Chapter Text
Aemond is to be wed. With his siblings being promised to one another, King Viserys saw fit to have his second son be given a bride. The boy was bright and his eye had recovered as much as it could given the circumstances, but his father wouldn’t shake the feeling that he was in need of someone to soften his sharpened blade of a personality. Hoping it would decrease the chances of his first son’s supposed fatality. He understood brotherly rivalry, of course he did, Daemon tested him every day in their youth. But Aemond had a limited patience for Aegon, Viserys could tell there was a chance of something dangerous brewing inside that boy.
Aemond ‘One Eye’ was already a very telling name, there was none in the immediate family who would dare promise their daughters to damaged goods, so Viserys had to be clever. The Targarion line was no fragile thing, his decision had to be absolute. Much of the family history was recorded so as king of the seven Kingdoms Viserys demanded that the small council turn their attention towards possible branches in the family web. Months they’d spent searching, old records and ancient accounts of supposed bastards. Something about Maegor 'The Cruel' piqued his interest one night. Six wives, yet not a single heir to the iron throne. Viserys found that hard to believe. So he searched for records of each wife's death, where their pyres had been burnt and their ashes spread. One was missing. Alys Harroway.
“Your Grace, Ulthos is an unknown land. Barbaric. We know little of the current monarchs, save for the wild dragon’s migration patterns or tales from old sailors and fishwives. How are we to know that is there the late Alys Harroway was burned” Otto leaned forward towards the head of the table where the King sat. There was not much point as the room was empty but Otto maintained the hushed tone in his voice, careful to not come off as if he were scolding the King. Although, that is what it sounded like to the Guards stationed outside the doors.
Papers were scattered all over, Viserys lands a finger on one “After the birth of ‘Maegor’s monster’, there is some description of the mother and her babe after the march on Harrenhall where Maegor put their entire garrison to death. The son was said to have been stillborn, without eyes and ‘twisted’ but then…nothing. She simply disappears. Except for a single place located in the south east by one member of the court. Ulthos. Targaryen blood could still exist in these lands. Alys was Maegor’s sister-wife; she must have been exiled there.”
Despite not being loyal to the King this was a decision that still affected his grandson and his daughter’s position on the throne “Their blood would still be diluted, My Lord. Impure. Not a suitable match for your son, surely?” dismissing his advisor's concern, Viserys grins. “This child would be the great-great-granddaughter of Maegor ‘The Cruel’ her blood will be as noble and as pure as my own grandsire, I am sure of it.” Otto simply leans back in his chair, knowing that the King has already latched onto this scheme “and what if the line has died out?”
“Why else would wild dragons travel to these lands, Maegor was bonded to Balerion. If his love was true then it would not be impossible to hide his bride there. It is also another continent we can begin to bind with loyalty to the iron throne.”
Much to Otto’s chagrin the King was actually right, Viserys had sent Daemon and the man had returned fruitful. Alys had remarried into the court and her daughter was crowned queen, securing the Targaryen bloodline despite that name being lost to time. The current King already had a son to keep and the diamond that Viserys had spent so long searching for. A girl, only a couple years younger than his own boy, but a dragon rider none the less. The Dragonkeepers had noticed a shift in Grey Ghost’s feeding patterns years prior, yet no one had suspected a bond. The beast was remarkably elusive, since Viserys was a boy he could remember the many men who failed to tame it. Unlike the more aggressive or large dragons such as the fondly named ‘Cannibal’. Portraits and tapestries of your likeness were sent overseas, along with evidence of character, interests and the like.
You were formidable to say the least, especially for such a young thing. You had taken part in two of your Father’s battles already, and that was before you had Grey Ghost, both of which were victorious. One thing that solidified his decision and won him over completely was the fact that you’d made him a gift, not out of obligation but at your own request. It was a beautiful tapestry depicting a young doe in the forest, hiding amongst the trees, accompanied with a note instructing him to try and find his family crest in your stitches. To him it was destiny, especially since he’d already started bragging about your talent to the Lords, challenging them to find the dragon in your work when he knew full well it was hidden in a burl on the second tree to the left. It filled him with pride every time over something so simple.
Not only were you such a generous and intelligent creature that managed to amuse the King, you were strong and experienced in your own right. It reminded him all too well of Rhaenyra. You were exactly who he’d been hoping for, like a fragment of old Valyria that survived the doomed country. Alicent, however, did not agree, nor did her father. “Viserys, please you cannot sell our son like this” the young queen had been pacing their room for a while now, her husband’s words eating away at her mind. “He is not a pig, Alicent. It is simply a marriage that will benefit both our kingdoms, this alliance will make us stronger. I would not cart him away; the boy will remain here with his betrothed.”
Visarys sat in his chair by the fire to soothe his aching body. He was facing away from his wife and somewhat understood her grievances but remained firm in his judgement. “This girl is not worthy of-” his tolerance for questioning was also wearing thin. “I will decide, as King, who has the right to the Targaryen name. She already had a claim, regardless of the arrangement. Their capital would do wonders for trade here, it will allow the people to prosper with fine silks and stones.”
Alicent huffs out a laugh, one of disbelief mixed with pre-emptive grief “That is what our son is worth to you?” Viserys finally turns in his chair, hands gripping the armrests “Who else would you have him promised to hmm? You know full well why I can’t ask that of anyone here. House Velaryon has already refused.” The woman sighs, her anger being released slowly with her breath, before storming out of their chambers.
Prince Aemond was celebrating his seventeenth name-day the night he was informed properly of what his future had in store. He understood. It was his duty as prince of the realm, and it was what his father wished of him. It did bring on endless teasing from Aegon though, making those stupid little remarks that cut Aemond down little by little. “Must be a little piglet if Father had to go searching across the world for someone willing to bed you” mostly focusing on how you must be the daughter of an ugly troll, and desperate too if it meant you were to be wed to Aemond ‘one eye’ Targaryen.
But Aegon was wrong, as he often is. Viserys had shown Aemond a portrait of you after Aegon had finally teased him enough to send him running for Alicent. You were the most magnificent woman he’d ever seen. From then on whenever Aegon got to him, Aemond would try and imagine what your voice would sound like, what you would say to him.
His father had your wonderful tapestry hung in the dining room. The prince spent most of his time defending the same seat, every meal, just to stare at it. That tapestry was the closest thing he’d had to actually meeting you, and with no disrespect to his sister, Aemond believed you were more skilled with a needle. Those little fabricated truths is what the prince played in his mind for years to soothe himself, mostly from the boiling rage Aegon seemed to fill his figurative cup with. It was another thing Aemond had but Aegon didn’t, a wife he wasn’t completely uninterested in. You were his way of coping with the hand he was dealt, someone that couldn’t or rather hadn't rejected him yet.
Though, that was something that plagued him on occasion. When he was alone in his room, busy imagining the ghost of a lover cuddling up to him from behind, unafraid and comfortable with him. Only him. Would you be satisfied with your hand in this life, one tied to his? It was a thought he tried not to dwell on but couldn’t shake. He was less, he had less, but would you accept that? The prince was unsure.
It was on his nineteenth that the King’s men had brought something to him from the docks, a box. The note accompanying it revealed his greatest fear and dream, that you were aware of his existence. Inside the carved wooden chest was a yataghan dagger, Aemond was taken aback by the beauty in its craft. Every aspect of the blade was ornate, decorated masterfully in ivory and silver. There was a small inscription on the blade he was unable to read, but nevertheless appreciated.
‘Your Royal Highness,
I hope this letter finds you well. As I understand our ceremony is soon to be arranged and I believe this early wedding present will extend my good graces. I wish for this blade to serve you well, and prove to be as strong and reliant as the new bond between our two houses.
In devotion and admiration, Prince Aemond, I am eager to make your acquaintance.
Yours sincerely, Princess of Ulthane and The Three Towers’
Aemond held that letter for what felt like hours, eye wandering the page, rereading each word. Your handwriting was so different and seemed to swirl across the page, but never crossed over into messiness. That letter became his treasure, replacing his own blade with his betrothed’s dagger, keeping his longer sword on the other hip.
But, as with anything Aemond cherished, this bit of parchment became an item of interest for Aegon. Weeks pass and the older prince weasels his way into his younger brother's chambers, scavenging for the prize. First was the desk drawers, both now emptied and its contents spilled on the floor carelessly. Then he searched the closet, throwing the neatly folded garments haphazardly on the ground and over stray bits of furniture. Lastly, the bed. Such a dirty place to hide something so precious from Aemond’s little princess, Aegon didn’t really expect that from his brother. Nevertheless he found the letter under his pillows, looking brand new from the amount of care taken to preserve the words inside. Grinning cruelly, Aegon scurries away, not bothering to clean up after himself.
A pit of dread takes root inside of Aemon's heart as soon as he finds his door cracked open. Room ravaged to find his prized possession, like a starved wolf in need of more teeth to torture it’s littermate. Aegon had his jaws locked around Aemond’s throat without even realising it, but Aemond knew and Aemond remembered.
He remembered the sounds of his brother's friends as they watched and laughed. He remembers the smell of smoke as his treasure is lowered into the flames of his brother's fireplace, the alcohol on Aegon's breath when he asked him if he would cry over another pig. He remembered. He remembered the choking of his throat as he held back his outburst, and the stinging of his eyes as he wept into his pillow later that night.
Reaching to feel a letter that no longer existed.
It was taken from him, so Aemond could no longer afford to care, he could not be weak. He could not satisfy Aegon's hunger to humiliate him further. His mind abandoned you, locking your blade in it's chest under his bed. He believed it was better this way, safer for his heart and what was left of it.
In the morning he acted as if you never existed, passive, absent of the wrath that screamed in his mind to be released whenever Aegon opened his mouth.
A date was selected for his ceremony and you were to arrive the night before. He had a month to block you out completely before you came, and he intended to. Alicent organised most of the festivities, taking over and managing even the smallest of details. It seems his mother was more anxious than him, she always reached for control in moments like this, despite making her distaste for you clear.
Time passed and slowly your knights began to arrive in large boats, then your handmaids and lastly your brother in his own ship. That final day of boats marked your arrival. Aemond was trying to keep it together. He’d been awake before the sun and circling the grounds of The Red Keep like a hound trying to steal the guard’s shifts. Convincing himself it was not because of your long awaited arrival was no easy task, but doable. No one dared ask him what his goal was, apart from for the occasional knight believing he may be unwell.
His eye could not be kept from the sky, even when having breakfast with his family, Aemon's new focus was the archway leading to a small balcony overlooking the grounds. But he totally didn’t care that you were coming today. Not at all.