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sanbond · 22 days

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But Daddy, I love Him

Aemond Targaryen x Niece Reader AU

Synopsis: When the favored daughter of Daemon Targaryen falls for the favored son of Alicent Hightower, the Rogue Prince does everything he can to ensure that a union between the two of you will never happen.

Warnings: Not Proofread, ¿Softer Aemond and Daemon?, No Smut

Word Count: 5,019

It could no longer be denied nor be overlooked. It was growing painfully obvious to the court that the only daughter of Princess Rhaenyra has had her head turned by the second son of Queen Alicent. Everyone believed that the only thing the second-borns of the Princess and the Queen would share was animosity. Still, the return of Princess Rhaenyra and her kin to the capitol brought something different— something entirely unexpected. It started with stolen glances around the tilt yard and the halls of the red keep. Stolen glances lingered throughout dinner and the trial. Meeting in the library by chance turned into secret rendezvous. Banter and teases blended into meaningful conversations. Animosity turned to affection. Loathing bloomed into love. A love that cannot be.

“You look lovely, today, niece,” Aemond complimented as he caught you in the gardens. The prince relished the sweet blush that spread through your cheeks. “Shh, you might be heard,” You whispered in concern as your brothers were only seated a few leagues away. He hummed and dared to twirl your silky, curly hair into his fingers. “Shall you join me for a ride today, uncle?” You asked and took a flower into your delicate hands. You turned to the silver prince, who had a small, rare smile as he peered down at you. You boldly placed the plucked flower into the upper pocket of his tunic. “If you wish,” He answered, making you bite your lip as he stepped closer. “To the dragon pits then?” You asked, and Aemond offered his arm for you to take, and you gladly did.

Prince Daemon stood above the gardens and watched the scene with a sneer. He had been stewing in rage, fear, and uncertainty for the past few weeks. You could no longer be reasoned with. In his eyes, you could never do no wrong. You had never done anything wrong— his favorite daughter was perfect. But apparently, your return to the capitol had caused you to make a lapse in judgment. Trusting a Hightower spawn was a great mistake on your part. You, his smart and sweet daughter, have been corrupted and manipulated by the one-eyed bastard of a son of the bitch that had the title queen. It pained the Rogue prince, but he had to take extreme measures to ensure that you would never be bound and be played by a Hightower spawn.

You rode the skies next to your uncle. A wide smile on your lips and laughs, leaving your tongue as he playfully chased you through the clouds. His Vhagar may be the largest dragon there is, but she is also the oldest. Whilst your dragon had the quickness and agility of youth. “You’ll have to try harder than that, uncle!” You yelled in glee as you heard his frustrated groan when he lost you through a cloud. “I will catch you, little niece— and you shall give me my prize when I do,” He answered back, and you laughed in glee as your dragon rode through a cloud, making your stomach flip. “That is if you shall succeed!” You yelled before urging your dragon to fly faster and further from the prince.

The afternoon sun started to fade, bathing the two of you in the orange hue of the setting sun, and it was then that Aemond finally caught up to you. When you landed by the pits, you were quickly grabbed by the waist. Entrapped in the arms of an uncle you used to loathe. “I demand my prize, little niece,” He murmured by your ear. You feel your heart stutter, and at the same time, you feel conscious as the two of you may be caught. “I demand my kiss, princess,” he said, and you feel your breathing shallowed by his words and the sound of footsteps approaching. You two were luckily hidden behind the body of your beloved dragon. “Tonight, meet me in the library and you shall have my kiss, my prince,” You said and reluctantly urged him to let go of his hold of you.

When the two of you turned to the reason for the footsteps, your brows furrowed as you were both met with a gold cloak. “Can we help you, Ser?” you asked as Aemond cautiously assessed the trusted man of your father; stepping in front of you as if the knight would harm you. “Princess, I was sent by your father to escort you back into the keep.” He bowed and answered, but that did not aid your confusion. “It’s fine; I shall ride back to the keep with my uncle,” You answered, but the knight insisted that he had a direct order from the Rogue Prince that you shall return to the Red Keep under his supervision. “Just go; I shall ride behind you,” Aemond finally spoke after a moment, guiding you to the wheelhouse and glaring at the knight who interrupted the supposed private moment between the two of you.

When inside the castle walls, you were greeted by your father and eldest brother as you disembarked the wheelhouse. “I see you have met Ser Adam,” Your father remarked at the knight who helped you step out of the carriage. “He shall be your sworn protector,” Prince Daemon added, his gaze turning to a prince who greatly reminded him of himself during his youth riding, following closely behind you. “Sworn protector? I— I do not believe there is a need fo—“ Your father cut you off, taking your arm and stirring you further from the one-eyed prince who dared to step closer to you after he had disembarked his horse. “You are the only daughter of the heir to the throne— of course, you need protecting. Ser Adam shall be constantly by your side, and he shall report back to me and your mother for any potential threat that arises.” You looked back, confused, locking eyes with Aemond, who had his jaw clenched as he conversed with your brother.

“So I take it that my sister and brothers have their own sworn protectors as well?” You asked, feeling that you were singled out by your father’s sudden paranoia about your safety. “They too shall have one… in time,” He mumbled the last part, making your head snap up at him. “But in the meantime, Ser Adam shall oversee your ventures and activities. No more venturing out in the halls in the dead of the night alone. He shall be there by your side if any danger arises while you are in the dim walls of the library,” Your lips part as you realize that the knight was placed as a buffer, a wall between you and Aemond. You bit your tongue and made no further comment about the matter for now.

When dinner came, you were excited because it meant that you would be in the presence of Aemond once more, enveloped in quiet conversation with the prince who sat by your left. But a frown adorned your pretty face once more as your seat beside Aemond was removed and instead placed cramped between Aegon and your elder brother. You hear Aemond’s familiar footsteps approaching; you turn to him as your brother guides you to your new place. Aemond knew exactly what they were doing. His jaw tightened as they had been keeping you from him. He knew he should have been cautious with his affection when out in public, knowing it would not be received well. But how could he restrain himself? How could he control himself when you are near?

Throughout dinner, the two of you were silent, missing, and already longing to be by each other’s side once again. The prince’s face was filled with annoyance, his lips in a thin line. You held a look of solemnity, and a pout adorned your plush pink lips. Daemon turned to Jacaerys, the two of them satisfied with their tactics in keeping you and Aemond out of each other’s company.

After dinner, you hear your newly assigned knight trail behind you as you walk the path toward the library. You sighed as you heard the clank of his armor. “You can stay by the door, Ser Adam,” You say as you approach the silent room, Aemond already waiting for you in your favorite spot. “I am afraid that I cannot abide by your orders, princess,” He said, and you bit your tongue; you could not let out your frustrations upon him as he was only ordered by your father. You took your seat across from Aemond; the prince eyed the knight who stood behind your chair.

“What is he doing here?” Aemond asked in ancient tongue, annoyance seeping through his tone. “My father has instructed him to follow me wherever I go… instructed him to report back all of my ventures,” You answered and played with the embroidery of your fine dress as your pals for the night with Aemond were now ruined. “They are keeping you from me,” Aemond gritted, his hand clenching in anger. “And why should they do that?” You asked with a tilt of your head, moving to take hold of his hand, but the knight behind you cleared his throat as if a warning. You sighed and licked your lips and clamped your hands in front of you. “Because they are scared— threatened that…” Aemond caught himself before he uttered the deep truth he had realized just a week after you had returned. “That what?” You asked in common tongue. Aemond sighed and shook his head, but there was a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “That I would burn for you, little light. That we are dragons that need to be bound by blood.”

You, being the watchful eyes of your sworn protector, did not last long. Aemond had commissioned some of the guards to pick a fight with your knight, and it left him bloody, bruised, and bedridden. Buying the two of you a small amount of freedom in each other’s presence before your father could find a replacement.

The two of you were in the godswood, hidden behind the white, ashy trunk of the Weirwood tree, away from anyone’s view. Aemond laid his head on your lap as you read a book written in the language of your house, him listening intently to your honey voice as it read fluent Valyrian. “You still have not given me my prize,” The prince suddenly said as you paused from reading. You turned to him, gazing down at the serenity on his handsome face as he lay on your lap. One of your hands intertwined with his and resting atop his chest. “What?” You asked, feeling your stomach flip at the intensity in his eye. “You still have not given me my kiss,” Aemond said, voice growing deeper and more serious.

You tried to laugh it off, moving your intertwined hands to your lips and kissing the back of his hand. “There,” you say, but Aemond sat up from his position. “That is not the kiss we discussed, princess,” He whispered, face inching forward to yours. You feel his cold hand on the apex of your neck and shoulder, pulling you in and sending gooseflesh to rise all over your skin. “Just one kiss,” You whispered as his lips were so close to yours, his scent of cedar wood, mint, and leather so intoxicating. “We’ll see,” he said and smashed your lips. Your heart stuttered for a moment, feeling his warm, soft, wine-tasting lips upon yours. It was supposed to be only a chaste kiss, you knew you should pull away, but as Aemond placed his hand on your waist and pulled you close, you knew you did not have the strength nor want to do so.

Unbeknownst to you, your secret actions with your uncle were caught by your eldest brother, who did not hesitate to run to your mother’s husband to report the scene. On how yours and Aemond’s lips danced, on how you grinned at each other as you acted to catch your breath, gazing at each other love-struck. On how your kiss under the scarlet leaves of the ancient tree had only solidified your emotions and deepened your desires for each other.

You were soon called to your mother’s chambers later that afternoon. “No, please! Please, you cannot do this to me— why… why would you marry me to him?” You cried to your mother as they announced that you were to be sent to the North as a bride for its warden. It was the extreme measure your father had to take to keep you away from Aemond. Sequestering you into the frigid wasteland just so a one-eyed dragon would not lay more of its claim on you. “You had promised me I was free to choose whom I shall marry!” You cried in front of them, knowing your tears had always been your trusted weapon to bend them to your will. “I’m sorry, my love… but, the crown needs allies… a union with Lord Stark is vital.” You shook your head, “The North is already sworn to you! You need not promise me to their lord,” You countered. “It was a decision your father believed had to be made, and it is to—“

Your mother’s words faded out, and you could only focus on how it was your father’s orders to offer you to a lord you had not even met. His cruel way of keeping you from Aemond. “My father is dead,” You suddenly gritted out, silencing your mother in shock as you said the bitter words. Though you were a product of Ser Harwin Strong, and the kingdom was made to believe that your paternity came from the line of Ser Laenor— neither of those men were fathers to you. Not like Daemon was. It stung you to say such words, but you were overly hurt that he had made such a decision just to keep you from the prince you loved.

“My father is dead; how could he have made such a decision?” You asked and dug your fingernails into your palms. Your mother sighed as you and Daemon stared each other down. “Daemon made the decision,” She clarified. “You are heir to the throne, but you would let a prince consort dictate the future of your only daughter?” You asked, menacingly. Watching the way your step-father’s jaw ticks at your impertinence. He did not know how to handle you in such a state; you were never one to rebel, but what was there to rebel against when everything you had ever wanted was quickly given to you?

“That is beside the point, my love; you still need to marry.” Your mother said, and you shifted your gaze to her. “I know! And I am happy to do so just as long as—“ Daemon cut you off. “Just as long as what?” He asked, “Just as long as it will be Aemond.” You proclaimed. “I wish to marry him, and he wishes to marry me as well! You are the only one against this!” You all but screamed with a stomp of your foot. Making your father roll his eyes and disapprovingly shake his head as they had filed you up with their lies. “You see, Nyra… look at how they had manipulated our daughter… they filled up her head with falsities— this had been their plan all along.” Daemon reasoned to your other, who looked in between the two of you with concern and cluelessness on how to proceed.

“Look at how they corrupted her… arguing, yelling, insulting us just to defend their disfigured son. They are playing her!” he spat bitterly. “Do not call him that,” you gritted to Daemon as he uttered offense toward Aemond. There was a silence that enveloped the room before you finally spoke once more. “Father, please… I love him,” you pleaded, ready to beg on your knees just for you not to be sent as a bride for a wolf. Daemon looked at your eyes, sincerity in your orbs, gut-wrenching sadness as pearl tears ran through your cheeks; that still did not sway his mind. “The decision is made. You shall be Cregan Stark’s bride.” He stated and walked off, leaving you to cry and wail in your mother’s arms.

Aemond eyed you with concern as you sat dejectedly in your place next to your brother and his. Your head hung low, and not once had you cast your enchanting eyes upon him— or anyone else for that matter. His hold on his knife is tighter as he realizes you have not a bite of your supper. His gaze went murderous as he finally saw your bloodshot eyes and trembling lips. They had made you cry. He turned to your father, a harsh look on his face, whilst your mother looked at you wistfully. Aemond then turned to Jacaerys, a smug look on his plain face.

As supper ended, Aemond was the first to leave the table. He made fast steps and entered your chambers to hide there, needing to speak with you, and he was certain that would not be possible whilst you were in the presence of your kin. He hid behind the pillar as he heard the door creek and your somber voice bidding Lucerys ‘good night.’ When he heard the door shut and bared, he made his presence announced.

It was then that he saw a clear view of your state: eyes swollen and red, lips trembling, nose sniffling, soft cheeks flush with sadness. “My light… what has happened?” he asked. You said no word, only ran to his arms and let you hold him as the tears came like rivers once more. “They’re… they’re marrying me to Cregan Stark,” You said in between sobs. Aemond felt the air knocked out of him, his form turn rigged and was immediately filled with dread. “What?” He asked, hoping what he heard was a misunderstanding. “They offered me as a bride to Cregan Stark. He shall arrive in a few days to be presented to grandfather, and we shall leave for the North in a fortnight.”

Aemond sat you down on your plush bed, wiping away your hot tears with his cold fingers. “You will never be his,” he swore, looking deeply into your eyes as your tears did not cease. I shall speak with your parents,” he said and tried to soothe you by running his hand through your hair and caressing your cheek. “Aemond, they wouldn’t even listen to me… their minds are made,” You said sadly. Your prince only shook his head and kissed the top of your brow. “You are a dragon. Wolves do not deserve dragons,” was all he said before kissing your lips again, hoping the action would distract you from your sadness because he could no longer stomach seeing you cry.

“They would never approve of us,” You whispered to Aemond as he held you to his chest. He tried to lull you to sleep, but your mind was distraught. “I do not care for their approval,” he uttered atop your head, inhaling deeply the scent of you. “But—“ You hear Aemond sigh and pull you closer to his leather-clad chest. “You will be mine, my light, just as it ought to be. Forget their qualms and objections— my uncle and his disapproval is a challenge I’ll happily welcome, just as long as you will forever be mine.” He stated as his fingers twirled your hair, “Let us just rest, ñuha ōños,” he murmured, and you did as told. Savoring the first and probably the last time in his hold.

“What are you planning?” Ser Criston asked as Aemond spent more hours in the tiltyard. The arrival of his betrothed had only spurred him to fight harder, train more, and let out his rage at the knights. “Pick your weapon,” was all the prince said as he wiped away the sweat off his forehead. “Tell me the reason for your more frequent sessions first,” the knight stated. Lilac eye flickered above the tiltyard, Aemond's jaw clenching and nostrils flared as he saw you walking around with the warden of the north, chaperoned by your brother. Ser Criston’s eyes followed the prince’s gaze, realization shining through his brown orbs. “My prince, you—“ He was cut off.

“I shall be challenging the warden to a duel for the hand of my niece,” he proclaimed and urged the knight to pick up his weapon. “But she is a bastard,” Ser Criston muttered lowly. Aemond's eye widened, and he had to greatly retrain himself from maiming the knight who stood as his father figure. “She will be my wife.” He proclaimed and returned to his training.

When all were gathered in the throne room to announce their betrothal to Lord Stark, Aemond stepped away from his sibling and drew out his sword, bravely challenging the warden in front of the eyes of the court and his father, the king. You felt your stomach pit in fear, for you did not know that this was the plan Aemond had devised. You had half the mind that he would have the two of you escape to YiTi and live freely there. You hear your father and brother’s disapproval of the duel, but you hear your grandfather’s agreement to it. Lord Stark had little choice but to accept the challenge. You turn to your mother, her lips in a thin line and hands fiddling with her rings, her expression unreadable as he watched men argue before the throne, dictating her only daughter’s fate. She felt your eyes upon her, and she took your hand into hers as fear was evident in your gaze. “It will be fine, my love,” She muttered lowly, but you had trouble believing her words.

When night came, the supposed family supper was discarded as both sides were furious and confused at what had transpired in the throne room. “She will not marry him— I would rather feed myself to Caraxes than watch our daughter marry a spawn of those cunts.” Daemon muttered to his wife and downed a whole chalice of wine, quickly moving to refill it once more. “She loves him,” was all your mother could mutter as she plainly saw the affection in your eyes. “And he loves her,” she added as he saw the tenderness and warmth in her half-brother’s usually cold, lone eye. Daemon scoffed and turned to his wife.

“Not you too— Rhaenyra, you cannot buy into their deceit! You cannot let your daughter be bound to that—“ The princess cut her husband off. “Why? Why are you so against this? Put your pride and animosity towards Otto and Alicent aside… our daughter has made it clear that she wants Aemond— and he, too, made it clear that he wants our daughter. There is no underlying deceit from his intentions… what will they even gain? The crown passes to Jacaerys; Aemond wants our daughter, not for power or whatever reason you had sold yourself to greatly disagree to this match!” Daemon shook his head at his wife’s words. “We need allies. We need the North.” He said, but Rhaenyra shook her head. “You are preparing for a war that may not come— already sacrificing our daughter on the way! And she is right. The North is already sworn to me. A Stark never forgets their oath. And if they need further convincing, my daughter and her happiness is too great a price to pay for them to keep their word.” Your mother defended. She watched as her husband’s jaw clenched and his hold on the chalice grew tighter.

“Daemon, you and I had both been subjected to marriages, not of our choosing, a marriage devised for peace and power but ultimately led to death and devastation… you cannot be so cruel to subject her to such a fate.” Rhaenyra said softly and walked towards her husband, urging him to change his mind. The prince breathed out heavily, “We shall see in the duel if he truly deserves her,”

You nervously traced the embroidery of your dress as you watched your prince battle with the Warden of the North. Both men still yet to tire as they galloped towards each other with their jousting sticks. You feel your mother reach for your hand as your leg bounces up and down in anticipation and fear. You took in a sharp breath as the Warden was thrown off his horse, and Aemond was quick to disembark his and draw out his sword. You chewed on your lip as you shielded your gaze from the men, your bloodstream filled with fear as you heard the clang of swords and their exhausted grunts. You hear the cheers of the audience grow louder, and you feel bile rising to your throat. You shut your eyes tightly and prayed to the gods and fates for it to end soon— for it to end and for Aemond to emerge victorious.

Your prayers were quick to be answered as you snapped your eyes open at the enraged screams of your brother and father— the prince having the warden on his knees and a sword upon his throat. “Surrender, my lord,” The prince breathed, his eye scanning upwards, in search of you. “Surrender, and you will keep your life!” The prince yelled, and you fisted your dress with each moment the warden did not concede. But when he finally raised his arms up and dropped his sword, lowly saying his surrender, you were finally able to breathe freely. “Our champion, Prince Aemond Targaryen!” Someone yelled, and cheers hollered around you, but they were quick to fade as your eyes locked with the man you can now call your soon-to-be husband.

The wedding was quick to come, no matter the reluctance of your father and older brother. You were marrying Aemond. Other members of your kin were finally accepting the union, seeing how you both were truly enthralled and in love with one another. They no longer held disapproval as they realized how bright and intense you burned for each other.

You were in your chambers, the final preparations made to you as you were about to be bound to the one-eyed prince in the eyes of men and the gods. “You look… you look exquisite, my sweet,” Your mother sighed and cupped your cheeks, her eyes and voice filled with heavy emotion. You tightly embraced your mother as she was the only one who was truly on your side when it came to your union with Aemond. Your heart throbbed melancholically as you were to be married without the support or blessing of the man who had become your father. You walked out of the chambers with your mother by your side, her being the only one to escort you towards the grand doors that would lead you to the great hall where Aemond waited by the end of it. She gave you one last kiss on your cheek before stepping aside and walking towards a side entrance and waiting along with the other guests; absent was the presence of Daemon.

As the banquet went on and your hand was freely clasped around your husband, you tried not to let your sadness be shown as the man who stepped in, as your father was not anywhere in sight. Aemond could feel your sadness no matter how hard you tried to hide it; he brought the back of your hand to his cool lips and hoped it brought you comfort. You flashed him a small smile and leaned in closer, “A dance, my wife?” He asked, his heart stuttering as a genuine smile spread to your lips.

He led you to the floor and placed his hand on your waist. No more secret touches, no more possibility of scandal, for in the eyes of the gods and men, you were Aemond’s, and Aemond was yours. As your husband spun you around and kept his steady hold upon you, your mind was finally distracted by the sadness it felt as Daemon was absent on your most joyous day. The thought of your father did not occur to you as you danced until you and your husband saw him approaching. Aemond was attentive to your reaction as he approached, ready to challenge his uncle for the distress and sadness he bestowed upon you. “I wish to dance with my daughter,” He announced, and you felt Aemond’s hold on your waist tighten; he was about to speak, but you nodded and reassured him it was fine. Aemond reluctantly stepped away, and you were left in the presence of your father.

There was silence at first as you were once again spun for the dance, but you soon broke it. “You did not attend our ceremonies.” You said, voice a tad bitter and resenting. You hear your father’s aggravated sigh. “I know you think he is playing me… I know you believe this whole ordeal is a farce, but it’s not. He loves me, father. And I love him greatly,” You say and urge him to understand. “You— your marriage is something I do not approve of.” You hear him utter, making your stomach pit, “But it is clear that you truly love him…” he trailed, his eye turning to your husband, who had his watchful gaze upon you, ready to come to your aid, the moment he sensed distress. “… And I suppose his intentions are genuine,” he relents. You turn your now hopeful gaze upon him, “I do not believe he deserves you, but if he truly makes you happy, who am I to stand in your way? I will not hinder you anymore.” You processed her father’s words. ��Do you truly mean it?” You asked, voice thick with emotion, “I do,” he sighed and kissed the top of your head. You smiled widely as heaviness in your heart faded with the blessing of your father was finally bestowed upon you and your husband.

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sanbond · 29 days

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The Sacredness of Tears ♔ Chapter 1

Aegon III Targaryen x Jaehaera Targaryen

Tags: mention of grief/mourning, depression, eventual happy ending

Wordcount: 5,800

Upon the death of her grandmother, Jaehaera found herself contemplating her life and the burden of her past. As the pressure to birth an heir became heavier she reached out to Aegon in her grief, hoping the two of them could, if not heal, then survive together.

Masterlist

“There is a sacredness in tears. They are not a mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition and of unspeakable love.”

―Washington Irving

Chapter 1 ♔ Overwhelming Grief

On the Seventh day of the Seventh moon of the year 131 after Aegon’s Conquest, a date deemed sacred to the Gods, the High Septon of Oldtown pronounced the marriage vows as Prince Aegon the Younger, eldest son of Queen Rhaenrya by her uncle Prince Daemon, wed Princess Jaehaera, the daughter of Queen Helaena by her brother King Aegon II.

Thereby uniting the two rival branches of House Targaryen and ending two years of treachery and carnage, the Dance of the Dragons was done and the melancholy reign of King Aegon III Targaryen began.

The royal marriage was troubled from the first, as the girl had witnessed the murder of her twin brother at the hands of Blood and Cheese, and the king had lost all four of his own brothers, then watched his uncle feed his mother to his dragon.

Once wed, they had very little contact with one another save on formal occasions, and even that was rare, as the little queen was loath to leave her chambers. After months of observing and silently praying for change, Grand Maester Munkun wrote a letter to the Conclave, putting his worries into words.

Both of them are broken. These are not normal children. They have no joy in them. The girl weeps inconsolably when she is corrected and had I not laced her milk with sweetsleep before the wedding, I am convinced the child would have collapsed during the ceremony. Aegon shows little interest in his wife, or any other girl. He does not ride or hunt or joust, but neither does he enjoy sedentary pursuits such as reading, dancing, or singing. Though his wits seem sound enough, he never initiates a conversation, and when spoken to his answers are so curt one would think the very act of talking was painful to him. During the hour of the wolf he can often be found standing by a window, gazing up at the stars. Orwyle was wont to call His Grace calm and self-possessed; I say the boy is dead inside. He walks the halls of the Red Keep like a ghost. I must be frank, I fear for our king, and for the kingdom.

Ten years into the marriage, the situation described by Maester Munkun had seldom evolved; Queen Jaehaera rarely left her quarters, and only did so to go to prayers or to visit her grandmother, Alicent Hightower, who was confined to her own chambers.

The relationship between the two women was neither tense nor close, as the dowager queen was a devastated woman whose only joys were the sporadic visits of her granddaughter. Jaehaera still bore affection for her, but the sorrow they had both faced kept a cold distance between the two, and she disliked any attempts at physical contact from the older woman. Alicent would smile every time she tried and was rebuked, and reminded Jaehaera how much like her mother she was.

The girl loathed to hear those words, as she did not wish to carry the ghost of Queen Helaena. She kept her memories of her mother close to her heart, as well as those of her brothers, and often revisited them when she was alone. Their ghosts kept her company, and so in a way she was never truly alone.

Although her own mother had been ten and four when she had given birth to Jaehaera and her twin, the little queen's Septa had advised against rushing her charge to join the marriage bed and procreate, lest it have the opposite effect of the desired result.

The young king Aegon seemed similarly inclined, whether it was by chance or by advice, and did not seek the company of his wife.

Therefore, a full decade into the marriage, the people of the court could count on one hand the number of times the royal couple had spent time alone, always on formal occasions. Whether it was for a banquet, a royal blessing or petitions, they had exchanged but a few hushed words in passing, and showed little to no interest in one another.

Aegon's regency had ended four years prior but the realm was governed by his council, as the young man seemingly had as much interest in ruling as he did the rest of the occupations available to him.

The only consolation Jaehaera could find in her wretched situation was that Aegon did not seem inclined to share his company with other women; the sanctity of their marriage remained unbroken, and she remained untarnished.

As Jaehaera crossed the blurred line into womanhood and entered the cold winter as a woman of eight and ten, Alicent Hightower passed, and therefore severed the last link Jaehaera had with her past. Committing her grandmother's body to the earth, she felt as though she was also committing her childhood, leaving it to rot and turn to ash, and in a way it felt like a liberation.

On the night after the funeral, she dreamed of her mother, of her brothers, and in the quiet of her mind made a decision. She could either join them in the grave or build a family line of her own, a legacy that would bear her features and that of Aegon. A legacy that would forever unite the lines of Alicent Hightower and Rhaenyra Targaryen, and give life to dragons again instead of dwelling on ashen cold bones.

When dawn came, she woke, walked to the window and made her decision.

"Alana," she called, and the lady-in-waiting hurried into the room.

Her dull hair and plain features had been the reason for her employment in this position, as she could easily blend into the atmosphere around the young queen, but as Jaehaera saw her in the morning light, she wished for nothing more than to rip the veil from the girl's head and pinch her cheeks red. "I would like to break my fast in the gardens today."

The lady-in-waiting blinked, then a slow smile crept on her face, brightening it, and Jaehaera decided against ordering her to wear rouge. A smile would suffice, and she would rather take honest emotion than powders. The lady curtsied and hurried out of the room again, calling for servants to set up a table and bring a hearty meal to the gardens.

"The Council has been planning a banquet to celebrate the second name day of the young Aegon," Alana announced as she poured goat milk into her mistress' tea half an hour later.

The morning sun was making the porcelain shine, and gave a pearly quality to the young queen's white hair. Jaehaera smiled slightly at the mention of Prince Viserys and Larra Rogare's son, tucking a strand of her shiny locks behind her ear.

"That sounds appropriate," she replied, demure.

She realized she was unsure how to act or even answer the simplest questions, and she felt ashamed of herself for not knowing her own role as queen. It was as though the black veil had lifted from her eyes, and she was finally allowing herself to see the world in other colors than shades of gray. She realized in that instant that although she ought to mourn, she had left her head covering in her rooms.

"Would you like to attend?" came the eager response from her lady.

"Will the king attend?" she inquired as she sipped her tea.

"His brother will certainly insist on it, so I'm afraid he will have no choice," Alana explained, tilting her head, curious as to why the queen had inquired after her husband, as she never did. This peculiar shame was a shared one, as Jaehaera never reached for him, no more than he reached for her, and she wondered where the line between them was drawn, closer to her side or his.

"Will you make the necessary arrangements for my attendance?" she asked, turning to face her second lady.

"Of course, my queen," Clarice replied, and the golden-haired woman curtsied before heading back into the castle, no doubt spreading the good word that her mistress wished to attend the banquet, and seemed to be in high spirits.

Left alone with Alana to drink tea and eat a few bites of breakfast, which she had to force herself to, Jaehaera contemplated the opportunities of the day, and in the privacy of her own heart, set small hopes for the hours to come.

She was now truly alone in the Keep, except for two men who shared her blood, and one who happened to be her husband. She had never allowed herself to cling to him in her grief, as the boy had seem already suffocated by his own, but now that the shadow of the war between the Black and Green Queens had vanished, buried in the Sept Jaehaera was sure she would never foot in ever again, she found herself guided by an unfamiliar pull.

Her heart longed for knowledge of her husband, and to share this sudden discovery she had made upon bidding goodbye to her childhood.

Up in the Red Keep, a curtain pulled over a window and a pale face appeared, peering at the gardens. In his chambers, young king Aegon watched as the sun made the leaves dance, shadows playing over the table where Jaehaera was having tea with her ladies. Wrapped in a thick robe, his sleeping gown still on, the spring breeze ruffling his curls, he pushed the panel open wider and allowed the sound of chirping birds and wind chimes into the room.

"What is going on?" Aegon asked, and another white-haired young man came and peeked at the window.

"It seems the queen is breaking her fast in the gardens," Gaemon said in a surprised tone. "Would you like to join her?"

Gaemon Palehair was the king's only friend and trusted companion, a common-born bastard that the people of King's Landing had hoped to make their king, before the true origin of his white hair had annihilated his claim. He had once been believed to be a bastard of Prince Daemon, but in truth his white hair came from a merchant of Lys, and the Council of Regents had deemed it safe to allow him at court, to keep the young king company.

"No," Aegon answered curtly, as though the mere thought was offensive.

Closing the window again and pulling the curtains shut, he wrapped his robe tighter around himself with a sigh and dropped into the chair in front of the hearth. Curling in on himself, he brought his knees up to his chin as Gaemon covered his bare feet with a woolen quilt—Aegon was often cold and disliked the exteriors, as he was prone to chills and fevers.

"Your brother has asked that you attend this morning's council," his friend informed him as he poured hot tea into half-empty cups sitting on a small table.

"Whatever for?" Aegon asked.

"I believe a banquet is being prepared, in honor of your nephew Aegon's second name day," Gaemon explained as he handed the king his tea, then sat down with his own cup, his nonchalant way almost out of place in the austere atmosphere of the king's quarters.

There was nothing the young man could do that would be regarded as insolence, as he had the king's trust and love, and knew the darkest corners of the man's mind while never passing judgment on them.

"If I must," the young monarch grunted after a minute of silence.

Gaemon allowed the king to drink half of his tea before he started the conversation again—the fragrant porridge, jam and honey cakes remained untouched, as they did most mornings, but the cook insisted the king must be brought three meals a day.

"There is a sensitive topic which the Council thought I should breach with you," Gaemon finally said after clearing his throat.

Aegon made a soft noise of barely concealed annoyance, his gaze fixed on the dancing flames in the hearth. Most of the time, even his friend could not tell what was going on in his mind when he was being sullen, but the matter was of too great importance to be avoided.

Even if he was to give offense or trigger a bout of anger from the king, he would rather take a few broken cups on the floor than the wrath of the Council for avoiding the subject.

"As you are aware, young Aegon is nearing the end of his infancy, and as of a fortnight ago, now has a male sibling. Your brother Viserys has an heir and a spare, as they say, and—" Gaemon hesitated, but Aegon snapped before the young man could find appropriate or delicate wording.

"He has performed what I've been unable to, is that what you mean to tell me? Do not bother, I am aware of it," came the bitter words, acrid like a snake's venom. It was sometimes astonishing how such a tone could come from such a small, sickly man, and it was all the more frightening.

"The Council fears your marriage finds itself in a vulnerable state," Gaemon confirmed in his best diplomatic voice, which made Aegon grunt again and roll his eyes. Perhaps he should not have been cast away as potential heir, as he seemed perfectly apt to perform political duties.

"The Council is not wrong. Jaehaera and I barely talk to one another," Aegon admitted in a soft voice, hiding his face behind his cup.

"She is a demure young woman, of a calm and sweet disposition. I'm sure she would be amenable to whatever arrangement you would propose," Gaemon continued, despite the king's obvious reluctance.

The topic of his queen was always delicate to breach—he bore the girl no ill feelings, and respected her more than most high-born men in the Red Keep respected their wives, but his heart was cold and his flesh profoundly disinterested. The marriage bed remained empty, the sheets untainted of the blood of her innocence, and the barren state of their union remained an utmost concern to the Council.

"You need an heir, your grace," Gaemon continued firmly, and Aegon slammed his cup down on the table so sharply he feared a crack would appear in the porcelain.

"If this issue concerns you so, why don't you do it then? Father the heir. Your hair and skin are as pale as mine, no one would know," he said as though his suggestion was sound and reasonable, but they both knew it was the most ludicrous thing he could have said.

"They would, Aegon," his friend replied gently.

The young king sighed, closing his eyes and burying his face into his knees. Of all the burdens he had to bear, it was not the crown which weighed the heaviest upon his head, but the expectations that came with his sex and station. He understood the order of things, that it was crucial for the king to have male heirs.

This issue had almost caused the downfall of his house and had opened the gates of all Seven Hells, allowing the Stranger to pluck his parents and siblings from this earth one by one.

Aegon knew his duty, and the devastating consequences his failure could have on the Targaryen dynasty.

Meanwhile, a babe of Targaryen blood laid warm and satisfied against the full breast of Larra Rogare. The young woman had given birth to her second son a fortnight ago and chosen to forgo the services of a wet nurse. It was unheard of where she had grown, and she was insistent on implementing the Lysene culture she had known all her life before she had followed Viserys to Westeros.

The babe made a soft noise of contentment and buried his face against her, the sweet smell of milk lulling him to sleep once more. Larra smiled, a radiant, private smile that Jaehaera had never seen before, and for a moment she felt out of place, like an intruder, even though the princess had welcomed her into her quarters.

"You will forgive me for my unpresentable state," Larra had said when the queen had entered her chambers that morning, as she was still bed-bound and intent on feeding Aemon as often as he needed.

Jaehaera had smiled that demure, chagrined smile that Larra had come to recognize as the only way the young queen could signify agreement—as though she did not know her own opinion.

Now the white-haired woman was sitting at the foot of the bed, her feet dangling from the high mattress, looking down at the babe who bore the same carnation and hair color as her. She had looked down at Larra's full chest and the babe that suckled at it with curiosity and something akin to wonder, and now that the little prince was growing heavier in his mother's hold, sleep making his body curl in that way only infants did, there was tenderness in her eyes.

She could hardly remember the tender touch of her own mother, only fleeting moments overshadowed by the ghost the woman had become after Jaehaerys' death. The little girl she had been then still lived in her skin, trembling at the slightest shouts, unable to sleep without the room lit with countless candles and a blazing hearth, heaving at the mere sight or smell of blood.

The only occasion she had been able to bear it, only for a second, had been the birth of Aemon—it was customary for any prince or princess to be presented to the queen, and she had been urged to be present at her sister-in-law's bedside the moment the babe had been born. Part of Jaehaera believed it had been advised as a way to spur her to seek motherhood, but she had perceived it as witnessing her own downfall.

Since then, she had been caught in a spiral of self-loathing and despair, only pulled out by the sudden shock of Alicent's passing.

"May we have a moment alone?" she suddenly inquired, and Larra's eyebrows rose to meet her low hairline, both at the request and the fact that Jaehaera was asking her rather than ordering the servants.

"Of course," the young mother nodded, looking up and silently dismissing her help.

The ladies and servants curtsied without a word, leaving the room and closing the door on this little world Larra had made of her chambers—the atmosphere there was so vibrant one could forget they were in the Red Keep. From the luxurious fabrics, couches and pillows, to the brightly colored tapestries and curtains, Jaehaera imagined this is what Lys looked and felt like.

"You have now given Prince Viserys two sons," Jaehaera started, looking down where the tips of her fingers were playing with the silver embroideries on a quilt, and Larra smiled at the lack of manners.

It was considered impolite for a noble or royal lady to broach a topic so bluntly, she had been taught upon her arrival at court, and she was delighted to find out that the queen was inclined to forgo such a rule. Perhaps she had never been taught, as the need did not arise—she was not known for her conversation, after all.

"You worry about your position, is that it?" Larra asked just as bluntly, which made Jaehaera hesitate for a moment.

"No, it is not that," she replied politely, then after a moment of careful thought, she sighed softly. There was a natural elegance to the woman, as long as she was sitting still and not walking or attempting to dance, then it became painfully obvious how ill-adjusted she was. "Yes, I suppose I worry about my position. Is that awfully inconsiderate of me?"

"It's only natural," Larra said, sounding slightly bewildered. "You are the queen and yet you are vulnerable."

"In what sense?" Jaehaera pushed, then made an apologetic sound as Aemon stirred.

"Nearly ten years of marriage and you still have not borne the king any heirs. He is over twenty now, the regency is long over, there is no reason for him not to bed you," the Lysene princess continued, and even if the queen was unused to being spoken to so directly, she was thankful for the clarity it brought to the conversation.

She hid her blushing cheeks for a moment, dropping her head until she was able to compose herself, then pushed her long hair back behind her shoulders.

"And yet he hasn't," she said with a sad smile, as she knew it needed not be said. The whole court was painfully aware of the cold state of her bed, and even if this information had not been public knowledge, she suspected the Hand would know and tell his wife in confidence.

"Is it safe for me to assume that your marriage still remains unconsummated?" the golden-haired woman asked, her pale skin brightening with mischief.

"Indeed it is."

It was a plain truth, one known by many, and even though Jaehaera did not feel any shame for it she could not ignore it anymore. The thought of sharing a bed with a man was so foreign she could hardly picture it, even more so when it came to Aegon. She knew nothing of him as a man, nothing more than the features he shared with her as well as the sullen, sorrowful temperament.

"Then you are in danger, ever more so," Larra concluded, not unkindly. "Everyone in the Keep knows the king's marriage bed is as cold as the grave. You could easily be replaced."

"Replaced?"

"It is a cruel world we live in, my queen. The men of the court would rather blame you than force the king to confront his failures. Your marriage would be easy to annul, and I'm sure there are many names waiting to be dropped into the King's ear for your replacement."

"Aegon wouldn't," Jaehaera defended weakly, holding on to her hopes rather than her certitudes.

"Aegon would think he is delivering you from your prison," Larra said softly, with a sadness etched on her brow in such a plain way that Jaehaera knew she was speaking an informed truth. Her lower lip trembled as she realized how foolish she had been, how willfully ignorant, when she could have asked the Hand or his wife for guidance long ago.

"How do you know about the court's schemes? What names are you aware of?" she asked, her chest rattled by a concealed sob.

"The Velaryons will be present at the banquet. I know that a daughter of their house will be presented to the king, under the cover of introducing her to court."

Jaehaera trembled at the revelations. "Ambition has taken everything from me. My brothers, my mother, my peace... I would not let it take my husband."

"Then may I suggest you make good use of the banquet to show the realm how devoted you are to the king, and how replacing you would be a mistake," Larra pressed, and the woman she once believed to be driven by greed and ambition now seemed her greatest ally. There was something truly genuine in the words of a mother whose belly was still soft, the wet cloth of her gown sticking to her skin with the milk that spilled from her breasts at each coo of her babe—Larra held a truth in her arms, in her belly, and Jaehaera wished to know it.

She knew the terrible choice she was faced with—she could die with Alicent, let the Hightower legacy die once and for all, or she could cling to the faint memories of Helaena, to her motherly warmth, and find her way back to life by giving it, continuing the line of the Dreamer Queen.

Still trembling from fright at the knowledge of the schemes against her, Jaehaera sat at Aegon's side at the banquet a fortnight later. The king looked like a hesitant guest more than the host he really was, and he seemed as unsettled by her presence than by the festivities.

He glanced at her once in a while, and she hoped the dress she had had made in a hurry made her look more like the true queen than a little girl. She had chosen to wear gold, as she could not bear to wear the dark red of the Targaryens, and she hoped the cream and silver that went along with it flattered her complexion.

Aegon kept his silence, seemingly unwilling to comment on her presence or appearance.

He knew he should have rewarded the queen with a kind word for her presence, as Gaemon had signaled to him with a kick to the shin, but the words had remained caught in his throat.

Instead, he had looked away as his friend had complimented the queen for her gown and hairdo, and told her of his delight that she was present. The young woman had blushed and floundered under the unexpected compliments, so much so that Gaemon had apologized for his forwardness and since then had refused to speak more than absolutely necessary.

"It would have been more appropriate coming from you," he had hissed in Aegon's ear. Off to the side of the table, Viserys had watched the scene with barely concealed annoyance and worry.

Viserys kept the farce going for as long as he could, maintaining the illusion that all was right when it was plain as day that the king did not wish to be there, and that he really was present of body only, his mind having wandered far away.

He greeted the guests that came to pay their respects and congratulate him for the birth of his second son, as well as the fact that his first had come out of infancy strong and healthy. From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Queen Jaehaera's attentive eyes and saw her lips move silently several times, as though she was rehearsing lines or repeating to herself what Viserys was saying.

At some point, he turned to her fully and offered her a nod of respect and support, smiling as her eyes widened in surprise. He usually ignored her, as any attention seemed to make her cower, but as unexpected as this silent interaction was, he found himself delighted it was taking place. Between them on the half-moon table, Aegon was staring ahead and Gaemon was drowning his annoyance in wine.

As Lord Alyn Velaryon approached with his niece holding onto his arm, Jaehaera suddenly stood, making Aegon startle. Without a second thought, he stood as well, instinct pushing him to follow his wife's lead. The sea lord and his niece both seemed surprised and hesitated, halfway through the few steps at the top of which the royal table stood, as it was greatly unusual to be acknowledged in this way.

"Lord Alyn," Viserys greeted as he stood slowly, throwing a worried glance to Jaehaera.

"My King, my Queen," the man greeted with a low bow, then turned to the prince. "My Lord Hand. May I offer my congratulations on this joyous occasion?"

"Your congratulations are deeply appreciated, my Lord," Viserys answered almost absently, as absorbed by the queen's unusual behavior as he was. Her eyes were trained on the Velaryon lady as though she was seeing a ghost.

Finally, after a moment of tense silence where Gaemon didn't even dare stand or kick the king into responding, Jaehaera spoke in a surprisingly steady voice. Her tone was teary and her cheeks flushed a bright pink, but she held the sea lord's gaze. "Lord Alyn, I believe you have also come to introduce your niece to court?"

"Indeed, my Queen," the man replied, visibly taken aback, and when it became apparent that the queen was waiting for him to continue, lead his niece to take a step forward. "May I present you Lady Daenaera, daughter of my dearly departed brother, Lord Daeron Velaryon."

She was a young woman of an obviously sunny disposition, with a bright smile that warmed Jaehaera's heart. Her dark skin glowed in the light of the candles, her tight white curls cascading down her shoulders where seashells had been embroidered into her turquoise dress. Her beauty was effortless, and Jaehaera felt pale and dull in comparison. Still, she greeted the young woman with kindness.

"My King, my Queen, it is an honor to be presented to you," she said with confidence.

"Lady Daenaera, welcome to court," Jaehaera, barely trembling, and she was relieved when Viserys dismissed them quickly after that, under the disguise of encouraging the lady to dance with as many suitors as she pleased. As Jaehaera sat down, tears pooled in her eyes and she felt more of a fool than ever before.

At her side, Aegon was looking at her with barely concealed confusion, wondering why she had felt the need to address Lord Velaryon and his niece when Viserys could have handled them as he had done the rest of the guests, on his own.

He was Hand after all, and Aegon felt comfortable to leave his brother to deputize for him. Now that the Velaryons had been greeted and welcomed to court, Aegon felt his presence was no longer required by protocol, and he stood again, this time to take his leave.

Gaemon stayed behind as he instructed him quickly—he wished to be alone in silence, and knew he would loathe any sort of company at the moment.

However, he didn't foresee the need to address his wife or instruct her to remain at the banquet, as the situation had never presented itself before—she usually left before him, after barely enough time for the court to glance at her and confirm that she was indeed still alive and breathing. As he made his way up the staircase and down the private corridor that led the royal quarters, he heard light footsteps hurry behind him.

"Aegon," he heard Jaehaera call before he could turn, and almost startled at her direct address.

"I am tired, I wish to retire to my chambers," he said as he came to face her.

She stopped a few feet away from him, more than was necessary as his wife, but he appreciated her consideration. Her skin was still flushed and her eyes glossy with unshed tears, and he felt a spike of annoyance. He hoped she was not seeking comfort from him.

"Of course. May I accompany you?" she asked.

He must have looked confused, as she licked her lips and lowered her eyes. "Whatever for?" he asked, more of a scoff than a curl of air indicating a question.

"I'm your wife," Jaehaera answered slowly, eyes still low, as though she was unsure of that fact.

"That, I know. We've never enjoyed each other's company, why would we start now?" he continued, utterly puzzled at her behavior on that night.

He wondered if one of the lords who was sitting on his Council had instructed her to do so, and sudden anger flooded his chest. He had left strict and firm instructions for the queen never to be disturbed as soon as the regency had come to an end and his word had gained more authority. He knew how the girl reacted to being directed, or even nudged.

"I actually don't know that," came the careful answer, and Aegon realized he had let his mind wander again.

"Don't know what?"

"That I don't enjoy your company. We have never been given a true chance," Jaehaera explained, raising her violet gaze to his. This time she looked less hesitant and Aegon felt a sudden fear that Gaemon was behind her change of behavior. "Wherever we went, lords and ladies observing us. The regents, the Septa..."

"Which you never seemed to mind. Why the sudden change of heart?" Aegon accused more than he inquired.

"My Grandmother passed. I'm alone now. You are all that I have," she replied tearfully, and Aegon's annoyance at her vanished, instead turning toward himself. He scoffed again, and turned to take his leave.

"I pity you, then."

"We could try, one evening. Do you enjoy music? Or books?" she tried, desperately grasping at straws, stepping closer to him. From where she was standing, he could smell some kind of flowery fragrance, perfume or soap, and see the intricate and delicate embroidery of her dress.

"No, none of it," he replied harshly, to which she breathed a quiet, disappointed oh, which only fueled his ire. "I have warned you before, I make poor company."

"You certainly do not make any effort otherwise," Jaehaera said unexpectedly, and Aegon was left utterly speechless for a long moment.

He had never heard her speak her mind in such a blunt fashion, and if he was honest with himself, he hadn't known she possessed a mind of her own to speak. He found himself at a disadvantage, being nagged again for his lack of conversation, and he thought Gaemon would no doubt agree with her.

"Perhaps it is that I do not enjoy your company," he replied bitterly, his chest constricting in instant regret at the desperate intake of breath it triggered in her.

"This—this is cruel, even for you. Unnecessarily so," Jaehaera protested, tears burning her eyes as she blinked frantically.

She took a step back as he approached her, shaking her head as her lower lip trembled pitifully and tears drew tracks in the powder that had been applied to her face.

She looked like a delicate doll that had been left too long in the sun, the paint melting away, and Aegon found himself strangely drawn to wiping her tears. He reached out to her clumsily, using the corner of his sleeve to wipe a tear on her cheek, leaving an obvious smudge in her powder.

"I am sorry," he murmured. "I am unused to the company of others. Women even less so."

Aegon trembled as she swayed, almost leaning into his touch, but didn't answer. "I suppose I could make an effort, for you," he offered, wiping the underside of her lower lip where a tear had caught. There was beauty in her vulnerability, he found, even though he knew nothing of beauty. He sighed. "Not tonight."

She nodded her agreement, or perhaps simply her acknowledgement. He wondered if she would still want to seek his company after he had spoken to her in such a way, and she had been right, he had been cruel. He knew how easily she crumbled under the words of others, and he loathed himself as his first instinct had not been to shield her from such an occurrence.

"Another night, perhaps... We might share supper," he offered again, and this time her lower lip stretched into a tender smile, even though she was still keeping her eyes lowered, away from his face.

Something tugged at Aegon's heart, something that made him want to bolt back to the safety of his chambers, flayed and exposed as he felt. As a young boy he had made Jaehaera cry so often, and in that instant he realized he could not remember if he had ever made her smile.

Dividers by @saradika

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