed and gracious, Aemond merely scoffed. Does Lord Corlys Velaryon think such gifts would soften his disdain for his nephew? Such was truly a curious thought as The One-Eyed Prince was not the only one receiving such gifts.
If the outside of the castle looked extravagant, its halls were even more so. Silks tastefully draped from the ceiling, against the walls, and around chandeliers - pearls, seashells, and crystals dancing from where they hung. Even the torches were dressed with relics from the sea. They were really committed to the image of the bastard being The Lord of the Tides. Well, The Lord of the Tides some time in the future.
Aemond is already familiar with the castle. He allows his companions to walk ahead of him as they stare around in awe. Slightly ahead of them, before the castle splits into different wings, one of the inner baileys present a picturesque sight; a garden with lush trees, a variety of fruits hanging from some of them, vines of different shades of green climbing up the walls and framing the large windows, an arbor embraced by pastel wisterias stands near one of the entrances, and flowers of every color imaginable grow in abundance around the courtyard.
A strong breeze carries the sweet scent of the fruits and flowers around them, making everyone look towards the inner bailey as they pass. Huh. Aemond did not know of The Velaryons having a ward.
On the lush ground, a blanket of pale Myrish Lace is haphazardly laid out. The garden was an impressive sight, but the vision lounging in it even more so; a lady with dark hair is languidly sprawled on top of the blanket, wearing nothing, but a long white shift. Only, the shift is not covering much with how translucent it is. A scandal! The lady is turned away from them, looking towards the sun as she shades her eyes with her graceful pale hands. The sunlight illuminates her already porcelain skin.
She turns on her stomach and the shift lifts higher up her thighs. Plush, milky, blemish-free. She playfully swings her legs back and forth. An uncomfortable shock travels to Aemond's groin, his trousers suddenly feeling tighter.
How can a lady of such station behave so wantonly and carelessly? With the sound of their shuffling feet, there is no way for her not to have heard people arriving. Had Lord Corlys tasked Rhaenyra, his whore of a sister, to influence the rearing of his House's ward? What a pity. The lady could have been brought up with honor had she been sent to them, instead. Him, his mind traitorously supplies.
Not far ahead of them, one of the welcoming stewardesses clears her throat. "My Lords," she begins with a weak voice. She anxiously pulls at her sleeves and shyly looks towards the inner bailey.
They have all, apparently, stopped walking - pausing in front of the archway leading out to the garden. The fool, Qoren Martell, was in the middle of walking towards the archway, no doubt forgetting himself and attempting to approach the barely decent lady.
The noise from the stewardess's throat finally breaks the seeming daydream and trance that the lady was in. She turns slightly, most of her face still being obscured by her hair. Her eyes widen in shock as she registers the sight of numerous men watching her. Her sight lands on Aemond and something seems to register in her mind. Quickly averting her gaze, she sits up, covers her shoulders with a heavier shawl, and hurriedly snatches the blanket she was laying on.
The stewardess clears her throat once more. "My Lords, may we continue leading you towards your rooms?" She turns away with her eyebrows raised and begins walking. Aemond hears her mutter under her breath. "Seems like you have already met Lord Corlys's favorite."
Aemond scoffs at this. It seems that none of that side of the family can remain faithful to their spouses.
The party finally moves again. The lady has long rushed towards the other archway, presumably towards her chambers. The men appear to have lost their interest on the garden. Aemond still wonders how such a lady is allowed to walk around wearing barely anything. If Aemond was her guardian...
His thoughts are interrupted by the low chuckle of Cregan Stark. One of the lords, his grating voice pointing to him being one of The Lannisters, speaks without turn. "Well, that is one thing I hope to take home with me!" Aemond could only shoot him a glance of disgust.
They continue walking, no doubt having their tiredness return to them in absence of a siren to gawk at. They split at the end of the corridor, with the visitors being divided between each wing of the castle. Knowing that they are expected to greet The Lord of the Tides once they are presentable, Aemond decides to inspect the quarters meant for his family later in the day. He should change out of his riding clothes, try to make himself look more like a prince.
The party meets again at the entrance of the great hall before noon strikes. Dressed in their house colors, the lords file in once the door was opened.
Lord Corlys Velaryon sits with both command and ease on The Driftwood Throne. Princess Rhaenys is noticeably absent, preferring to oversee more of the preparations for the welcoming dinner later that night and for tomorrow's tourney than to exchange fake niceties with people she was not particularly fond of.
Towards the left side of the throne stands Rhaenyra in a color she rarely chooses. The crown princess is dressed in a flowing midnight blue velvet gown with a corseted bodice and draped skirt, embellished with clear sea glass. Keeping up with what appears to be the theme of the festivities, her silver-gold hair is adorned with a pearl crown, while her ears and fingers are adorned with even more sea glass. She is carrying a blabbering Viserys and holding the hand of a curious Aegon, both dressed in identical dragon-pattered maroon tunics and black hoses. Standing behind Rhaenyra are most of her brood. Jacaerys is dressed in a patterned brocade of red and black, a cape held together by a shining gold dragon with rubies for eyes. Beside him, Baela stares at the party with little interest in a burgundy silk gown embellished with black amethysts, which forms half a dragon wing from her left-side waist, spreading across her chest and towards her right shoulder. Rhaena, wearing an indigo silk gown with aquamarine clasps at the shoulder and details forming a seahorse tail wrapped around her waist, is playing with Joffrey right next to Baela. The youngest of Rhaenyra's children "with" Laenor, too, is dressed in the colors of House Velaryon. He wears a cerulean tunic with gold trimmings and an aegean damask cape.
Out of all of Aemond's sister's children, it is strange for Lucerys to be the one who was missing. Seemingly in place of him, the lady they saw at the garden earlier that day stands a few distance behind the right side of Lord Corlys. She is dressed in what appears to be a long shift with alternating layers of sheer muslin in powder blue, breeze blue, and light turquoise. Over it, she is decked in a floor-length sapphire blue surcoat. Pearls, seashells, and gold sea glass are embroidered on her clothes, the details forming intricate seahorses kissing at her waist. While her shoulder-length curls fall freely, the strands of her almost black hair is adorned with pearls. A sheer light blue muslin veil, so light that it appears white in the sunlight, hangs behind her head, down to the floor - clipped at her temples with pearls and seashells. It is strange, how a mere ward is dressed more richly than members of the royal family. Her plush red lips contrast beautifully against her ivory skin, while a blush sits high on the apples of her cheeks. Large hazel eyes framed by long dark lashes scan the faces in the room. A mole sits near her left eye and towards the left of her mouth.
A fucking sight. Every lord present audibly takes in a deep breath and if one would ask Aemond, they held that breath for a very long time. The lady raises her eyebrows at this, a frown decorating her face. Aemond notices Lord Corlys's disapproval, while his sister attempts to hide a smile. He hears Jacaerys groan as the twins giggle slightly.
Each lord and their respective companions introduce themselves to Lord Corlys, greeting him and sending their regards to the absent Prince Lucerys. Gifts of varying sizes and shapes are presented for what seems to be hours, but the prince never shows up.
Anything at court bores even these lords, whether they admit it or not. The long and taxing presentation would make anyone want to jump in front of a flying arrow. Aemond, much like the other noblemen around him, entertains himself by staring at the lady behind Lord Corlys. He mentally notes that he must visit the Sept afterwards, and pray continuously as he walks for the rest of the day. The maiden is obviously unnerved, if not downright fearful. Aemond is only a little hurt; he has long accepted that people would fear looking at his deformed face, courtesy of the boy he is supposed to be visiting for that week.
The drag of the day continues, until it was Qoren Martell's turn to greet The Lord of the Tides. After presenting his gifts, the lord confidently tries to prolong their conversation. "I did not know that our Sea Snake and the Princess Rhaenys had a beautiful younger daughter. Even more beautiful than The Maiden's images."
The silence is deafening. Lord Corlys furrows his eyebrows.
The Dornishman is obviously caught off guard. "That Crown Princess Rhaenyra had a daughter," he tries once more.
This time, Lord Corlys speaks in is heavy voice. "What on Earth do you mean, Boy?"
Qoren clears his throat. "I only mean," he begins. "Uh..."
He awkwardly approaches the throne, but moves to Lord Corlys's side, towards the maiden. He grabs her hand with a bravado only a Dornishman would have, and places a loud kiss on the lady's slim hands.
"I only hope to send my admiration to the Princess?" Qoren waits for a name that never comes.
The maiden's mouth opens, affording the room a view of her two front teeth. 'She looks like a shocked bunny', Aemond thinks. Her eyebrows are almost stitched together in her utter confusion. Jacaerys draws his sword, his face forming a scowl. Baela holds his sword arm in both hands in an attempt to stop him from removing the fool's head. Baela was murmuring something to Jacaerys's ear. Curious. Aemond always thought that the weakling was betrothed to Daemon's copy. Such a reaction was surprising, to say the least.
Rhaena bursts in laughter, but she quickly covers her mouth. Joffrey starts marching towards Qoren, but Rhaena quickly stops him. In the middle of the standstill, Rhaenyra simply looks on with twinkling eyes and a wide grin.
"Prince," the lady finally speaks. Her voice is like honey, which is perhaps why Aemond did not process what she was saying.
Qoren stares on in uncertainty.
The maiden giggles melodiously and this time, Lord Corlys laughs, too. "Prince," she says again.
Everyone looks on dumbly, none of the guests understanding what such a word means.
"I am a prince, my lord," the maiden shares kindly.
Lord Corlys interrupts, then. "Surely, you would know Prince Lucerys Velaryon, young boy," he says proudly.
Qoren is quiet for only a few moments. A wide smile forms on his face. "A very beautiful prince, then, Prince Lucerys." He kisses the boy's hand once more. The whorish bastard beams gorgeously back at the fool.
And Aemond did not like that. He did not like that one bit. He would ask how dare they mistake the prince for a lady, but he, too, had made the same miscalculation. He did not understand why everyone was acting besotted with his nephew; the demon who took his eye!
Qoren takes the opportunity to ask something terribly arrogant that it made Aemond want to draw his sword, too.
"May I, then, respectfully ask the prince's favor for tomorrow's tourney?"
An odd request, in Aemond's eyes, as most people ask for the favor of ladies, not spoiled boys. His nephew, in his whorish nature, is obviously about to agree.
By The Seven's graces, Lord Corlys interrupts. "Well, I think it might be too early for that, no?"
Eager to please his grandfather, Lucerys agrees. "Perhaps tomorrow, my lord," he says, instead.
Qoren graciously accepts his response, nodding his head. "Tomorrow, then," he replies, still staring at Lucerys. Aemond does not know why the picture of Vhagar scorching the Dornishman into a crisp brings him comfort.
Aemond restricts himself from making a scene, from punching Qoren as he descends the stairs from the throne. Lucerys is still looking fondly at him, a genuine smile gracing his admittedly divine face and his eyes crinkling at its edges. Aemond does not understand how he feels; he wants to scream, accuse Lucerys of ignoring him, summon Vhagar to burn them all, and he hopes that the walls of Driftmark would suddenly crumble and kill them all, including him - all at once.
Lord Corlys finally dismisses them. Aemond takes one more look at his bastard nephew, now kneeling beside Lord Corlys in conversation. He kisses his grandfather's cheek, before approaching his mother and siblings in flighty steps.
Aemond is devastated and confused. His heart is hammering loudly inside his chest, there is a pit in his stomach, and the mirage of his nephew's face and swinging legs invade his mind.
Dragons do not bow to anything; not to wolves, not to lions, and not even to the sun.
As he walks away from the throne, towards the great hall's double doors, he decides that joining the tourney might not be grueling after all. Who else is there to prove the greatness of his House, if not him?
He wonders where exactly Lucerys sleeps, too. He must catch him away from prying eyes. Only to get back at him for his eye, of course.