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Aemma Targaryen, second of her name, was an interesting case of scrambled morals. Named after her father’s late wife, Aemma was the eldest daughter of King Viserys Targaryen and Queen Alicent Hightower. She was spoiled for affection from her father, often found glued to his legs when she was younger as he cooed over her; his eyes seeing through her someone she could never be. On the other hand, her mother was a cold woman. She had grown resentful in her bitterness of her situation - forced to bear the heirs of a rotting old man, the naming of her firstborn stolen for the memory of a dead woman, and the aching loneliness of the loss of her dear friend. She withdrew from the labours of child rearing, passing the children off to milk maids and servants once they were released from her womb. As each child birthed had the ethereal features of the Targaryen line - silver spun hair, violet eyes and royal features, Alicent grew desperate trying to search for herself in her children. The pain twisted her insides until she could not bear to look at them, like a knife being pushed deeper into her heart with each glimpse. 
 
As a result, Aemma was raised with an overly doting father who saw only his late wife come again, and a vacant mother whose absence from her life left her wishing she were never born. Aemma learned to seek her comforts where she could, whether that meant using her looks on her father to provide her with extravagant gowns and jewels, or scavenging whatever vague scraps of affection her mother gave her and holding them close to her chest. Through her father she learnt to manipulate the softness of men’s hearts. Through her mother, she learnt the power of bait, dangling what was so desperately desired and giving only a little to keep someone entangled for an age. It made her someone ugly inside, this gaping maw of hurt and confusion struggling to find an outlet, and she often found herself vicious and not responding appropriately (as her mother would scold), to social situations. The entrance of her siblings into her life tempered her mildly, but would ultimately be where she focused this unhealthy energy - caring for them in her own special way. 
 
Her first brother, Aegon, was a cheeky babe. Only a year younger than herself, she had enjoyed watching him grow into the snarky and sarcastic little rat that he’d become. He was funny, and his main cares seemed to be whatever made him happy in life; to lay in his cups and between a woman’s legs. She could not fault him for enjoying the life of privilege being a prince gave him, nor the fact that he often sought these vices as a means to fill the deep ache for affection and love he desperately sought. He could be quite cruel sometimes, but then, so could she. They often traded harsh barbs that left spectators worried for their relationship. Only Aemma and Aegon could see the smile behind each other’s eyes as they cursed the existence of the other.
 
One year after Aegon the twins followed, Helaena and Aemond. Helaena was interesting, from an early age she showed signs of being a dragon dreamer. She used to scream upon waking, babbling about vivid imagery that made no sense to the milk maids or her mother. It only served to alienate the poor girl from their parents. She became withdrawn, mumbling to herself her prophetic visions and clinging to Aemond and her older siblings. It often made her laugh thinking of the beautifully sweet girl’s interest in creatures with too many legs. She supposed Helaena sought the company of simple things to avoid the complexity of her life. Many a time had she conspired with Helaena to slip worms and roaches into Aegon’s bed. 
 
But her favourite would have to be Aemond. When he could walk he toddled after her everywhere, the sight of his chubby little legs working furiously to keep up with her was a fond memory she held dear. Her little brother was a sweet thing, dutiful and serious. Where mother had given up on shaping drunkard Aegon and loopy Helaena in a royal image, she focused in force on little Aemond. Forgotten by his father and seen as second best by his mother, Aemond clung to his mother and her teachings with the yearning only a young boy aching for the love and recognition of a parent could have. But he would learn as Aemma did, the fickleness of their mother. Nothing could ever match her exacting standards, or fill the void of her unfulfilled life. Aemma saw an opportunity, and always allowed herself to be available whenever Aemond was distraught. She encouraged his studies in history and philosophy, pushed him to be the better swordsman of the brothers, and soothed him when Rhaenyra’s bastards and stupid Aegon made fun of him for being dragonless. She often took him on flights with her on Vermithor to give him that freedom. He was a sensitive boy, and though she loved him, she loved that he would always turn to her first even more.
 
The siblings got along well, looking after each other and forging unbreakable bonds under the oppressive absence of their parents. They projected the image of a perfect family whenever there were public outings. Appearances were everything in the cutthroat environment of the court. Any sign of weakness would be used against the royal family. If anyone happened to look closer and see the way Aegon stiffened whenever their mother drew near; the way Aemond would draw taller and shift closer to Aemma; the way Helaena would curl into herself behind her sister’s skirts… well Aemma smiled brighter and talked louder; demanding attention until the naysayers forgot their words.
  
When Aemma was three and ten name days, tensions had begun to rise between her family and her half-sister Rhaenyra’s children. They had played together, basically forced to interact given their relatively close ages. As the elder, it was very obvious to Aemma that her nephews were not of pure dragon blood. The Targaryen seed was strong, and all children of the blood line had the famed silver hair and violet eyes. Ser Laenor had the blood of Old Valyria, there was no reason that their children would not look like them. One didn’t have to be a maester to see the connection between Rhaenyra’s closeness to her sworn shield, Ser Harwin, and the colouring of her children. 
 
She supposed they were cute, both in looks and their innocence. They just didn’t understand the tension that tightened between their mothers with each child that was born. She would agree with her mother in this instance; it was appalling to see Rhaenyra flaunt her selfish consequences so arrogantly. She was never particularly close with her half-sister, but she vaguely connected the pieces of scathing commentary from her mother and Ser Criston Cole that there had been an incident that officially fractured the women’s friendship. When her mother and her father had married, it seemed to have been the trigger for the relationship breaking down. Rhaenyra was distant, and though she was much older than Aemma, she had not made any effort to meet and foster a connection with her father’s new family. Aemma could understand that, especially given her namesake must be a sore point for Rhaenyra, but it did not excuse the fact that she rarely saw the woman. So Aemma had no desire to force herself to connect with her bastard nephews.
 
Helaena kept to herself in the gardens or spent time with Aemma in her rooms. As Aemma did not care to interact with Jacaerys and Lucerys she either watched them interact with her brothers from afar, or kept herself busy. Her poor brothers were forced to train with them and share their studies. Aemond often complained of them, especially as Aegon had taken a liking to them and played cruel jests on Aemond. He’d run to mother for comfort but it was Aemma’s arms afterwards he sought solace in, head against her budding breasts, free to let his tears run as she stroked his hair soothingly. It was in these moments she whispered to him about their nephew's dirty blood, the selfishness of their half-sister to have children out of wedlock and demand the Iron Throne, and to defend Aegon’s poor attitude towards him as loving teasing. She knew Aegon could be cruel, but most of the time he focused on what could make him laugh the most, regardless of cost. She reminded Aemond of that especially; jest he would now, but when war broke the kingdom, Aegon would fight tooth and nail for his siblings. 
 
Aemond would sniffle and hold her tighter, and she would grasp him to her just as tightly; her heart bleeding open with the desire to keep them locked in their embrace forever. She wished time would still, so that they could stay the same age, with the same trivial concerns. Reality was often harsh as she had come to learn, but moments like this kept her from throwing herself from the highest window of the Red Keep. She had felt it when she had patched his hip from the dragon burn of his foolish attempt to approach the dragons at night in the dragon pit. She had felt it when she had had her first moon blood and Aemond had been chained to the door of her chambers, sending away any gossiping servants and keeping her well hydrated with honeyed tea. Aemond was

hers

, and she would rip apart any who tried to take him from her. 
  
As she grew older, she began to notice the distance between her father and his favourite daughter. His dead wife’s shadow Aemma may be, the Realm’s Delight, Rhaenyra, his first born, would always hold a place in his heart Aemma could never touch. Named as heir to the Iron Throne, Aemma saw the discontent that was in the realm at titling a female, let alone a whore who birthed dirty featured children and boldly claimed them as Valeryon-Targaryen, the heir to the throne over the King’s brother. Her half-sister did not care for politicking or the sensibilities of the nobles. Had she not scorned them on her tour for a husband? She hadn’t made any bother to interfere in the murder of Lord Jerrel Bracken. Her selfishness had not endeared herself to the people nor the lords of their sworn houses, something which Aemma had taken careful note of. A queen needed poise to deal with nobles, yes, but the power of the smallfolk was not to be underestimated. When it was safe for her to do so, Aemma made the effort to venture with guards into Flea Bottom, donating spare and her own old linens, giving packages of wrapped food, and telling stories to the orphaned children. She hated it. She always bathed thoroughly upon her return as their filthy hands would paw at her, eager for a glimpse of royalty. She knew that one day this hard work would lean in her favour, so she persisted. 
 
Aemma knew it would be difficult to displace her half-sister’s favour in her father’s life. In his eyes, Rhaenyra could do no wrong. His wilful ignorance towards her bastard children and the neglect he showed of his own formed a venomous resentment in her. Deep down, she kept the seed buried deep, not allowing it to taint her interactions with him or anyone else. Doted on she may be, but she saw the way his face froze when she roamed the halls. The ghost of a woman he would never see again, stuck in the past; refusing to see the daughter he could cherish. So Aemma knew the delicate work it would be to sway her father to name her heir. Ignorance aside he had a sharp mind and would see what she would be pushing for. His loyalty and love to Rhaenyra would be difficult to break, but she had to work fast. Her grandfather was already whispering in his ear about Aegon. Putting forth a male heir would be tradition, and would solidify the crown’s standing in Westeros. Her grandfather’s poisonous tongue meant his words slithered into her mother’s ears too. She saw how she forced Aegon to be shaped into something befitting a King. The abuse he suffered whenever Aegon fought back infuriated her. The demeaning remarks, the hitting, the cold silence only to be warmly smiled at the next day. But mostly, the thought that just because he had a cock between his legs, Aegon was deemed the better candidate than herself, filled her with such loathing that she could not let them get away with it. Once, she might’ve reached a hand to her grandfather for help. But she could see in their total disregard for her, the first born, that she would not receive the help she sought. 
 
So Aemma worked hard on her father and requested to be cupbearer at the small council meetings, for herself and the sake of her siblings. She scoured the dusty depths of the late Queen’s quarters and fluffed the old gowns and shined the hidden jewels to wear in her luncheons with him. When she had first worn the Targaryen red dress Queen Aemma I had worn to a tourney, Viserys had wept heavily. He had crumbled to his knees at her feet, hands balled into the hem of the gown as his fat tears soiled the dress. 
 
“Aemma!” he had wailed, drawing the final syllable of her name out. The gut wrenching cry was enough to twist her stomach into something resembling guilt, but not so much to overpower the disgust she felt watching her father flail on the ground. The Targaryens were akin to Gods, and this is how he portrayed his grief? It had been

years,

and still he broke so easily. It was enough to have the guards storming in, alarmed. She would not visit him so openly again.

While her foolish mother and grandfather plotted to put her pathetic brother on the throne, Aemma visited her father in the evenings in a perverted mirror of when her mother first visited before they wed. They had deep conversations about ruling; to him her dreams of grandeur, of the world with a Queen sitting the Iron Throne and ruling Westeros with dragons the size of four Vermithors were merely fancies. But to her, she pushed her own agenda in the guise of feminine innocence, hoping to plant some seed of ambition in her father. Sometimes if he fell asleep before she finished, she would watch over him, deep in thought. But then the moaning would start.

Aemma, Aemma, Aemma…

and she would have to leave, disgusted by the pathetic wretch he had become. She and her siblings would never be enough. For either parent. Her father still sought a dead woman, and her mother still followed the machinations of her own father, ignorant to the feelings of her children. So Aemma didn’t feel guilty anymore, no, she knew then that this was the right course of action, to protect herself and her siblings.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

News of the charring of the Strong household intermingled with the death of Prince Daemon’s wife. She wondered who her nephews would be crying for at the funeral. Aemma and her siblings had been breaking their fast with their mother when she had shared the news and the expectations of the royal family to make an appearance at the funeral. Aemma hadn’t cared much for it, nodding to show her mother she was listening. She let Helaena deal with doling out appropriately sympathetic reactions. Aemma was more preoccupied with why her mother had been acting strange. She had been anxious when revealing the news, more so than what was appropriate for her station. Why would either of those deaths have affected her so negatively, unless she knew something about them Aemma wasn’t privy to. 
 
She pondered this as her mother rose to attend to a visitor. Aemma spied the hobbling shape of Larys Strong trailing after the Queen. Was she in partnership with the freak, and had purposefully done something so vicious to clean the canvas for her political moves? Aemma supposed she should be impressed. She didn’t think her mother had the gall, puppeteered as she was by grandfather. 
 
“Aemma?” She snapped to attention at the sweet call of her name from Aemond.
 
“Yes, brother?” 
 
“You were lost in your thoughts again, what has you thinking so intensely?” 
 
“The funeral will be so dreadfully boring. I am thinking of what books to bring with me to Driftmark.” Aemma sighed wistfully. Aegon rolled his eyes as he gulped down his fourth goblet of wine for the morning. She would never know how he didn’t turn into some fat, slovenly thing with the pacing he kept up. 
 
“What use will books be when we have our dear nephews to entertain us?” Aegon smirked. 
 
“The bastards will be busy crying, Aegon. It’s not pleasant to deal with a miserable fool when you weren’t the one that made them cry.” Aemma remarked as blandly as if she were commenting on the weather. 
 
“All the more reason to ensure you’re the one that made them cry harder,” Aegon chuckled. Aemma hummed in agreement as she sipped her wine leisurely. 
 
“‘Tis a shame Vhagar is now left riderless. Such a magnificent beast left abandoned. I think it’d be lovely to visit her at least once when we’re at Driftmark.” Aemma kept Aemond in her periphery, watching as his head snapped to hers at the mention of Vhagar. 
 
“And be burned alive by a grieving dragon? No thank you. You can take Aemond as your meat shield, though that isn’t saying much considering he’s a scrawny rat.” Aegon scoffed. 
 
“Scrawny?!” Aemond demanded, indignant. 
 
“I bet I could throw you across the tiltyard and feel no exertion,” Aegon leaned forward in his seat, eager to rib his brother. As Aemond angrily rose to the bait, Aemma heard the soft lilt of Helaena’s voice. 
 
“He’ll have to close an eye,” Aemma whipped her head around to lock eyes with her sister’s dazed ones, the violet a cloudy haze of lavender. Aemma’s brow furrowed in worry as her brothers continued their bickering. Helaena never said things idly, especially when they regarded their family. Aemma would have to watch over Aemond when he acted upon her suggestion to claim Vhagar. And act he would. Normally Aemond was slower to rise to Aegon’s taunts but her words had distracted him. He was already mulling her words over, absorbing and reforming it into his own idea. With her siblings engrossed, Aemma felt the miniscule pull of her lips lift into a smirk. Aemond would claim Vhagar or die trying. 
  
The funeral was as tedious as she’d anticipated. Driftmark was beautiful, that was without a doubt. Standing upon the rock face as Vaemond Velaryon spoke a eulogy for his niece, Aemma allowed her eyes to lose slight focus as she gazed upon the waves of the ocean. The salt spray reaching them every so often was clarifying. She hadn’t realised how stifling King’s Landing had become until she was faced with such unrelenting natural forces. It was beautiful.
 
She had been positioned next to her mother, with her brother’s next to their father. She caught Aegon puffing out his cheeks and growing restless in boredom, while Aemond stood arrow-straight next to him. Helaena had made herself scarce early on, she would have to track her down later. Aemma snapped to attention when she heard the words of blood reach her ears. 
 
“Ours runs thick… ours runs true,” The High Valyrian rolled smoothly off his tongue, the Westerosi present not understanding his words. But they could see the sudden tension that had entered the frames of those present. Aemma saw her father lift his head to look disbelievingly at Vaemond and then to Rhaenyra. Aemma hoped he would start making the connection, seeing the obviously not full blooded Targaryen boys amongst the family of silver hair. 
 
“...And ours must never thin,” Aemma couldn’t help but smirk at Vaemond’s audacity. It seemed Daemon couldn’t believe it either, as he giggled like he’d heard something absurdly funny. Aemma glanced over at Rhaenyra’s frozen features, and down at the boys she clutched to her. Aemma pondered the face of Jacaerys. It seemed he had started to question his heritage, or at least guessed correctly that the words Vaemond said were directed at them. Aemma tilted her head thoughtfully at that and moved to return her eyes to her brothers. She froze as her eyes were instead ensnared by her Uncle Daemon’s. The violet eyes bored incessantly into hers as they tracked over every little facial movement. The grinding of the stone coffin across the rocks seemed obnoxiously loud as her mouth dried up and her heart began pounding. He didn’t blink, and her eyes began to water as she struggled to maintain eye contact. Before it became overwhelming, the coffin dropped into the water with a loud splash and Daemon smirked before looking away. Aemma fought to keep her quickened breathing quiet as the tension released from her body. She glanced around discretely to see if others had caught sight of the interaction. She saw Rhaenyra and Otto frown at her and Aemond tilt his head in concern before she focused on the waves again. As she calmed, Aemma knew then that the most dangerous piece Rhaenyra had on her side was Daemon. He was unpredictable, talented in combat, unfailingly loyal, and unfortunately deeply in love with her half-sister. He had seen something in Aemma, something that caught his attention, and Aemma knew she would no longer be a mere girl for him to dismiss from his mind from now on.
  
Aemma kept herself glued to Aemond’s side for the rest of the evening. He didn’t question it even as he preened, pleased to have her attention focused on him. She nibbled on the refreshments and waited for the event to come to a close before heading for her rooms, warning Aemond not to leave his when he retired. When she reached them she saw Aemond had somehow beaten her to them and was already preparing to slip away under his cloak. Helaena’s words haunted her mind for a moment. 
 
“Aemond,” she scolded quietly. He stopped for a second, sheepishly turning to her. 
 
“I’m coming with you,” she stated firmly. He looked at her with serious eyes before smiling, nodding for her to join him. 
 
She followed him to the beach, his steps hurried in his excitement to reach Vhagar. When they found her on the shoreline, they both froze. Even riding the second largest dragon, Vermithor, Aemma found herself struck with awe. Vhagar was magnificent. The great beast was slumbering in the sand, the rising and falling of her chest making the landscape swell and distort. The heat emitting from her was enough to chase the chill of the evening away. Aemma grabbed Aemond’s hand and squeezed, her throat drying up as she thought of the task before him. He squeezed back reassuringly before dropping her hand, squaring his shoulders and approaching the dragon. 
 
Her heart was in her throat as she watched him call out to Vhagar. The High Valyrian commands came out hoarsely, and her heart stuttered anxiously hearing the nerves in his voice. When Vhagar raised her head and fixed Aemond with her stare, Aemma called out warily. Aemond stood resolute though, and continued to attempt to command Vhagar. Finally, she was calm enough to allow Aemond to mount her. Aemma’s anxiety was almost choking her as she watched him struggle up, his feet slipping but he finally made it atop her. Aemma cheered in slightly hysterical delight as Aemond sat triumphantly above her, his blinding grin visible in the darkness to her. He yelped as Vhagar dusted herself off and scrambled to grip her tightly. Aemma laughed in joy as they took off, her laugh catching in her throat as she saw him slip and hang on by just a rope.
 
“Aemond!” She screeched, as she stumbled forward in the sand. She could only watch desperately as he tried to regain a foothold on Vhagar. As they rose higher and higher she could see he had managed it, and she collapsed bonelessly in relief against the sand dune behind her as she watched their forms get smaller and smaller.
 
She could distantly hear his yells of joy as he swept through the sky, the large form of Vhagar staying a massive shadow in the clouds even as they got further away. Aemma allowed herself to shed her masks totally, laughing with a wide grin splitting her face as pride struck her so intensely. Her brother, the one teased for years and insecure about being dragonbarren, had claimed the

largest

living dragon. The total fire power behind the siblings was well in hand now. Vermithor had always been a miraculous bond for Aemma, and it had given her leverage where being a woman would normally not. In addition to Dreamfyre and Sunfyre, Vhagar finished the powerful quadruple. Aemma could rest easy now knowing that her siblings had the strongest dragons to protect them. The combined might of Vhagar and Vermithor alone could raze Westeros to ashes. Where humans would fail them, their dragons never would. Any challenge to them would be met with fire and blood.
 
Watching the silhouette of the dragon weaving through the clouds coming closer to her, knowing that Aemond was in control, filled Aemma’s heart with such warmth. Her chest felt tight, and her eyes watered as she watched in awe. She wasn’t sure what this feeling was, but she was overwhelmed by her impressive brother. She was uncaring of the sand that stung her eyes and dusted her hair as she watched him land Vhagar in front of her. 
 
She rushed to him as he slid off the saddle. 
 
“Aemma!” He called as he ran into her arms. She grabbed him by the face, her wide eyes staring wetly into his bright ones as he began babbling excitedly. 
 
“Aemond!” She cut him off. “

You. Are. Beautiful.

” She breathed out in High Valyrian, choking up with excitement and that warm feeling again. She planted her lips firmly against his. She pulled back to see his dazed expression. 
 
“My beautiful, amazing brother!” Aemma squeezed him into a hug, feeling him hug her back just as tightly, laughing breathlessly. They stayed embraced for a moment, before pulling away. 
 
“It was brilliant, Aemma. I know we have ridden before on Vermithor, but when it was just me. I- I…” he cut off, staring awestruck at her. She could see how his eyes sparkled, how much confidence and security this bonding had given him. Vhagar was more than a war asset for them, she was also a balm for Aemond’s damaged soul. The years had not been kind to him, but at least with this, they were taking a healing step forward, of their own volition this time. Aemma couldn’t help herself and hugged him again joyously. 
 
“Come, the flight would have alerted others. We must return to our rooms before someone comes to investigate.” She grabbed his hand to return them to the castle. 
 
They hadn’t gone far when they encountered the entourage of their bastard nephews and Valeryon cousins.
 
“It’s him!” Rhaena called, storming forward. 
 
“It’s me,” Aemond stated arrogantly. 
 
“Vhagar is my mother’s dragon,”
 
“Your mother’s dead. Vhagar has a new rider now.” 
 
“She was mine to claim-“
 
“Then you should have claimed her. Maybe your cousins can find you a pig to ride. It would suit you.” Aemond said snidely. The hurt of the jest from a few moons ago evidently still hurts him. When the brawling began, Aemma knew it was time to seek adult interference. Aemond could handle himself well against the four of them, but she had no training experience to aid him, nor any desire to see herself hurt. 
 
“I’m going to get help, Aemond,” she stated quietly to him. He nodded to let her know he heard her before resuming his defence against his cousins. Aemma had no problem with him beating up the Valeryon girls as she slipped away rapidly into the dark corridor. They had not demonstrated anything worthy of note, except perhaps this one instance. But they were emotionally driven to it and that was so

boring.

Everyone knows a dragon chooses the rider. If Vhagar didn’t want Aemond she would’ve roasted him alive. But she didn’t, and Aemond was

worthy.

They were all fools to not see his value. 
 
Aemma found herself starting to become annoyed at how empty the castle was. Not even a servant in sight. She sprinted to the wing their chambers were in, hoping to find anyone… even the ever aggressive Ser Criston would do, she thought with a shudder. 
 
Thankfully her search proved fruitful and she saw Lord Commander Westerling guarding Aegon’s room. 
 
“Lord Commander!” Aemma called desperately. 
 
“Princess Aemma! What are you doing out of bed?” He surged forward. 
 
“Lord Commander, you must hurry, please they’re hurting Aemond!” She gasped out, grabbing his gauntlet and dragging him with her. 
 
“Guards, with me! Princess, lead on.” He responded straight away, two other guards moving from their posts to follow them. Aemma appreciated that he hadn’t wasted time asking questions. Aemma wasn’t usually the type to lose composure or be found wandering out of bed at night. The uncommon situation would have been enough to alert him something was wrong. 
 
She raced through the corridors back out of the castle with the metallic clanking of armour hounding her steps. She came upon the disarrayed state of her distant family, spying Aemond with a rock holding it over his head ready to swing it down on Jacaerys who laid at his feet. She pushed herself to run faster. She saw Jacaerys grasp wildly at the floor to throw sand in her brother’s eyes.
 
“Aemond!” She screamed. The others turned startled to her, but not Lucerys, who had used the distraction of sand and her arrival to scoop up a blade (where had that come from?) and throw his arm up straight into Aemond’s face. 
 
His scream of anguish gripped her heart so tightly she felt she couldn’t breath. She screamed his name again and sprinted to him, the Lord Commander at her heels as they reached him. 
 
“Cease this at once! Get away!” He barked. 
 
“Aemond!” Aemma whispered, hunching over him to see what was injured. He turned towards her, his hand clenched tightly over his left eye, blood pouring through his fingers and onto the ground. She felt bile rise in her throat and her eyes burn. They had massacred her boy! 
 
“What have you done to my brother?!” She screamed at Lucerys, lunging to attack him but being held back by one of the guards. She heard her nephew start to cry.
 
“No, Princess, you cannot!” She struggled in his grip. 
 
“Like hell, I can’t! By the Gods I will see them HANGED!” The last word tore from her throat in a sound she had never heard from herself before. She was distraught. Her precious Aemond had been

ruined

. 
 
“Aemma,” Aemond moaned. She stopped immediately. She wrenched herself from the guard's grip and went straight to his side, helping him up from where the Lord Commander was assessing him.
 
“We have to get him to the maester immediately,” She urged them. “Someone needs to alert my mother.” She shouldered them past her stupidly shocked nephews and cousins and whispered words of comfort to Aemond. 
  
Aemma stood tensely next to Aemond, watching as the maester washed his eye. He didn’t so much as twitch, simply kept his face blank and his eye on Aemma. They were in the meeting room off the side of the throne room. The maester had placed Aemond near the hearth for light. Her cousins were clustered together with their nephews away from them. She sneered at their huddled forms, as if they had the right to be scared. Aegon and Helaena were behind their mother, by the fire in the shadows. Their mother sat silently beside them now, keeping an attentive eye on the maester healing Aemond, while their father paced angrily up and down. It soothed some of the anger in her heart seeing them like this. A small token of proof that they did care about them. Hearing her father scold the guards was satisfying, especially as Ser Criston always seemed to have a smart answer for everything. He may have raised Aemond in the training pit and been a close male figure for her brothers, but he was still a presumptuous worm who had begun to overstep his boundaries in every aspect of his life. 
 
“It will heal, will it not, maester?” Her mother spoke up. Aemond was cringing in pain as the maester finished stitching him up. Not even stone cold Aemond could suffer the pain of feeling his flesh being pulled back together without some grimacing. Aemma felt her ire rise up again.

He shouldn’t have to.

“The flesh will hear. But the eye is lost, Your Grace.” Aemma shut her eyes briefly before moving to rub Aemond’s shoulders.

He will have to close an eye.

Helaena’s words echoed fiercely around her skull like a rat caught in a heated bucket. 
 
Her head snapped to her mother when she heard the slap. 
 
“Where were you?!” She had gone to rage on Aegon,

again

. 
 
“Ow! What was that for?” Aegon cried out. 
 
“That was nothing, compared to the abuse your brother suffered while you were deep in your cups,” she spat at him. 
 
“Mother,” Aemma called sternly. The queen whipped her head around to frown at her but was interrupted by the doors opening. 
 
“What is the meaning of this?” Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys had arrived. Interesting that Rhaenyra, lauded mother of the land, had not been the first to arrive for her precious boys. She watched as they fussed over the children, until finally Rhaenyra stormed in with Daemon; only looking slightly put together, dusted with sand and the smell of seaspray.

Interesting

. 
 
“What happened?!” A lance of pain cut through Aemma at the tender care Rhaenyra gave to her undeserving nephews. 
 
The cacophony of children got louder and louder until Viserys cut through the din.  
 
“Enough! Aemond, I will have the truth of what happened. Now.” Viserys limped towards them. The change was immediate in his tone. It was so obvious to her hearing how he spoke tenderly to Rhaenyra and her family and then brusquely to hers. Aemma couldn’t help but hold herself tightly, ready to speak for Aemond. Viserys looked at her briefly before dismissing her for Aemond.
 
“What else is there to hear, your son has been maimed,

her

son is responsible.” Their mother stepped forward to defend them.
 
“It was a regrettable accident,” Rhaenyra countered immediately. Aemma barely managed to hold in her disbelieving scoff.
 
“Accident? The Prince Lucerys brought a blade to the ambush, he meant to kill my son.”
 
“It was

my

sons who were attacked and were forced to defend themselves. Vile insults were levied against them.” Rhaenyra claimed. 
 
“What insults?” Viserys asked. The whole room paused. No one dared draw breath.
 
“The legitimacy of my sons birth was put loudly to question,” 
 
“What?” Viserys was shocked. How, Aemma did not know. 
 
“He called us bastards,” Jacaerys murmured just loud enough for us all to hear. She heard the barest hints of a snort from Aemond. 
 
“My sons are in line to inherit the Iron Throne, Your Grace. This is the highest of treasons. Prince Aemond must be sharply questioned so we might learn where he learned such slanders.”

Sharply questioned?

Aemma’s hands tightened on Aemond’s shoulders and he twisted his head to Rhaenyra sharply. 
 
“Over an insult? My son has lost an eye.” Alicent said in disbelief. Viserys leaned over Aemond in his chair. 
 
“You tell me boy, where did you hear this lie?”
 
“The insult was training yard bluster, the lot of boys-“
 
“Aemond, I asked you a question,” Viserys interrupted Alicent firmly. There was a slight pause as Aemma squeezed Aemond’s shoulders painfully. Yes, they had heard it from each other but they had heard it mainly from Aemma and their mother first. Alicent quickly realised this and began questioning Ser Laenor’s absence to distract them. 
 
Aemma released Aemond’s shoulders and shifted towards Aegon and looked at him, asking with her eyes if he’d take the fall. His face shuttered as he nodded minutely. Relieved, she nodded back. They were in a precarious position. To say it amongst themselves in the privacy of their chambers was one thing, but to publicly denounce their mother as a traitor was to put her to the blade. They still needed her, no matter their feelings. By allowing Aegon to take the brunt they could at least blame it on boyhood jesting and insults. It was the best course of action for this moment that kept them safe. For now. 
 
“Aemond. Look at me. Your king demands an answer. Who spoke these lies to you?” The distracted conversation had finished and Viserys was focused back on Aemond. Aemma saw him look at her, and she quickly darted her eyes to Aegon before looking back at him, he moved off her immediately to stare at their mother. The interaction took less than a second, but Aemma could only pray no one had caught it. Instead, her beautiful boy did something even better. He stared at their mother for a while, long enough for Viserys to catch it and turn to Alicent questioningly, and long enough for Rhaenyra to look disheartened by Alicent as well. Long enough for even Alicent to become worried that her son would expose her. His eye went back to the King. 
 
“It was Aegon,” Aemond stated firmly. 
 
“Me?” Aegon played his part exactly. The breathy disbelief was perfect. 
 
“And you, boy, where did you hear such calumnies? AEGON! Tell me the truth of it.” She could truly hear how angry her father was in that moment for Rhaenyra, and just how little he cared for Aegon. It hurt her to think her parents did not think much of him beyond his role as first male heir. Had Viserys not killed her namesake for one? Look at how he treated him when he finally got him. 
 
“We know, father. Everyone knows. Just look at them.” Her brother’s soft voice carried well in the room. Finally, here was one of the first public references to the illegitimacy of Rhaenyra’s children. Would Viserys finally see what was in front of his face? 
 
His next words quickly proved her wrong. She could see her reaction in her mother as well; emotionally withdrawing from the moment in shock as they both realised just how delusional his loyalty was to his daughter. Rhaenyra would continue to get away with anything, simply because he loved her too much. 
 
“Now make your apologies and show your good will to one another,” Aemma could not contain her scoff this time. Aegon gripped her hand in warning. Aemond was damaged permanently and he thought a simple apology would fix it? 
 
Her mother was in the same frame of mind as she refuted his decision. Aemma watched happily as her mother escalated the situation, pulling Viserys’ blade on Rhaenyra. Aemma was slightly disappointed to see it return back to their old history; Aemond’s disfigurement was just a vessel for her mother to carry out her righteousness. She was disgusted to hear Rhaenyra echo her sentiments quietly. Still, it had been gratifying having their mother to speak on their behalf for once.
 
The stare down between the two women was tense. Held at blade point, the Princess Rhaenyra kept her composure only because she knew Alicent showing herself like this was a win for her. Her mother becoming hysterical would not garner her any favours, regardless of its validity. But this moment was a culmination of the years of resentment and unresolved issues between them finally boiling over. Here, the sides would firmly separate. She can almost imagine her sister saying some cryptic ramble of green and black threads fraying apart. Her mother pushes Rhaenyra away and slices her arm. As the room watches the dragon blood drip onto the floor in disbelief, Aemond steps forward. 
 
“Do not mourn me, mother. It was a fair exchange. I may have lost an eye, but I gained a dragon.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The years that followed were interesting. Rhaenyra’s family shunned themselves to Dragonstone. Immediately after Laena’s funeral, there were whispers of Rhaenyra and Daemon wedded in a private ceremony in the Old way. The Red Keep was all the lighter for their absence. 
 
Her father’s health declined severely. Whereas before he managed to hobble around the Keep, the excursions tired him to the point of exhaustion now. Her grandfather and mother were able to portray their united front and rule in Viserys’ stead. Behind the scenes, Aemma knew there was a tension building between the two Hightowers. Her grandfather pushing for a male heir to replace Rhaenyra, and her mother wishing to be done with the conflict completely. 
 
Aemma decided to spend more time with the queen after that significant night. Though her mother was still wounded from her past, her fierce defence of Aemond had shown Aemma that all hope was not lost with their mother. Perhaps she had judged her too harshly as a young girl. Alicent was still scared of her father, who should be the source of her ire. He was the one who had controlled her life that led her to the miserable state she was in. 
 
So Aemma broke her fast with her mother and Helaena every morning. She saw the ice thaw slightly in her mother’s demeanour. Not enough to make up for their childhood, but enough to secure a cordial relationship in her womanhood. She was slowly able to get her mother to show more care for her children; less brutal physicality with Aegon, more tenderness with Aemond, more consideration to Helaena’s murmurings and enjoyment of creatures. It helped to soothe some of the hurt. Over tea, matters of marriage to secure alliances and the birthing bed became frequent topics for the three ladies. It put Aemma off immensely, she knew it would be her duty but she hoped she at least had a say in who she married. The image of long white hair and an eye patch always flashed in her mind whenever they discussed it, but Aemma kept that firmly to herself. 
 
Neither Rhaenyra nor Aegon were fit to rule. She needed to dissuade her mother and grandfather of that notion immediately. Her grandfather ultimately wanted someone of his blood on the throne. His traditional views were tricky to navigate, but even he could see the public adoration for Aemma. Surely he wouldn't be so arrogant as to push the Aegon agenda when the easier path would be Aemma, regardless of her lack of a cock. 
 
She hoped with these breakfasts she could plant seeds of doubt into her mother. To allow her to see Aemma come into herself as a woman; to see the sharp and ambitious mind that she held. As the eldest, she should be considered heir to the Iron Throne. In every conversation, every social occasion, Aemma demanded perfection of herself and acted accordingly. She needed her mother and others to see that she was the best candidate for the throne. She was present, where Rhaenyra was not. She was interested in matters of the realm, where Rhaenyra hid away and Aegon drank himself into a stupor. She showed affection and care to her family, solidifying her image of a nurturing and loyal woman. She continued with her visits to Flea Bottom, though they were less regular now. When she had fully flowered into a woman she had been warned by her grandfather not to. Aemma had felt when the adoring grasps turned to crude groping. The last time it happened she had brought Aemond along with her. Aemond had grown quick with a blade, and the man’s hand was on the floor before anyone could process what happened. Aemma sighed as if disappointed and continued on her way like it didn’t phase her, but as they returned to the Keep, Aemond kept close when he saw the way her steps were hurried and her fingers grasped her skirts tightly. 
 
Her relationship with Aemond had initially had some resistance as he grew into a man. In the first year of his injury, Aemond had closed off to everyone. It had taken him two moons to heal, the scar stretching across his eye quite ugly. All things considered, it was a clean cut and would heal nicely once the red, swollen and irritated skin settled. But Aemond became self-conscious of it, turning his face away and growing his hair long to keep it in front of his face. Aemma had stitched a silken eye covering that he had taken to wearing while he healed. The physical damage would mend, the major issue however, was Aemond having to relearn everything to accommodate his lack of vision. Her poor boy. The Gods saw fit to throw everything they could at him, but he remained strong. Like the rocks of Driftmark he stayed solid and unyielding, resilient to any harsh event that crashed upon his walls. But even this had been pushing him close to the edge. He fatigued easily from reading, his years of habits often had him aborting motions midway when he realised he couldn’t move as he used to. He had to relearn combat tactics to counter all the ways enemies would use his blind side against him. It was harrowing to watch; it almost broke them both, but she was proud of Aemond for overcoming the challenge and becoming better for it. 
 
What she would not tolerate, however, in his self-pitying state, was his withdrawal from her. Aemond was always a boy of little words, but the incident had caused him to pull away from everyone. Most people withheld their speech gingerly around him, hesitant to bring up the injury, viewing him as a cripple who could no longer function. They whispered about him as if he couldn’t hear, as if losing his eye meant he lost all his other functions. Ladies of the court averted their eyes in disgust and pitying glances from the servants set him on edge. He became rude and cold, lashing out at anyone and further isolating himself. 
 
The one time he tried it with her she put him in his place. She had commissioned a fine leather eye patch for him, with an adjustable strap so that he could grow with it. The silk covering was not fitting for public appearances, and if Aemond didn’t want to display his battlescar then she would ensure he had a practical covering fit for a prince. She found him in the library, a book held open lax in his grip as he stared out the window. 
 
“Aemond,” she called quietly. Thankfully the library was empty, she held a deep respect for the chamber of knowledge. The scent of old parchment and incense always filled her with calm. Aemond tilted his head so his one eye could acknowledge her before returning to the horizon. She walked to him and dropped the leather eyepatch in his lap. He looked down before picking it up to examine it slowly. 
 
“Another one? Are you that disgusted by it?” he scoffed without humour. He didn’t have to explain what he was referring to. As quick as a whip, she gripped his hair and yanked his head back so that he was forced to look up into her face. He grunted in pain and the book and eyepatch fell to the floor with a thunk. She was sick of his attitude.
 
“You think I care what you look like when that scar proclaims to the world what you sacrificed to have Vhagar?” she sneered at him. “You think I, the sister who loves you, has seen you at your worst, planning and sacrificing everything to make our lives better, would throw you aside just because of a cut?” she spat on his cheek as she shoved him away roughly. 
 
“Only a wounded dog bites the hand that feeds it. Are you a dog, Aemond? Too dumb to see how I differ from everyone else?” she tipped her head mockingly at him. Aemond frowned angrily at her, wiping away the spit on his sleeve. 
 
“You are better than this, Aemond. You are already training and adjusting to your new circumstances so well. Don’t you dare shut me out when all I will ever do is support you.” Aemma declared fiercely. Aemond stared sullenly at her. His eye began watering and he sniffled. 
 
“It’s too much, Aemma. Why me?”

There

was her sensitive boy. She gathered him in her arms, holding him tightly as he tried to muffle his cries. 
 
“I know not why the Gods have seen fit to have your path such a challenge, but know this Aemond,” she dropped her voice into barely a whisper. Even here, alone in the library, the walls had ears. “When I am Queen, they will have to rip me limb from limb before anyone touches a hair on your pretty head.

My beautiful Aemond

.” she crooned at him in High Valyrian, the intimate language making Aemond blush. She kissed his rosy cheeks, pleased. 
 
“Look at me,” she commanded him. His watery violet eye locked onto hers. She slowly lowered her head to connect their lips. They gently moved against each other, his inexperience making him stiff and awkward. She had practised enough with Aegon when they had both matured to see what it was like, but kissing Aemond was something else entirely. It suffused her with warmth, a similar feeling to when she had seen him fly Vhagar. Was it love? She would be happy if it was. There was no one more deserving of her heart. 
 
Aemond was sloppy but eager. She pulled away from him and saw a string of drool stretch between them as they detached. She stroked his cheek softly and stared at him tenderly as he panted. 
 
“Aemma,” he gasped, licking his lips and staring wide eyed. 
 
“Never break from me again, Aemond.” she told him firmly. She smiled sweetly when he nodded, dazed.
 
“Never.” 
  
When she was six and ten, her mother again shared significant news with her over breakfast. This time they were alone, Helaena was having a fit in her rooms, resistant to anyone but Aemond who was currently caring for her. Aegon, she believed, was resting comfortably between the bosoms of two of Helaena’s handmaidens. 
 
“Aemma,” her mother spoke up, sipping delicately at her tea. 
 
“Yes, mother?” she set her own teacup down, sensing that this would be an important discussion.
 
“You are now of a marriageable age. It is time to seek a desirable prospect for you.” Aemma blinked twice before nodding. 
 
“Yes, that most likely would be either Aegon or Aemond.” Her mother shook her head.
 
“No, it has already been decided Aegon will marry Helaena. He is already familiar with her… peculiarities. Your father insists upon it. One marriage within the family is enough and there is at least some separation between them in terms of blood.” Alicent’s lip curled, her distaste of Targaryen practices shining through. She was resigned to the match. Her husband still had the final say in such matters, even if he was incredibly ill. 
 
So that was why her siblings were absent this morning and Helaena particularly upset. Aemma daintily smoothed non-existent wrinkles from her skirts before speaking up. 
 
“And what of Aemond?” she enquired casually. 
 
“He will be given to one of the Baratheon girls. He will have his choice, it matters not which, just that we secure the Stormlands.” Her brother with a boar for a wife. She fought the instinctive snarl of her top lip and asked for herself. 
 
“Who has put their names forward?” 
 
“We’ve had many offers, most notably Lord Loreon Lannister and Lord Cregan Stark. Both their father’s have written expressing their interest. Considering Rhaenyra’s frequent dismissal of Lord Jason Lannister it might be in our best interests to accept Loreon’s hand.” Her mother delicately nibbled at a lemon cake. 
 
 “You would have your eldest daughter and heir of the Targaryen empire marry into the Lannister family? Wealthy they may be but worthy of a Princess?” Aemma couldn’t help but question.
 
“It is as you say. Wealth. The crown can always use gold, and their forces are nothing to scoff at either.” 
 
“Forces? For what could we need forces, the realm is at peace.” Her mother tutted at her. 
 
“Don’t play lower, girl, you are not vapid. You see how we are with Rhaenyra. While she is heir, there will always be discontent.” 
 
“But you push for Aegon instead. He does not want it, nor does he show any kingly qualities. Why?” Aemma leaned forward in her chair, eager to hear her mother speak plainly. Alicent sighed before replying. 
 
“Aemma, you must understand the realm will never be happy with a woman on the throne. Aegon has more claim than Rhaenyra, especially with her prolonged absence from court.” her eyes softened here. “You desire yourself on the throne, don’t you? A male heir would be preferred. By small and big folk.” 
 
“He is second born, he sleeps and drinks his days away. The smallfolk see it, mother, all the lords and ladies gossip about it too. Aegon is

not

fit to rule. I am.” Aemma stated firmly. “I have endeared myself to the smallfolk. I have folded myself into the fabric of the court for the nobles to see. Am I not a useful cupbearer in the small council meetings, learning how to run the Seven Kingdoms? I have a vested interest in the workings of the realm.” 
 
Aemma leaned forward and grasped her mother’s hand firmly. The first contact in years. Her mother startled, already thrown off-kilter by her daughter’s impassioned speech.
 
“Mother, I know you desire to see your friendship with Rhaenyra settle and there be a world where all of us get along. But you must see that will never happen. Aemond’s destroyed eye has finalised it. There has been rifts between us all for years, pushed along extensively by grandfather. He has strung you along, and now he pushes for Aegon. The Hightower family is already on the throne,

through you

. Why can he not see what he already has? Father has not yet passed and yet you and grandfather already rule in his stead.” Aemma paused, not sure how much she could push. This was the most she had spoken to her mother about her intentions. She was risking a lot, being so open with her. 
 
“If you must push for a successor, let it be me. Rhaenyra cannot win this ruling. We would still be following tradition as the first heir claiming succession, a Hightower and Targaryan would sit on the throne, and you and grandfather would continue on the small council, aiding from the shadows. At least you would know that the realm would be in good hands. You and your children would be safe. There will never be peace if Rhaenyra claims the throne. She would have us all executed to prevent any further contention.” She saw she was losing her mother. For all her resentment, she still loved Rhaenyra and any comments made against her she defended ardently, even if she herself spoke hostilely about her. Aemma tightened her grip on her mother’s hand and continued desperately. 
 
“How could a mother ask for a child,

your

child, to be ‘sharply questioned’? What kind of woman would swear on her dead mother and lie so boldly? She sought her own pleasures, knowing that you suffered. She is

not

the young woman you befriended, mother. She has always served in her own selfish interests. Where is her duty? Where is her sacrifice?” Her mother tensed as Aemma threw her words from all those years ago back at her. “She still married who she wanted, she still fucked who she wanted, and she

still

gets away with hiding herself in comfort at Dragonstone while the rest of us suffer her actions.” Aemma was basically hissing at this point, careful to keep her voice low. She was desperate to sway her mother to her side but she was also overcome with emotions. She drew back and cleared her throat. She reached for her now cold tea and drank to quench her parched throat and compose herself. 
 
Her mother also cleared her throat and seemed to deflate before her eyes. 
 
“Aemma…” she trailed off wistfully. “You’ve grown into such a formidable woman. I could have only hoped that one day, my children could be stronger than I. If you could not look like me, I wished to at least see something of myself in you. And I do now. I see a fighter, I see a

survivor

.” she sighed before continuing. 
 
“I have never been allowed to be selfish. My father set me the task of befriending Rhaenyra to get closer to the throne. A Hightower confidant, with the potential for a royal match. I was a young girl, but I had made the mistake of thinking our friendship was genuine, even if it had not started with genuine intentions. My father saw the opportunity when Queen Aemma passed away, and pushed me into his arms. Viserys is a nice man and any woman would be lucky to be his wife, but I was eight and ten and he just reached thirty name days. I hated to be touched by him, hated to be bedded by him. And all the while, he called for his dead wife.” Alicent scoffed, shaking her head. Aemma stared entranced, never had her mother spoken so deeply to her, or

any

of the siblings before.  
 
“Your names were stolen from me, the joy of holding you was stolen from me. I gave Viserys two boys and still he strayed to Rhaenyra and her half-breeds. When I had birthed you I thought I would not live beyond the birthing chamber. The first child is always the hardest, they say. I was covered in blood, gaping open, distressed and exhausted. When the maester declared you a girl, I could see the disappointment in Viserys’ eyes.

Another girl

he must have thought. I couldn’t even face my father. He simply said, ‘you will try again’. No questions to my wellbeing, no effort made to comfort me. My father had never greeted me so warmly as when I had birthed Aegon. I thought Viserys would finally look upon me with something other than grief, but he hadn’t looked at me at all. He simply took Aegon out of my arms, and named him after the Conqueror without my input. As if

he

was the one who had put in all the work to birth him. I felt…nothing. My life had no meaning anymore. I resigned myself to my fate, stuck in the cycle many women before me had faced, and continue to face. Rhaenyra’s freedom with her life was merely salt in the wounds; a constant reminder that by the grace of her birth, her circumstances and who supported her, she was able to do as she pleased. 
 
“I share these things with you now, Aemma, because I know the life of a woman is not easy. We are simply pieces to be moved, broodmares to push out babes for the sake of the men in our lives. I have been scared of my father for as long as I can remember. I will always be the obedient, shy girl, and he will always view me as such, even as I have grown and produced magnificent children, and marked myself a player of the game. I know I have not always been able to show it, but I am proud of you, Aemma. For doing more than I could. I do

love

you. All of you.” 
 
Aemma felt her eyes burn as she stared dumbly. Her mother stood up and kneeled in front of her, grasping her shoulders lightly. 
 
“If you wish to sit the Iron Throne, I will support you. As my daughter and heir, I will support you. Not to spite Rhaenyra or my father, but for

you.

” She stared at her intently before pulling her into a hug. Aemma felt overwhelmed, her emotions clawing up to force out of her throat into a sob before she could squash them down. Her mother only held her tighter, and Aemma cried sixteen years of hurt into her mother’s dress. 
  
Later that year, Aegon and Helaena were wedded. The evening celebrations were beautiful. Aemma didn’t care much for the ceremony; Aegon and Helaena were married in the Great Sept of Baelor in the faith of the Seven and not in the ways of Old Valyria. Noble Houses from across Westeros rode in to attend, and the smallfolk scrambled amongst each other to watch the ceremony from the streets. The preparations for such had sent the Red Keep into a frenzy. 
 
Aemma hadn’t seen much of her mother since their conversation, but they acknowledged each other with new respect now. Aemma allowed herself this one hope that her mother was on their side now, and would pull through for her in the end. Aemma took a break from scheming to indulge herself in the feminine fancy of working closely with the royal tailors to produce a dress befitting a queen for her to wear to the wedding. Aemma wanted to make an impact. She was wearing a darker shade of Hightower green, a gorgeous shimmering silk that sparkled when the light caught it. It was similar in structure to the style of dresses her mother usually wore with the long sleeves, but the neckline was a slightly deeper cut, and the dress more form fitting. She had requested intricate beading on the bodice; a sweeping figure of a dragon draped across her chest and the tail of it spiralling down the skirts. The perfect combination of her Targaryen and Hightower heritage. 
 
Her silver hair was brushed until it was a glossy sheen, curled with heated irons as it fell in a curtain down her back. A small portion had been braided away from her face and the crown of her head was studded with emerald and diamond hair pieces. Her handmaids had applied rouge to her cheeks and lips, and a black khol liner to her eyes, which was new to court fashion from Dorne. Her violet eyes seemed to glow effervescently with the new makeup. She felt beautiful, she felt regal. She felt… powerful. Like any man would fall at her feet the instant they saw her. She allowed her handmaids to assist her into her matching satin heels and fluff her skirts before she took her leave. She was only fashionably late, her critical eyes had taken a little longer to ensure she looked perfect. The guard outside her door nodded to her before falling into step behind her as she made her way to the great hall. Her heels clicked loudly on the stones, and she enjoyed the slippery feeling of her skirts sliding against her legs. Finally she reached the large doors attended by two guards. They saluted with a “Princess!” before opening the doors. A herald announced her to the hall as she tucked her hands demurely against her front.
 
“Presenting Princess Aemma Targaryen, second of her name, firstborn of King Viserys I and Queen Alicent Hightower!” The crowd hushed as she was announced. She strode through the tables with her head held high and her shoulders back. She knew she struck a vision in green as she heard the whispers begin. She kept her focus forward as she made her way to the high table and curtsied to her parents. She turned to curtsy her married siblings before rising to round the table to her seat beside Aemond. Helaena had looked stunning in her decadent gold gown. She bore a golden hairpiece that blended seamlessly into her hair; a glimmering sea of jewels and sparkles. Aegon had similarly been dressed just as richly in a doublet of black and green. His hair had been slicked against his head in a style she'd never seen on him before. She thought it suited him quite well.

Her eyes, however, had struggled to move off Aemond. He had grown nicely into his features over the years, and tonight he cut an impressive figure. His tall, sleek build had been wrapped in a green velvet so dark it appeared black, the light catching hints of the delicate silver thread that decorated the doublet. The eye patch she had made for him all those years ago sat on his face, and his long hair had similarly been brushed to perfection. The shiny locks flowed straight and without kinks over his shoulders and down his back, pulled back in his usual half up style. She loved that he kept his hair long, even if he no longer needed to hide behind it. She thought it suited him very well, and added to his dangerous air. 
 
“Brother,” she greeted warmly when he stood to pull her chair out for her, beating the approaching servant to the task. She reached for a goblet of spiced wine as he sat. 
 
“Sister, you look stunning tonight.” he complimented, his face blank but his eye had grown bright since she entered. 
 
“As do you,” she returned. They sat in content silence as her eyes skimmed the hall, checking who had attended. She spied the Stark clan at a table nearby, and the golden haired Lannisters at the next. Rhaenyra and her family's absence was conspicuously noticed, another notch on the tally against her.
 
“The blonde boy hasn’t stopped eyeing you since you walked in,” Aemond muttered to her. 
 
“Which one? Half the room is blonde.” She laughed. His jealousy cooled at the sound of her laugh; it was very rare to make Aemma laugh, even more so in a public setting. She was more relaxed tonight. Let it be known, men had their armour; but women donned their finery in much the same fashion. Aemma felt like nothing could hurt her this evening.
 
“The Lannister cunt, of course. I think he forgets we are to eat the feast and not you.” Aemond remarked coolly. Aemma’s eyebrow rose at that. Aemond, jesting in public? 
 
“Please, there are other places I’d rather be spread upon for feasting.” she threw him a heated glance. His cheeks tinted pink as he swallowed and looked pointedly away. She smirked in satisfaction that no matter his intimidating new look, she could still turn him into the blushing youth that stared at her with stars in his eyes. 
 
She turned to face the centre of the table as King Viserys rose shakily.
 
“Welcome, everyone, we are honoured to have you with us to celebrate the joining of my children, Prince Aegon and Princess Helaena!” applause followed his announcement. “Please feast, drink deeply, and enjoy the festivities! On this night, the might of the Targaryen’s grow stronger!” The raucous cheering was even louder this time, and Aemma found herself smiling and clapping along enthusiastically.

Of all the possibilities of pairings, her siblings marrying each other was the best outcome. They knew how to care for each other, but it also meant no one would interfere in their sibling dynamic. They didn’t despise each other, but they could also have been married to someone worse. They would do their duty and no more. Aemma was pleased. The four of them were eternal, Gods amongst men, and she would try her damned hardest not to allow any further sullying of her bloodline.
 
Aemma and Aemond chatted mildly as they ate. She loved feasts because the energy in the room made everything more exciting. The food tasted better, the wine sweeter, and observing people as they lost their inhibitions was thrilling. The first dance of the evening was between the married couple. She watched as her siblings held each other stiffly. She had to cover her mouth with her hand to hide her smile; the sight of them adorably awkward. 
 
The evening progressed enjoyably. Aemma allowed herself several turns on the dance floor with various lords, enjoying the way Aemond’s visage darkened with each male. She had been able to get to know young Lord Stark briefly when they danced. Cregan was a year older than her, but beneath the bushy exterior he was a kind man. If her plans failed and she was forced to wed him she would at least have a decent life. She wasn’t sure how Vermithor would fare in the freezing winds of the North, but she supposed they would make it work. 
 
“Enjoying the festivities, sister?” she found herself spun into Aegon’s arms. 
 
“Aegon! I never thought to see you so put together.” she jeered at him lightly. He scoffed at her, the tension in his face relaxing as they moved around the room.  
 
“Not so well as Lord Stark, I imagine. He held your interest for quite a while.” 
 
“He is an honest man. He wouldn’t last a day in court, but he made for an interesting conversationalist. Perhaps the first man of the evening to not stare blatantly at my breasts.” 
 
“Ah, but when you place them like you have on display, can you blame a man?” He exaggerated a wistful sigh, staring obnoxiously at her chest. 
 
“Intending to become a sister fucker like your namesake?” She tutted as she shoved a finger under his chin and forced his head up. 
 
“Did you forget what we are celebrating tonight? I am destined to be a sister fucker.” He sighed miserably. 
 
“You will suit Helaena well. She needs the stability and security that only one of us can provide, and you want the freedom to not be chained. You need not bed her regularly. Enough to produce an heir and a spare and then continue your dalliances.” Aegon scoffed at her.
 
“It might be easy for you to desire your sibling but I do not see Helaena in that way. Neither of us do. It is like trying to shove my soft cock into Aemond’s refusing mouth. Revolting.” he shuddered. Aemma blinked, startled and her mouth parted slightly at the strangely attractive image that made in her mind. 
 
“You liked the idea of that didn’t you? You sick little whore, Aemond certainly has his hands full with you.” He jeered at her, part in disgust, part in wicked amusement. “How fucked this family is.” He threw his head back into a wild laugh. Aemma couldn’t help but smirk, agreeing with his sentiment. 
 
“Fire and blood, brother, fire and blood. Only a dragon can sate a dragon. Mine just happens to be deliciously Aemond shaped.” Aemma let herself be guided through a turn before continuing. 
 
“You will do what you need to. Bring another or multiple others into your bed, so long as your seed goes into Helaena. You

will

rear your children and care for Helaena as you always have. Do better for your heirs and family than what was done for us.” Aemma stated firmly, her unblinking eyes boring into Aegon’s. Aegon broke the contact, cowed, and nodded down at their dancing feet. 
 
“You will have a happy life together, Aegon.” Aemma sighed, pushing his chin up gently this time, thumb brushing across his lips. “You will spend your time as you always have, just with miniature Aegon’s running around. Aeglings.” she smirked. Aegon barked a startled laugh. He shook his head fondly at his sister and Aemma ignored the bitter twist to his lips. 
 
“I think it’s time you return to our brother. He wears jealousy as well as he wears that eyepatch. Incredible how everything negative suits him so well.” he frowned in mock envy. “Broody little cunt.” 
 
“If he deigned to dance at these celebrations he’d have more of me, wouldn’t he?” Aemma rolled her eyes. 
 
“The day he dances with you, sister, is the day you become queen.” Aegon laughed heartily and guided her to the outskirts of the dancefloor before slipping away.
 
Aemma’s eyes blazed as she took his words as prophecy. She locked her eyes on Aemond’s half-lidded one as she strode powerfully across the hall to him. She would see it happen, one way or another.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Events started coming to a head when King’s Landing received word from Vaemond Velaryon of his desire to petition his claim to the Driftmark Throne. Lord Corlys Velaryon had been injured in the fights occurring in the Stepstones, his body in transit to Driftmark for recovery. It would be a while before his health could be confirmed. Currently he was hovering in the land between life and death, with most assuming him to be dead upon arrival. The ambitious second son of the Velaryon line saw the opportunity to resume his fight for his claim to the Driftwood Throne and had approached Aemma’s mother and grandfather, knowing that he would find an ally in them. Rhaenyra was notified of course, and had sent word confirming her and her family’s attendance at the petition hearing.

A moon prior to Rhaenyra's arrival, Aemma spent her evenings at her father's bedside. With him bandaged and addled on milk of the poppy, Aemma thought to try her luck again by influencing his mind. It was even worse than she had anticipated. Mutterings of Aegon and Alicent interweaved in the wheezes and whines of pain. Aemma was nothing if not persistent though. She would whisper her name, asking him to name her heir but doing her best to not make it so obvious. Anything to not have it lead back to her. She couldn’t sink any lower. Pleading, begging. She was at her wits end. If her father passed before naming her heir, she would be forced into mediocrity, seething in the shadows while Rhaenyra claimed what she was not worthy of and her dirty children tainted the line. 
 
On the third evening of trying this, Aemma burst into tears. The stress was overbearing. She felt the weight of her siblings' lives on her shoulders; the lives of Aegon and Helaena’s twins; her mother. She was not certain of her mother’s total support nor the value of her siblings in the political arena. Helaena was useless, Aegon too disinterested, and Aemond too abrasive. She was the only thread connecting her siblings to anything of substance to the court. If she could not gain this foothold she was a failure. 
 
That is how her mother found her hours later, hunched over Viserys’ bed, dried tear tracks evident on her face; swollen and puffy eyed. 
 
“Aemma,” she felt gentle hands lift her up. She turned to stare miserably at her mother’s concerned face. 
 
“Oh, my sweet girl,” Aemma committed the feeling of her mother’s hands running through her hair to memory. So long had she gone without these affectionate gestures. Aemma sighed and attempted to put herself together. 
 
“I apologise, I have overstayed.” she said. 
 
“‘Tis fine, I know that it is distressing seeing your father degrade like this. I can hardly remember a time where he was vibrant, full of life.” her mother commented, eyeing Viserys’ sleeping form. Aemma shook her head.
 
“No, it is not that mother. I have long since accepted my father's fate.” Aemma fiddled with her hair. “I do not have long left to convince him.” she stared at her mother with desperate, wide eyes. The queen’s eyebrows shifted, shuffling from surprise to bemusement in a matter of seconds. 
 
“You weep… not because of your father’s ill health, but because he may pass before naming you heir?” Her mother blinked once, twice, before huffing a breath. “If only our roles were reversed, truly you would be outstanding as the Lord Hand’s daughter.” she shook her head wryly. She took a moment to think about something. 
 
“Come,” she held her hand out for Aemma to take. She did, tidying her skirts before following her mother out of the rooms. She saw Ser Criston follow from his position at the door to Viserys’ chambers and Aemma ignored him. 
 
She didn’t question her mother but she recognised the path through the halls to her grandfather’s solar. Her mother knocked twice before entering. 
 
Her grandfather was studying papers at his desk, a fire was lit lending warmth to the otherwise cold room. Cold in both temperature and atmosphere. Her grandfather was not a welcoming man, no matter the depiction he portrayed. He looked up as they entered, eyes glossing over his daughter to Aemma, sharply taking in her rumpled appearance. 
 
“Wait outside please, Ser Criston.” her mother commanded. It looked as if he were about to argue, before he glanced suspiciously at Aemma and left. The door shut with a thud and left them in silence. 
 
“Alicent, the hour is late.” 
 
“Aemma, come sit with me.” Her mother ignored her father in favour of sitting at the plush lounge in front of the fire. Aemma followed gingerly, aware of her grandfather’s proud disposition. She had suspicions of why they had come but did not dare to hope. They both turned to stare at Otto. 
 
“Father, I apologise for arriving unannounced at this hour, but I believe we have a conversation that is long overdue.” Alicent stated clearly. Her hands betrayed her however; Aemma spied her mother’s hands picking at the skin of her fingers. 
 
“Long overdue?” Otto put his papers down to focus entirely on his daughter. 
 
“Yes. The question of succession.” Otto stared intently. “It was my hope that this conflict be cast aside and Rhaenyra be free to claim her title as was decreed by Viserys. Jacaerys would be heir to the Iron Throne, and Lucerys would be free to claim Driftmark. Tradition would be broken, but change can be a welcome thing. A Queen for the realm, the first of our time.” 
 
Otto remained quiet, allowing time for Alicent to gather herself before continuing. 
 
“It has recently been brought to my attention the reality of this outcome. Rhaenyra has divided supporters, most swearing fealty out of loyalty to her father and not her, and her children are bastards. No matter her sweet lies, Rhaenyra had the children of another man out of wedlock. The colouring and timing are just too obvious to those that are

not

Viserys. But most importantly, our family would not be safe. You would be exiled, as you were all those years ago, or worse. I know not what she would do to me, the years of resentment have sharpened into something vicious. And my children…” she paused, swallowing. “Put to the sword. Imprisoned. Banished and exiled, stripped of their titles. They would have nothing, we would be left with nothing. Where once I viewed Rhaenyra as having mercy, I know now that she has Daemon with her we will not be given it.” Alicent looked down, twisting her fingers anxiously. 
 
“Alicent…” Otto trailed off, impressed. “My daughter, I am so pleased to hear you say this. You finally see what I see, what I have been working so desperately to avoid.” His eyes shone with pride. “It may be that I can finally take you into confidence regarding our plans for Viserys’ passing.” Alicent felt herself warming with the praise. Finally, she had done something to please him that she had control over. But this time, Alicent felt content with the kind words but did not read into them further. Her father was a hard man, born and bred to play the game of thrones. Her lot in life was designed by him since her birth. She would never forgive him, but she could not deny her level of comfort now nor the significance of her station. She had accepted that this was the way of the world, but seeing Aemma; her ambition and fire… it had ignited something in Alicent she thought was long lost. Together they would work to ensure the safety of their family, and the continued line of House Hightower in a royal capacity. 
 
“I realise now how naive my thinking was. My feelings had coloured a lot of my expectations. I still do not wish death upon Rhaenyra… but I will do what needs to be done.” Alicent bowed her head. 
 
“Then you know that you must try harder with Aegon. He’s had years to be ready and still he resists.” Otto shook his head in disgust.
 
“Aegon will not be your puppet.” Aemma cut in sharply. She had stayed alert while her mother spoke, but this was her element now. Her grandfather’s eyes darted to her, startled, as if he’d forgotten she were there. Or perhaps, that he had not expected her to speak up at all. Oh how she and her siblings were used to such treatment; underestimated and forgotten. But no more. 
 
“It is as you say, for years mother has abused him and he has not strayed from his path of drinking and whoring. Nor will he. If anything, it has driven him further away from the two of you. That was

quite

the mistake.” she tutted. Her grandfather frowned at her.
 
“You have been persistent with Aegon, it’s been admirable if a little concerning watching you flog a dead horse-”
 
“Aemma,” her mother scolded with a frown. 
 
“You have been blind, grandfather. Wilfully so.” Aemma continued unphased, crossing her legs daintily.
 
He narrowed his eyes thoughtfully at her as he interpreted her words. “You?”
 
“Me,” she nodded.
 
“Placing a woman on the Iron Throne would divide the Realm.” he folded his hands to prop his chin on as he stared at her in a new light. Curiosity was in his eyes, and she was glad that he was at least listening. Her polite, non-offensive demeanour at court had served her well. She had evaded her grandfather’s sharp detection and that was sure to have wounded his pride. 
 
“The Realm is already divided, father ensured that when he named Rhaenyra heir. What difference will it make which daughter is on the throne? I have more support from small and big folk alike, I am aware of the functions of the small council and what it takes to run the Realm. My blood is pure, and my children’s blood will be even purer.” she smirked here. “You desire a puppet on the Throne but you do not see what you already have. You are the Hand of the King, your daughter is the Queen. You have four incredible grandchildren whose potential you have neglected. One who has escaped your notice and whose expertise could have been applied for the good of the family earlier; one who’s resilience and loyalty to his siblings has ensured their safety over all else; one who lost his

eye

to claim the largest and oldest dragon in Westeros; one who is a

Dragondreamer

. Do you know the words Helaena whispers that you and many others have ignored? Laughed at, while she tells of the tearing of the world and the very fabric of our society.” Aemma shook her head in disgust. 
 
“Aegon would never have been the puppet King you sought, he would’ve been bitter in his role and turned against you. We would have suffered, the Realm would have suffered.” Aemma paused to let him process her words. 
 
“If you persist and crown Aegon, he will abdicate and name me heir in his place, regardless of his son and reputation. Aegon is loyal to

me

.” She stated coldly, staring unblinking into his eyes. She recalled once Aemond saying how unnerving her stare could be. She hoped Otto could see how much she did not care for him and his petty schemes, he was merely an inconvenient obstacle to overcome. 
 
“I will sit the Iron Throne with or without your support. This is simply a courtesy. You will support me freely, or I’ll whisper in father’s ear unaddled by milk of the poppy about your treachery of his precious Rhaenyra. He may have allowed your return due to his weakness of judgement, but he will not have forgotten the words you spewed about his first born.” Aemma smiled falsely at Otto. 
 
He held her gaze, eyes shining with emotions. 
 
“It seems I have underestimated you. Severely.” He hummed to himself. She would say he was impressed, but she wasn’t sure if he could pull the stick of self-importance out of his arse enough for him to see it.
 
“As it has always been.” she shrugged. They sat patiently as he thought. Her mother shifted next to her, relaxing her bloodied fingers as she smiled proudly at her daughter. They returned to Otto when they heard him sigh. 
 
“Very well, Aemma. All my plans will have to change.” Here he frowned, annoyed at her. She rolled her eyes. “But I will support your claim. I’ve always enjoyed a challenge, and you have proven… most interesting.” 
 
“Good. You will leave Aegon alone, you have no need for him anymore, but you will be visible around him. We will continue to be antagonistic as usual, it wouldn’t do for word to reach Daemon’s ears on how well the Greens seem to be getting along.” 
 
“Indeed,” he agreed. Aemma dusted her skirts as she rose. 
 
“Thank you mother, grandfather for the invigorating discussion but I will now retire. Good night.” she bowed to them as she left. She again ignored Ser Criston who hovered near the door, pretending as if she hadn’t seen him trying to eavesdrop, and strode briskly to her rooms. 
 
She hadn’t anticipated the turnaround from her grandfather. She was suspicious. For all her masks, her mother did wear her heart on her sleeve around the family, so Aemma was more inclined to believe her genuine interest in establishing relationships with her children and seeking what was best for Aemma. Arranging that meeting with Otto had been a pleasant surprise but one that had been very fruitful. She just wasn’t sure if she could trust him. He had more to gain with a willing participant in his games than continuing his absurd attempts to drag Aegon along, but only the Gods knew what thoughts circled Otto Hightower’s mind. 
 
She collapsed onto her bed once she reached her rooms. The last thing she felt before falling asleep was a hand running down her back gently. 
  
Aemma awoke warm and well-rested. She stretched languidly, pausing for a moment when she felt the long body against hers before resuming. 
 
“Good morning, my sweet,” she heard the gravelly tone of Aemond’s morning voice rumble. She smiled and rolled over to curl into him. 
 
“Good morning,” Her relationship with Aemond had...escalated in the last two years. She simply could not hold herself back when he had grown into the darkly handsome man he was now. His intensity in the way he treated everything, but her in particular, had driven her wild. True to the high expectations she held of herself, he had not bedded her, but that hadn't stopped them from experimenting in every other manner.
 
“Where were you last night?” She snuggled into him deeper. 
 
“I will share over breakfast. We must meet with Helaena and Aegon this morning.” 
 
“Indeed,” he said as he held her tighter. She smiled before pushing him away and moving off the bed. 
 
“Go get dressed, I will meet you in their rooms.” She bent over him to kiss his lips before moving to the wash basin to wipe herself down. She heard the rustling of sheets and clothes as he rose, and it was only a moment of silence before she felt his warmth against her back, his arms sliding around her waist to press her against his muscled front. She felt his hardened length digging into her arse. 
 
“Aemond,” she warned breathily. 
 
“I will ravage you when we come back,” he promised in her ear, biting her lobe lightly enough to produce a shiver of desire. She smiled while turning in his arms. 
 
“Off with you!” she shooed him. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips with a devilish grin before whisking away to press the hidden panel in the wall beside her bed. She waved while he disappeared into the hidden tunnels and she resumed dressing. She poked her head out of her door and called a nearby servant. 
 
“Bring a spread to my sister’s room. Enough for the four of us, and alert my siblings that we will be breaking fast there.” 
 
“Yes, Your Grace.” 
 
Aemma quickly finished brushing her hair, choosing to leave it loose today and ventured to her sibling’s rooms. 
 
She entered with a brisk knock and found Helaena already awake, playing with little Jaehaera and Jaehaerys. 
 
“Sister!” Aemma greeted enthusiastically. Helaena greeted her warmly with a hug. 
 
“Please, be welcome. Aegon has yet to rise.” 
 
“Of course, the slovenly wretch. That leaves me more time with these delectable little creatures!” she rushed to the twins, swarming them with kisses and tickles. They screamed with laughter, scrambling to get away. She snatched up Jaehaerys who was closest and pulled at his leg. He screeched, laughing ecstatically as he tried to wiggle away but she had already grabbed his foot and was nibbling on his sixth toe. 
 
“Never took you for a flesheater, sister. Your depravity surprises me every day.” Aegon’s sleep-ridden voice echoed and she turned to her right to inspect him as he left his sleeping chambers. He looked surprisingly well rested considering the grumbling she just heard; his eyes bright with warmth as he watched her play with his children. 
 
“Jaehaerys has extra, that is the only reason why I indulge,” she said with a broad smile, before shoving her face in his belly and making eating noises. He squirmed in delight.
 
“Good morning, Aemond,” Helaena called pleasantly as she spied her twin walking through the door. 
 
“Good morning, Helaena,” he greeted with a small smile, continuing on to throw himself on the lounge as he watched Aemma interact with his nephew fondly.     
 
“No sweet good morning for me, brother? I will be cursed to an unlucky day.” Aegon frowned at Aemond, leaning towards his sprawled form with his lips puckered. 
 
“Fuck off, Aegon,” Aemond hissed at his brother, cringing away. 
 
Aemma giggled into Jaehaerys' belly as she kept an eye on the servants bringing platter after platter of food. 
 
Her siblings settled around the table, Aegon cradling Jaehaera and feeding her bites from his plate. Helaena smiled fondly, bouncing Jaehaerys as she cuddled him close. Aemma waited for everyone to finish eating before speaking. 
 
"Leave us," she called, waiting for the servants to clear out. When the door shut she began. 
 
"Last night, I had the most interesting turn of events. Mother took me to see grandfather.” She saw she had their immediate attention. 
 
“As we all know, grandfather has been aggressive in his methods to groom Aegon for the throne. Methods which we all detest.” Helaena reached over to grasp Aegon’s hand as he frowned into the remains on his plate. 
 
“Mother acknowledged grandfather’s scheming, which he was pleased with, but was backing off crowning Aegon any longer. She would support my claim instead.” Aemma spied the small but pleased smile on Helaena’s lips. No daughter wanted to shun their mother, but if it had been necessary Helaena would have. 
 
“Green threads weave taught, Black pitch pours but never seeps,” Helaena whispers. Aemma smiles, committing the words to memory to unravel later. She only needed to understand the first half; that her actions had strengthened her family's longevity. 
 
“Grandfather was curious but not yet swayed. He was not as resistant as I had thought he would be. It was almost too easy to convince him. I am not certain I trust him. Thoughts?” Aemma put to the table. 
 
“Grandfather has ever worked in the interests of our family. It is by his scheming alone that mother is the Queen, and that we exist at all. He single handedly broke the bonds of brotherhood between Daemon and father, whispering deceit into his ears to prevent him from claiming Daemon as heir.” Aemond began, eyeing his goblet of wine as he swirled it. “It allowed the first of our time - a woman to be named heir to the Iron Throne. He would be a powerful ally to have.” He raised his eye up to look at her. 
 
“Interests of our family… the Hightower’s or Targaryen’s, I wonder.” Aegon mused pointedly. “It is as we have said, the Hightower’s are married into the royal family; mother is queen, we children are heirs of Hightower blood, and grandfather is Hand of the King. Fingers in many pies yet none have burned him, much. Grandfather is greedy…”
 
“Greedy, but to what extent? What does Otto Hightower stand to gain when he already has it all?” Aemond countered. 
 
“Green has stained the royal line… Is there a greater conspiracy?” Aemma questioned. “They are in every aspect of our lives. Symbols of the faith of the Seven have been put up in place of Targaryen heraldry, our dragons are kept chained; flight is strongly discouraged. Our customs are frowned upon, our very culture is being phased out.” Aemma worried the more she spoke. All the siblings paused as they considered what she said.
 
“...Are there those that seek to end the Targaryen line?” Aegon spoke up quietly. 
 
“Always. But it is disquieting to think it may be happening beneath our very nose.” Aemma also dropped the volume of her voice, worrying for ears in the walls. 
 
“Grandfather would have been okay with Rhaenyra as heir to thwart Daemon, but it also meant he could go ahead with his own plan - pushing a male heir of his own blood while quietly ruining Rhaenyra’s reputation. He would - no,

has

, used the tension of father’s decision to make Aegon a preferable candidate.” Aemond paused, waiting for their thoughts to catch up with his thinking. 
 
“He has forced contention, knowing Rhaenyra would not simply back down from her claim regardless if she desires the Throne or not.” Aegon continued, frowning as he connected the dots. 
 
“He means for us to tear each other apart, turn dragon against dragon until there is nothing but ash and rot.” Aemma slammed her fist down angrily, rattling the silverware. Helaena flinched away, burrowing her face into Jaehaerys as she began mumbling to herself. 
 
“We can not allow that to happen,” Aemma said fiercely. Aemond bobbed his head in agreement and spoke up.
 
“Making you Queen will not go over smoothly. If Rhaenyra doesn’t want to force conflict, Daemon will. We must be ready to cull before anything of the sort occurs.” 
 
“Our half-breed nephews will be put to the sword, their dirty blood not allowed to continue. But Rhaenyra and Daemon are of Targaryen blood. It would be a shame to allow grandfather’s plots to come to fruition.” Aemma frowned. 
 
“

We

will be here to continue the pure line. Helaena and I have already started with Jaehaerys and Jaehaera.” Aegon stated firmly. “While Rhaenyra and Daemon are alive, we will never have peace. If we can act swiftly, we need not lose all of the Dragons.” 
 
“The Velaryon’s are still in service to the Crown. Not all blood of Old Valyria will perish if we burn our half-sister’s branch of the family.” Aemond mentioned.
 
“All the more reason for Vaemond’s petition to be heard before the court. If it is successful, we have a legitimate path to the support of Driftmark and the Driftwood Throne.” Aemma said. “It might be of use to betroth you to one of the girls, Aemond.” Aemond snarled but held his tongue. 
 
“The girls who cheered as Lucerys tore my eye out?” He spat on the floor. 
 
“If it means solidifying ties between our families, ties which are already held firmly in Rhaenyra’s hands, then yes.” Aemma frowned at him. Aemond rolled his neck, before stiffly nodding. 
 
“It matters not now, we cannot anticipate what will happen at the petition. I have told grandfather that we are to go on as usual, no indication that we have made friendly with each other. That won’t be hard for us to uphold, I imagine?” Aemma smirked. She looked at her sister as she began rocking slightly, eyes becoming vacant. 
 
“Dragons of flesh, weaving dragons of thread,” Helaena began mumbling repeatedly. The words tumbled around them making Aegon shudder. 
 
“We have spoken enough. Grandfather is on our side…for now. When I am Queen we will handle it then.” Aemma stated decisively before rising. She touched her sister gently on the shoulder, Helaena’s eyes clearing briefly as she startled, before sweeping from the room.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The potential Hightower conspiracy her siblings had uncovered had spun through her mind for days. Mindful of maintaining the visage of a carefully disinterested girl, Aemma began visiting the Dragonpit more often to bond with Vermithor. She had neglected him over the years. A flight once every while was pitiful, their bond a pathetic thing. If she wanted to be a true Targaryen and be able to survive whatever was coming, she needed to bind herself with Vermithor again.
 
It took two weeks before Vermithor even deigned to interact with her, rightfully snubbing her as she showered him with herds of sheep and goats, and sweet words spoken in their tongue. Aemma felt the painful sting to her pride for the second time in as many moons when it took her begging and crying before the great dragon before he bothered to give a response. She apologised profusely, sobbing into his bronze shoulder as she realised how spun off course her life as a Targaryen had become. She’d had no one to show her the way. Her mother of course scorned Targaryen tradition and her father was absent when he needed to be a guiding force. There could have been bonds with Rhaenyra but she had been a young girl, grieving and vengeful. Daemon was rarely present at court. She and her siblings had had to make do and now they suffered, again, for the actions of their family. 
 
It was the week of the petition that Vermithor finally allowed her to mount him again. She wept in awe as she sat in his saddle, his height a humbling experience. Her first flight in a year was magical. She had forgotten the freedom, the feeling of flying and soaring far above the sky and into the clouds. How easy it was for her to forget why the Targaryens were akin to Gods when she had kept grounded like a simple wingless creature. Aemond joined her frequently on flights now that she could ride again. Of course his bond had never been damaged, Aemma often thought that she had to compete for Aemond’s attention with Vhagar. Of them all, she could see Aemond as the perfect representation of what a Targaryen was. She had a lot of catching up to do in that regard.
 
Sometimes Aegon would join them on Sunfyre, sometimes he would bring one of the twins (securely bound of course) and Aemma’s eyes would sting with tears that had nothing to do with the wind when she would hear their delighted squeals. Very rarely would Helaena join on Dreamfyre, but Aemma ensured the dragon at least was let out regularly so that it could exercise. Aemma would return each evening, tired and reeking of dragon, but content as she reconnected with her Targaryen roots. 
  
Aemma panted heavily, her mouth drying with each rapid exhale. She was laid bare, sprawled across the fine silk sheets of her bed as strong hands spread her thighs and gripped them tightly. She knew the bruises would shadow over by the evening, where she would stroke them with affection.

Aemond had been licking her cunt for almost an hour now. How his sharp jaw hadn’t locked up by now was a mystery she was pleased to not bother investigating if it meant he could worship her like this. Her nub was swollen; her cunt red and puffy and her arousal leaked profusely. It mixed with the excessively gathered saliva from Aemond’s tongue flicking and slurping at her, alternating between fast and slow. His lavishing attention had left her a twitching, overstimulated mess.

“Aemond,” she whined, thrashing on the bed. He lifted one hand off her thighs to bring his long, slender fingers to her hole, pushing in one finger gently. Aemma keened at finally feeling the relief of penetration.

“More,” she panted. Aemond slid another finger in, then a third. He started pumping, increasing his pace and bringing his thumb to rub at her nub roughly. Aemma arched up, hands coming to grip his wrist as he slammed his unattended arm onto her belly, holding her down roughly. Her mouth dropped open into a silent ‘O’, her breathing wheezing out of her as she tried to not produce noise. Aemond’s little ‘hm’ noise of appreciation had her jerking up into his hand before she felt the sharp sting of his teeth on her inner thigh. He bit down harshly, the pain a sharp juxtaposition to the rapid slamming of his hand into her cunt. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head as her orgasm exploded through her. Aemond quickly moved his body up and held her jaw tightly closed as he continued pounding his hand through her orgasm; the fluttering of her walls around his fingers driving him insane.

He slowed as her body started to settle, still twitching in the aftermath. He pulled her legs up onto his shoulders as he slotted his throbbing cock on her puffy cunt. He fucked her thighs furiously, the slick of her arousal and his spit acting the perfect lubricant for him to slide across her. He drew his hips back particularly far, and both their breaths hitched as his cock caught on the entrance to her cunt before slipping out. He sped up, desperate for release, and Aemma felt her loins stir again as she heard the obscene sound of his balls slapping against her skin.

“

I want you to cum, Aemond, my sweet boy

.” Aemma cooed at him, the language of their ancestors slithering from her lips; lust blowing her pupils wide as she watched him come undone. Aemond’s hips stuttered and his breath escaped him in ragged gasps as rope after rope of thick cum splattered on her cunt and belly. He dropped his head into her neck, her body folded in half as he tried to catch his breath. Aemma gently slipped her legs out and around him, holding him close as they both recovered. He kissed her cheek as he rolled onto his back. Aemma started collecting his cum to suck off her fingers.

“Today you will be on your best behaviour, yes?” she prompted him. Aemond’s eye rolled over her lazily, caught on her tongue lavishing his cum off her fingers.

“The return of the Strongs will renew old feelings, but we are better than them. In every way. Try not to antagonise them too much, hm?” she pulled her fingers from her mouth with a ‘pop’.

“I am owed an eye.” Aemond traces his fingers over his scar, the brilliant blaze of the sapphire staring back at her. Helaena had gifted it to him when the three of them had been browsing the markets. She had picked it up, inspecting it in that intensely focused but not present-in-our-time look she always bore, mumbling of broken wheels and sapphire and silver blood. Aemma had thrown a gold dragon onto the stall and moved them along. Aemond had later had it polished and rounded and kept it in his empty socket, saying it was a comfortable weight. A gift from Helaena was a mighty thing, and Aemma thought it made Aemond more mysterious - a mystery only very few were privileged to witness.

“Lucerys will receive his due, mark my words. For now we play the game, allow things to fall into place. It would not do to shake the foundations too early. Vaemond’s letter has already stirred the sleeping dragons. His brother hasn’t even drawn his final breath and he already makes plans.” she shrugged because she would do the same. It just irked her that she felt she had run out of time. She had grown too comfortable.

“Everything will change after this petition, Aemond. Are you ready?” Aemma stared intently at him. His beautiful physique was stretched out languidly on her bed. His long, muscled limbs relaxed, cock sitting heavy and limp between his thighs. His hair was spread dishevelled around him, a thin layer of sweat coating him. She could still see traces of herself on his chin and lips, the glossy sheen drying to a tacky milky white. He looked positively

sinful

and Aemma wished she could forget herself and have him rip her maidenhead from her. They already tread a dangerous line with his nightly visits to her - the paranoid architecture of Maegor the Cruel made the excursions viable, but it was only a matter of time before a servant sought out Aemond in the night and found his chambers barren. Aemma may be selfish in sating herself with Aemond’s body, but she would never lower herself to Rhaenyra’s level and sully herself before marriage. At least she would be able to prove her innocence should they ever be caught.

Aemond lifted himself onto his arms and Aemma eyed his rippling shoulder muscles appreciatively.

“

For you, my Queen, I am anything you need me to be

.” he swore solemnly. Aemma smiled, lifting a hand to gently fix his hair back into place.

“

The realm has no idea what's to come,”

she whispered, smiling broadly. Aemond grinned savagely in response.

After her delightful morning with Aemond, Aemma slipped away before she could be roped into any duties. She and her siblings had agreed to not greet Rhaenyra’s party, a petty snub but one they would enjoy all the same. She assumed her siblings would partake in their regular activities, but Aemma desired for one last day of freedom before everything went to shit. So she went to the kitchens, packed a satchel of food and wine, stuffed in her needlework and a book, and took off on Vermithor for one of the outlying islands that surrounded King’s Landing. Initially she had taken him through a series of aerial manoeuvres, trying her best to prepare for combat but without any instructions, the best she could do was hold on tight as she navigated Vermithor through rolls and sudden dives. He lay resting now, and she laid against him, his heat staving off any chill that tried to creep in. 
 
She snacked leisurely on her spread of bread, cheese, cured meats and fruits and idly read her book, some romance novel she had swiped from the ‘to dispose of’ pile in the library. It told the odd tale of a farmhand falling in love with his sheep. She had just gotten to the part where the farmer was a little

too

hands on with the ewe; the author waxing on about the tightness of its hole before she cast it aside in disgust. She supposed she could see the appeal if she had a cock, but alas, she didn’t, and the thought of desecrating an animal who could only stare back at her dumbly did not engage her in the slightest. She sighed heavily as she sprawled unladylike against Vermithor. Her friend huffed in acknowledgement but otherwise did not shift. 
 
The petition today would mark the end of the tentative peace that they had all been content to bask in. Lines had been drawn, but there would be no going back now. It would be her family against Rhaenyra and her supporters. Vaemond was a weak ally from the Velaryon line. If she could speak with Rhaenys, she could see about arranging a betrothal between Aemond and one of the twins, preferably Baela. She could grant Aemond at least a less hateful wife. But if Vaemond was successful with confirming his claim then the marriage would simply be a failsafe. Vaemond and Driftmark would be indebted to the crown, ensuring their ships and loyalty. 
 
Lucerys would be without any inheritance, rendering him back into his role of useless second son. She would leave him to Aemond to deal with. Jacaerys would be an issue. Perhaps she could offer peaceful terms to Rhaenyra to avoid bloodshed, and marry herself to Jacaerys. She shuddered at the thought, but if it meant avoiding further Targaryen blood being spilt, she would try. His blood may be dirty, but half of it was Targaryen. If Rhaenyra was content to give up her claim and pass it to her son, the matter could be settled. Aemma was sure her mother would prefer this option too. 
 
That still left the unknown that was Daemon Targaryen. Surely, he would never be content with a peaceful option. He was chaos and fire, an ever burning force of vitality. If only her uncle hadn’t been so self-serving, he could have had a significant impact on their lives. She knew Aemond had idolised him when they were younger. But, she had to acknowledge, there was a lot of unresolved family trauma between Daemon and his brother, and a lot of hurt second-son-feelings. Her eyes rolled painfully to the back of her head as she considered all the issues second sons caused. She paused. Wasn’t Otto Hightower a second son? She frowned as she considered the fact she truly knew nothing about her grandfather and his values. It would explain why he was pushing his agendas so much in his role as Hand of the King. But none of this helped with her Daemon issue. She heaved a sigh. 
 
She could only prepare according to how the petition today goes. She would at least approach Rhaenys with her proposition and see how she receives it, and potentially Rhaenyra too. Her father’s health was severe, she estimated he only had weeks left. If Rhaenyra stayed in King’s Landing for that duration it would allow her time to treat with her. 
Aemma spied the sun peaking in the sky and moved to return to King’s Landing. She couldn’t allow Perfect Princess Aemma to be seen smelling in her riding leathers, or worse, late to the court. She quickly packed everything away, gently brushing Vermithor’s nose to wake him up. 
 
“

Wake up, my sweet. It’s time to return.”

she cooed at him. Vermithor rose, shaking himself like a wet dog to rouse himself awake. She saddled her bag and mounted him, buckling herself in.

“
Sōvēs!” Vermithor pushed his great bulk off the island and launched himself into the sky. Aemma grinned in pleasure at the wind rushing through her hair and whipping her cheeks. They soared leisurely back to King’s Landing. 
 
Upon her return, she quickly made her way to her rooms, summoning a servant to have a bath drawn for her. She undressed behind a screen while the tub was brought in and boiling hot water poured. Her handmaid poured in her favoured scented oil of rose and clove while she stepped out from the screen. She made her way to the tub and sighed in pleasure as the heat of the water soothed her sore muscles. She allowed the servants to stay and aid in her washing, knowing that extra hands on her hair would lessen her bathing time. She closed her eyes while she was thoroughly scrubbed and rinsed, and almost dozed off as her scalp was massaged and her hair oiled. 
 
She rose when she felt them step away, presenting her with a towel to dry off.
 
“The green brocade dress for today, I hope it has been pressed perfectly.” Aemma commented mildly as the servants hurried to pull her designated dress from the wardrobe. Aemma dressed herself in her underclothes and held up her stay to be laced. Her handmaid pulled it taught, her waist snatching in immediately and her breasts pushed up pleasingly. The final piece was the gorgeous dark green gown that she stepped into, the silken fabric gleaming richly against her skin. 
 
Aemma sat at her vanity, allowing the maids to wring her hair and braid it into an intricate crown atop her head, unknowingly echoing her mother’s hairstyle for the day. She was layered in golden jewellery, and mild rouge applied to her features. She inspected herself in the mirror and nodded her approval. She thought she heard her handmaiden sigh quietly in relief.  
 
The journey to the throne room was short, the halls were busy with nobles who parted with small bows as she passed. She was pleased to see Aemond waiting for her at the doors. 
 
“Sister,” he greeted when she reached him, his intense gaze burning a path down her body as he took her in. 
 
“Brother,” she smiled a small but warm smile. He offered his arm which she took and he led them inside. 
 
“Did you train this morning?” She noted his leathers that he wore universally for sword work and daywear. She swore his wardrobe was just copies of the same tunic. 
 
“Yes. Our dear nephews have grown into strapping young lads.” he mused. 
 
“They joined you for practice then? How do they fight?” she cast her eyes at the people gathered as they walked towards the throne, curious now that Aemond had brought up their nephews. 
 
Her eyes quickly glanced over her mother and remaining siblings on the left side of the throne, her grandfather was chatting quietly to her mother while Aegon stared around bored, puffing out his cheeks as was his boyhood habit. Helaena gripped her hands nervously and stared intently at Aemma. Odd. Just before them stood Rhaenys, Vaemond and Baela, whose heads turned when Aemma had entered. She nodded to Rhaenys first, then Vaemond, and was pleased when it was returned. On the right was the clustered group of Rhaenyra’s family. She spied her long white hair and the intimidating figure of Daemon next to her. Both of them were staring into each other's eyes, saying more to each other than words could. Behind them she acknowledged Aemond’s comment as true when she saw how well her nephews had grown. Lucerys was teetering between the stage of child and man, a surprisingly sweet face for such a vicious child. Jacaerys stood solid next to him, a stocky figure that declared the blood of Ser Harwin’s line. He was broad, but his face was handsome and warm. Just behind him was Rhaena, her silvery coils piled high on her head. Both the Velaryon girls had grown into lovely little things. 
 
“I can not say, our exchange was cut short,” Aemond drew her attention back. They had reached their family by now. 
 
“Mother,” she greeted with a nod. Alicent turned away from her father immediately. 
 
“Where have you been?” she asked with a frown. Aemma thought back to the sheepfucker book and smirked.
 
“Reading,” her mother sighed as she moved into position with her siblings: Helaena closest to her mother near the throne but slightly behind, Aegon next to her and Aemma next to him. Aemond tucked himself in the gap behind Aemma and Aegon, content to observe from a distance. Aemma kept her smirk on her face, head held high and posture immaculate as she faced the hall now that she knew her arrival had caught the attention of the Blacks, the whispered political faction title of Rhaenyra's family, named for the colour of her heraldry. 
 
As she allowed their eyes to rove over her, she caught the widening in her nephew’s eyes. As a child she had rarely interacted with them and now they saw her as a woman grown. Aemma knew she looked beautiful, and she wasn’t afraid to use it to her advantage. She kept her eyes on Jacaerys a fraction longer, long enough for his cheeks to dust lightly with pink before she looked over the eye-gouger and Velaryon chit who was frowning at her to Rhaenyra. She inclined her head slightly but her half-sister turned away. She finally looked at the last member of the party she had been dreading and saw his deadly gaze was already upon her. Daemon raised his eyebrow at her as she stared. She was older now, more experienced. He rattled her, he was dangerous, but she wouldn’t be cowed like she had when she was three and ten; just a girl trying to find her standing in this dark world. Her smirk tipped mockingly, and Rhaenyra put her hand on Daemon’s to turn him away just as the rest of the nobles finished filing into the throne room. 
 
“I think if conflicts could be resolved with fucking, we’d be set for that one, aye?” Aegon murmured to her. She had to hold in her laugh as they heard Aemond’s disgusted grunt behind them. 
 
“Hush you, grandfather is on his power trip.” And indeed he was. Their eyes had turned to watch him ascend the Iron Throne. Otto Hightower was certainly bold, she had to give him credit.
 
“Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with a grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark. As Hand, I speak with the King’s voice on this and all other matters.” Otto seated himself on the Throne. “The crown will now hear the petitions.” 
 
“Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon.” 
 
“My queen. My Lord Hand.” Vaemond stepped forward to nod to them respectfully.
 
“The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name.” He paused.  “I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother’s seat. I am Lord Corlys’ closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins.”
 
“As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon.” Rhaenyra interrupted. “If you cared so much about your house’s blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition.” Her mother cut in before she could finish.
 
“You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard.” Aemma smirked at her mother’s scolding, mirroring Aegon’s beside her.
 
“What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess?” Vaemond took over. “I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn’t recognise it. This is about the future and survival of

my

house, not yours.” Vaemond was truly the strongest person in this room, for having the courage to speak so plainly on Rhaenyra’s bastards. She saw Lucerys turn his head to stare past her, at Aemond. 
 
“My Queen, my Lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor, the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides.” He bowed, before returning to his place.
 
“Thank you, Ser Vaemond. Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.” Otto gestured for her to move to the middle.
 
“If I am to grace this farce with an answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly twenty years ago, in this very–”  The creaking of the doors announced a late arrival. Who would interrupt… Aemma felt her heart stop. 
 
“King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.” One of the Cargyll twins announced. 
 
Aemma was frozen. She watched, stupefied, as her father shuffled his way in slowly, stooped over and in pain, but determined. Aemma felt her stomach sink. There was only one reason why her father would make this much effort. He all but confirmed it as he locked eyes on Rhaenyra’s shocked figure. Aemma’s thoughts spun. Had they visited him too? Had they discovered the milk of the poppy doses and stolen them or did Viserys refuse to drink them. Her heart began pounding. If he was here, then everything was going to fall apart. Of course he would defend Rhaenyra. Of course she would be the reason why he would muster the energy to reign in court! Aemma wanted to scream. She clenched her hands into tight fists and hid them in her skirts away from prying eyes. 
 
She turned to look at her mother who just looked resigned, then at her shocked grandfather. 
 
“I will sit the throne today,” her father said to her grandfather as he approached. 
 
“Your grace,” Otto nodded, bewildered.
 
She couldn’t bear to look at the

touching

moment that was Daemon helping his brother to the Throne. She focused on regulating her breathing, trying to calm down.
 
“I must.. Admit… my confusion. I do not understand why petitions are being heard over a settled succession. The only one present… who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys is the Princess Rhaenys.” She looked startled to be addressed.
 
“Indeed, Your Grace,” Rhaenys stepped forward. Aemma had a bad feeling about this.
 
“It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.” 
 
Aemma felt her world ground to a halt.

Aemma, you fool.

Rhaenyra had already gotten her claws into Rhaenys. It didn’t even matter when it had happened, Aemma should have been here to find Rhaenys and offer her proposition prior to the petition. She had been careless, smug, overconfident, a damned fool! Aemma felt her nails pierce her skin. The Velaryons were lost to them now.
 
“Well… the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.” Viserys decreed. Aemma felt like she was going to throw up. 
 
“You break law…” Vaemond had stepped forward to seethe. Glad she was to see

someone

share her anger and despair; an outlet for her emotions she could never expose publicly. “And centuries of tradition to install your daughter as heir. Yet you dare tell me… who deserves to inherit the name Velaryon. No. I will

not

allow it.” The court froze.
 
“‘Allow it?’ Do not forget yourself, Vaemond.” Viserys warned. Vaemond whipped around to shove his finger at Lucerys.
 
“That! Is no true Velaryon, and certainly no nephew of mine.” 
 
“

You

have said enough.” Rhaenyra spat.
 
“Lucerys is my true-born grandson. And you… are no more than the second son of Driftmark.” Viserys sneered.

The second son curse strikes again,

Aemma thought inappropriately even as her stomach turned itself into knots.
 
“You may run your house as you see fit... But you will not decide the future of mine.” Vaemond was getting desperate now. “My house survived the Doom and a thousand tribulations besides. And gods be damned… I will not see it ended on the account of this–” he cut himself off abruptly, catching himself in time. Aemma leaned forward eagerly.
 
“Say it,” Daemon quietly taunted him. Vaemond must have accepted the position he was in. He had gone too far to turn back, so he gleefully went all in. He turned to Rhaenyra with a smirk.
 
“Her children… are bastards!” The yell startled her and the crowd, for everyone gasped. Aemma’s breath quickened in anticipation.
 
“And she… is… a whore.” Aemma’s hands flew up to her mouth to cover the disgustingly wide smile that tore across her face. She was glad she could pass it off as shock because she had the desperate desire to laugh. Vaemond had earned himself all the claims to Thrones and pure Velaryon bloodlines in his afterlife, for there was no way even her passive father would allow him to live after these treasonous insults.  
 
Viserys struggled to his feet and withdrew the ornate dagger he always carried. “I … will have your tongue for that.”
 
It happened in an instant. The swish of the blade was all that was heard and then Vaemond’s head, tongue still intact, rolled towards Aemma’s feet. She flinched back at the same time Aemond gripped her skirts from behind to pull her to him. She stared in disbelief at the speed at which Daemon moved. 
 
“He can keep his tongue.” he stood, casually planting Dark Sister into the stone. Aemma again had to squash the dark twist to her lips.
 
“Disarm him!” her grandfather yelled angrily. 
 
“No need,” Daemon casually wiped the blood off his blade on the hem of his tunic and walked back to Rhaenyra. 
 
The wheezing of her father caught everyone’s attention as he collapsed back against the throne, groaning.  
 
“Call the maesters!” her mother and Rhaenyra rushed to him but Aemma turned her focus to Helaena who she had noticed had turned away completely when the violence started. Her sister stood facing her, eyes wide open with her hands over her ears. She felt Aemond and Aegon shift in front of them to hide them from prying eyes.
 
“Helaena,” she murmured soothingly. She put her hands on her arms, rubbing gently before following the line of her arms to her hands. She pulled them away from her head slowly. Aemma noted absently the little flecks of blood from the cuts on her hands she left on her little sister.  
 
“

We are here, Helaena, nothing will harm you. It is over.”

She saw Helaena was still staring wildly, at something beyond what Aemma could see. 
 
“

Helaena,”

she said firmly. Her sister’s eyes snapped to her. “

You are safe. I have you.”

Helaena blinked rapidly, focusing on Aemma as if realising where she was.

“

Green threads weave taught, Black pitch pours but nevers seeps, two for one as they weep,” she began mumbling repeatedly, growing more agitated. 
 
Aemma was surprised to hear the riddle extended, but quickly gathered Helaena in her arms and began to usher her away. She looked at Aemond who had hovered over them protectively and nodded. As they left Aemma didn’t realise the eyes on them, hoping that their exchange had gone unnoticed in the distraction of Viserys leaving, but Aemond had. He glared icily back at Daemon’s much too interested stare.

When Aemma had seen Helaena safely to her rooms with the children, she maintained her cool on the way to her own, Aemond and Aegon a shadow behind her. Throwing open the doors to her chambers, she waited impatiently for her brothers to enter before closing it gently. Her brothers seated themselves while she stood in front of her bed. Inhaling, she grabbed her feather pillow and shoved her face into it, screaming her throat raw. 
 
“Aemma!” Aemond startled upright, concerned. 
 
“Let her get it out, brother,” Aegon said, eyebrows raised in amusement. Aemma pulled her face out of the pillow breathing heavily, her complexion tomato red as she proceeded to bash the pillow repeatedly on her bed. 
 
“Every…thing…has…gone…to…SHIT!” she punctuated each word with a hit. Aegon giggled. 
 
“It’s not funny!” Aemma whirled on him. He blinked innocently at her. 
 
“All my plans, ruined, by the simple fact father loves his first child more. Truly, we must not exist in his rotted mind at this point at all. Though not so rotted now, no… to know he had to come to the rescue of his

precious Rhaenyra.

” She sneered, her arms gesticulating wildly as she paced agitatedly. 
 
“To be fair, sister… did you enact any of these ‘plans’ you are talking about?” Aegon queried. 
 
“What?” Aemma snapped, coming to a stop.
 
“What plans?

We merely considered the Hightower plot, and you considered a marriage for Aemond weeks ago. Did you speak with anyone? Send any letters?

” Aegon slipped into Valyrian, just to be safe.
 
“I…no.” Aemma crossed her arms petulantly.
 
“Then there’s no reason to be upset!” Aegon said brightly. “You did nothing, therefore you can’t be affected by what’s happened. I think you need to take a leaf from grandfather’s many paged book and put your schemes into action.

You can’t be Queen by just thinking sneakily at everyone.”

Aemma flopped onto her bed, sighing heavily. 
 
“You’re right, Aegon. I feel everything is getting away from me…slipping between my fingers. Otto has kept me in the dark with whatever he’s scheming and I can’t rely on him. Rhaenyra was here for

one day

and she managed to get father away from bed to support her. How can I fight against unwavering faith like that?” She stared despondently at her ceiling. 
 
“What needs to be addressed immediately?” Aemond asked, ever the strategist. “Let us start with one foot at a time.” 
 
“I made a grave error, being so brazen with Otto on that evening. I was confident, with naught to show for it. I see that now. The Realm will never accept a woman as its leader. I have even less of a chance against Rhaenyra because everyone will skip over me for Aegon.” Aemma said glumly. “Otto has been ahead of the game before we were born, what hope do I have to be on the same level.” She scoffed bitterly as she sat up, tucking her knees under her.

“Aemma. You are forgetting why you needed to be Queen in the first place. For your safety, for our safety.”

Aemond began firmly.

“If there is a world where our places will be secure, then let it be so. But we are dealing with a Hightower plot that goes years beyond our understanding that aims to eradicate us. They will breed us out until there is no dragon blood left.”

Aemond’s eye bore into the side of her head. They stewed in silence for a moment.
 
“What if we supported Rhaenyra’s claim?” Aegon spoke up. Both heads swivelled to him. 
 
“What?” Aemond asked threateningly. 
 
“I have no desire to see a war, they’re costly, messy things. We need Targaryen blood on the throne, and our grandfather needs to be dealt with. Aside from our mother’s quarrels we have no real issue with her family.” Aegon explained, unphased by his brother.
 
“Except they’re bastards,” Aemond said snidely. 
 
“Yes, yes, but Rhaenyra isn’t. She will sit on the throne, breeding more pureblood Targaryens with the Rogue Prince. There is opportunity to be had here.” 
 
 “If she continues breeding there won’t be any place for us at all, Aegon.” Aemma interjected with a frown. “Instead, I will propose a betrothal between myself and Jacaerys. When he is King I will be Queen Consort, and rule by his side. Our children will inherit the throne.” Aemma nodded, pleased with her thinking. Aemond scoffed in disgust. 
 
“You’d willingly fuck that half-breed?” Aemond sneered. 
 
“Enough, Aemond. This isn’t about feelings. This is about ensuring our survival.” Aemma said sharply. “How many times must we go over this, until our line is secured, our dalliance is below all else.” 
 
Aemond shifted restlessly, his eye shimmering with hurt.
 
“It is our duty, brother,” Aegon agreed tonelessly, obviously thinking of his own sister-wife. 
 
“We are Prince and Princess of the realm. We were never going to marry for love. Besides,” Aemma sneered. “You both have the easy part.

I’m

the one that will be forced to bear the heirs of some strange man, squeezing out child after child until our line is repopulated and my body gives in. Father killed his first wife for a son, clearly ignoring the signs of Aemma the First’s failing body. I can only pray my husband will have an ounce of consideration in that regard.” 
 
Aemond walked to her side and knelt before her, grasping her hands held in her lap. 
 
“Aemma, you know I would never treat you like that. Our children would be your choice, and how many.” Aemond said tenderly. Aemma sighed. 
 
“Please, Aemond. Don’t make this harder for us.” She gave his hands a squeeze and pulled her hands away before standing to resume her pacing.
 
“We can assume of Otto’s character that he doesn’t give a shit about me. Or any of us really. Except Helaena…” Aemma frowned at that. “Considering I haven’t heard much from him or mother, I’m going to guess he will put Aegon on the throne anyway.” She turned to stare at said brother. He frowned at her in response. 
 
“It was too easy to convince him that night. He will never accept Rhaenyra on the throne, nor did he take me seriously, so he will forge ahead with his plans. He’s careful, but he’s also arrogant. We can use that against him.” Aemma stared confidently at Aegon.
 
“He will crown you, but you won’t make it easy for them.” They shared a smirk. “In the meantime, we will support Rhaenyra by offering my hand in marriage to link our families. She will want to keep her ties with the Velaryons, no doubt Rhaenys and Corlys will want a tight grip on those betrothals. But when you are crowned, Aegon, this betrothal will take precedence. Our children will be in line to inherit the throne after your Jaehaerys, so she will see the significance of it.” Aemma’s thoughts flowed out of her mouth. 
 
“If there is one thing we can rely on the Lord Hand for, it is his ambition.” Aemond nodded. “It would be in our best interests to lay low, see how this all plays out and strike after. We do not have enough support to be major players in the game.” 
 
“I agree,” Aegon nodded. “I will play my part well, don’t you worry, sister.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. Aemma shook her head fondly and moved over to hug him. He held on tight, affection from her becoming rarer as she escaped into her head most days.
 
“Should I be jealous, brother?” Aemond’s silky voice came from behind her as he joined their embrace, the three of them basking in the warmth.  She kissed Aegon’s cheek, twisted her neck awkwardly to peck Aemond’s lips, and stepped out of their arms with a silly smile on her lips. 
 
“I love you both, so much.” She told them tenderly. They smiled back in their own ways; Aegon with a full toothy grin and sparkling eyes, Aemond with lips closed but no less vibrant. Not a moment too soon had she moved away when a knock sounded at her door. The boys moved immediately; Aemond to the window to peer out of with his arms behind his back, and Aegon collapsing onto an armchair and plucking a book to open at a random page. Aemma tidied any loose strands and called for the person to enter. 
 
“Pardon me, Your Grace...s,” the servant startled, seeing her brothers in the room.
 
“Yes?” Aemma asked coldly. 
 
“F-forgive my intrusion, Princess, the King has requested all his family be in attendance for dinner this evening.” he stuttered, keeping his eyes low. 
 
“Very well,” he bowed at the dismissal and closed the door behind him. 
 
Aemma rolled her eyes once they were alone again. 
 
“How will the Realm love you if you don’t treat your servants with respect?” Aegon mocked. 
 
Aemma just cuffed him over the head.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

There were still a few hours until the dinner, so Aemma made sure to use the time wisely. She had learnt her lesson from last time. She was currently on the hunt for her half-sister Rhaenyra. She was nervous, unsure of how she’d be received, but she steeled her spine and stayed confident. She had the blood of the dragon, nothing could affect her. Tired of her aimless wandering, she flagged down a servant and asked to be taken to wherever she was. 
 
He took her to her chambers, where she took a moment to smooth her skirts before knocking. 
 
“Enter!” She stepped in briskly with her head held high. She could see that she was the last person Rhaenyra expected to walk through her door as her mouth gaped open in surprise before she could neutralise the expression. Aemma took a quick glance around the room and saw that Daemon was thankfully absent, as was Lucerys, Joffrey, and the younger two. Jacaerys had been keeping his mother company at the table she sat at and blushed slightly upon seeing her. 
 
“Princess Rhaenyra, nephew.” She bowed her head respectfully to both. 
 
“Princess Aemma… this is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?” Rhaenyra asked, a plain smile on her face. Aemma smiled placidly in response.
 
“If you are available, Princess, I wish to discuss with you a…delicate matter. Privately.” Aemma’s eyes cut to Jacaerys before looking back at her half-sister. Rhaenyra’s eyebrow raised. 
 
“Very well. Jace, one moment please.” Jacaerys looked about to protest, eyes glancing to her bedroom door but one look from his mother quelled it. He bowed to her slightly before shuffling from the room. 
 
“Please, be seated.” Rhaenyra gestured to the now vacant chair across from her. Aemma delicately arranged herself on it and took a moment to think before speaking. 
 
“I apologise for showing up unannounced, I was not sure how I’d be received. I know our families don’t have the best history between us.” Aemma laughed self-deprecatingly. Rhaenyra relaxed slightly, waving her off. Aemma admired the elegance of the gesture.
 
“It is fine, sister. You are always welcome to see me.”

Me, not us

. Rhaenyra waited patiently for her but she knew she was curious. 
 
“It is my belief that you will be a great Queen. Father has been unwavering in his claim of you as heir, and I see no reason for any of that to change.” She saw Rhaenyra sharpen her focus on her with that admission. “We do not know each other well, but I have no wish to contest our father’s words.”      
 
“Why are you here, Aemma?” Rhaenyra wished her to speak plainly, this woman who’d grown in like a weed in the shadow of her life.
 
“I want to be certain that my siblings and I won’t be put to the sword when you gain the crown.” She stated firmly, being careful not to play into her persona of a sweet girl too much. A dragon’s blood always boiled hotter where family was concerned. “It is a great fear of ours, that we are father’s spares, and that by allowing my brothers Aegon and Aemond to live you would view them as challengers to your claim. Aegon has just become a father, and his twins need him.” Aemma frowned looking away, not having to fake this kind of distress. 
 
“You and your siblings need not fear me, I have no desire to be a kinslayer, nor execute children.” Rhaenyra said. “I did not know I gave off this impression in my mannerisms.” 
 
“It is no secret the broken relationship between my mother and you. You do not like the Hightowers: my mother for marrying our father when you were still grieving, and my grandfather for his schemes. That disdain extends to me and my siblings and has of course been passed down to your own sons. We have no quarrel with your boys.” Aemma paused. 
 
“It is why I’d like to offer my hand in marriage to Jacaerys. To tie our families to allow both lines to sit the Iron Throne.” 
 
Rhaenyra blinked, startled. This was not what she had been expecting this meeting to be about at all when she allowed her half-sister into her rooms.
 
“Does Alicent know you are offering yourself?” 
 
Aemma looked to the side briefly. It wasn’t hard for her to play the neglected daughter. 
 
“I am often left to seek these kinds of matters for myself,” she said hesitantly, as if unsure she should reveal that much. “I am a woman grown that can offer my hand for myself, and if it is an issue, our father as head of House Targaryen can approve it instead.” Aemma stared into her eyes calmly.
 
“You mentioned both lines, are you not a Targaryen?” Rhaenyra mocked lightly. 
 
“The… main purpose of my visit was actually to see if I could find an ally in you due to some things I believe to have uncovered.” Aemma trailed off, as if uncertain whether she should reveal anything. At Rhaenyra’s nod she continued. 
 
“I know that you have already promised Jacaerys to Baela and that is a fine match. I make this offer anyway because I believe the-” she glanced towards the hallway door before leaning in and lowering her voice to Rhaenyra, who also leaned in. “The Hightower’s have been plotting against the Targaryen line.” Aemma stared intently at Rhaenyra as she just blinked back.   
 
The slightest creak sounded from the door to Rhaenyra’s bedchambers. Aemma jumped up. 
 
“Who else is here?” she demanded, wringing her fingers together. 
 
“No one, sweet girl. Please be seated-” 
 
“I can not be seen here, discussing these things with you.” Aemma paced anxiously. “Is there anyone else here?” She stared hard at Rhaenyra. 
 
“Calm yourself, it is just me in the suite. This is an old castle, I’m sure you’ve heard it creak and groan.” Rhaenyra soothed her. Aemma released a shaky sigh. 
 
“I apologise, sister, but this plot has had me nervous ever since I uncovered it.” Aemma returned to her seat but pulled it closer to Rhaenyra. 
 
“The Lord Hand has been plotting to put his own kin on the throne, and at the same time, destroy the Targaryen line by sullying it with his blood and erasing our culture. I am a clear product of this scheming.” Aemma stared desperately into Rhaenyra’s eyes. 
 
“Surely, this is something you have also picked up on. He is always undermining father’s rule, whispering negatively about you and Prince Daemon.” In less than a second, Rhaenyra’s eyes darted quickly to her bedchamber door at the mention of his name.

Ah.

Aemma continued as if she didn’t notice. “I now believe he intends to put Aegon forth to challenge your claim.” 
 
“Father’s only male heir,” Rhaenyra mused. 
 
“Yes, and I’m sure we both know how that will end.” Rhaenyra focused her stare on Aemma again. 
 
“How?” she tilted her head.
 
“War. You are the heir to the Iron Throne, we have all sworn to fealty to you. Grandfather means to commit treason, and my brother will be caught in the middle of it all.” Aemma pulled herself back and resumed fiddling with her fingers. She caught Rhaenyra fixate on the fidget.
 
“And this is why you have come to propose a marriage between Jacaerys and yourself. When Jacaerys becomes King after me you would be Queen Consort, ensuring Otto has his blood on the throne.” Rhaenyra narrowed her eyes at her. “What of your ambition? Is this your purpose all along?” 
 
“Admittedly…there is some selfish desire in this proposal.” Rhaenyra glared further. “I know Jacaerys to be a kind man, someone I would not suffer being married to. I care not for ruling, just that myself and my siblings are safe.” She finished, looking down at her hands. She looked up through her lashes to see Rhaenyra soften slightly. Aemma sniffed lightly before raising her head. 
 
“I do not expect an answer now, just that you consider my offer. Thank you for your time, Princess.” Rhaenyra inclined her head in acknowledgement. 
 
“I shall see you later at the supper,” They bowed to each other and Aemma left. 
 
She kept her slightly subdued posture until she closed the door to her chambers, feeling the layers shed off her like scales as her body relaxed and she smirked a self-satisfied smile. 
  
Aemma freshened up before departing for the dinner. She removed most of her hair’s severe braids to let it fall in natural waves and some of the heavier jewellery off her neck. She was early for once, spying Helaena already there with their mother and grandfather. 
 
“Aemma!” Helaena greeted warmly. She embraced her sister, and nodded in acknowledgement to her elders. 
 
“Mother, grandfather,” 
 
“Aegon and Aemond are just putting the twins to bed before joining us,” Helaena told her dreamily. She was surprisingly lucid tonight, given her episode earlier in the day. 
 
“They sent you ahead?” Aemma asked, surprised. 
 
“Yes, Aemond insisted I go on ahead to meet you. Aegon was going to protest but Aemond punched him.” Aemma snorted, shaking her head. 
 
“Our boy is getting mighty violent these days,” Aemma smirked.
 
“You give him cause to,” Helaena frowned at her. Aemma tilted her head, wondering how to respond to that but was saved from answering as the Blacks streamed through. She was pleasantly surprised to see the Princess Rhaenys follow on after the Velaryon girls. Aemma assumed she would have kept to herself tonight to mourn Ser Vaemond, but considering he did contest the claim to the Driftmark Throne while she had kept it in good hands for 6 years, perhaps Rhaenys was not feeling overly sad about his passing. 
 
If there was one woman Aemma would always admire it would be Rhaenys. A strong and capable woman passed over for the crown for her passive brother simply because he was a man. Forced to bear the disgusting moniker of Queen-Who-Never-Was and still supporting Viserys throughout his reign, Aemma didn’t think she could do that if she had been in her place. When Aemma is Queen she would make everyone rue the day they dared underestimate another woman ever again. 
 
Rhaenyra caught her eye then, giving her a nod which she returned. She wasn’t certain if Rhaenyra believed her or not. She knew her proposal to Jacaerys would most likely not go ahead. She must have already told him judging by the looks he’d been throwing her ever since he came in. Aemma didn’t need Rhaenyra to be as close as her siblings to her, only to have the seeds of thought planted and her and Daemon’s focus shifted to Otto and not herself. She was not their enemy… for now.
 
Aemma’s eyes cut to the strutting figure of Aemond making a direct path to her as he entered, Aegon just behind him stretching his arms above his head obnoxiously. 
 
“Brothers,” she greeted them amiably. Aegon made straight for the wine, ignoring the siblings as he chugged a goblet before immediately pouring another. Aemma giggled at the ridiculous image he made, especially as he gasped purposefully heavily after he drank. Aemond smiled slightly hearing her laugh.
 
“The twins were surely not that much trouble were they?” Helaena asked in concern, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. 
 
“If you view Jaehaera pantsing Aegon in her desperate desire to not go to bed, ‘not much trouble’, then, yes. It was the easiest experience of my life so far.” Aemond deadpanned. Aemma put her hand up to cover her large smile as a breathy laugh escaped her, conscious of the eyes watching her converse with her siblings. Helaena had no such qualms. 
 
“She takes after her father, I see,” Helaena laughed brightly. The siblings warmed at the sound.
 
“Yes, laugh all you want. Just wait until you have to deal with it.” Aegon grumbled into his third cup of wine. At the pouring of his fourth, Aemond snatched it out of his hand and kept it out of his reach.
 
“That’s enough. You drink more than a Braavosi Sealord.”  Aemond tutted lightly. 
 
“I drink just the right amount,” Aegon frowned petulantly, slouching against the table lazily. 
 
The siblings watched quietly as the servants brought in the platters of food. Her mother and Rhaenyra had taken seats on either side of where the King would sit, the places beside them empty for their respective male counterparts. Their nephews and cousins stayed standing, chatting amongst themselves as Rhaenys stood together with Daemon, chatting lightly. Overall the atmosphere looked to be a pleasant evening…if one didn’t know the underlying tension that remained fraught between the families.
 
“Even when the noose is so tight, they expect us to break bread?” Aemond murmured to her, as if he had read her thoughts. She hummed in response. 
 
“‘Tis father’s wish,” she said simply. As if her words had summoned him, four guards entered carrying him on a mounted throne. Everyone began to seat themselves. Aemma placed herself next to Aemond on his right (so as not to be on his blindside) at the end of the table. On the opposite end sat Lucerys and Rhaena. 
 
“How good it is... To see you all tonight… Together.” Her father wheezed as he looked around, the golden mask on his face hiding his missing eye and jowl. 
 
As her mother requested to pray, Aemma kept her eyes slitted. She saw her Velaryon nephews staring confused, Daemon in particular seemed to find it particularly bothersome. When her mother considered Vaemond in her prayer, she saw him roll his eyes. The King began to speak once she finished.
 
“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems. My grandsons, Jace and Luke will marry their cousins Baela and Rhaena, further strengthening the bond between our houses. A toast to the young princes and their betrothed.”  They raised their cups. Rhaenyra and Aemma locked eyes as they drank.
 
“Well done, Jace, you’ll finally get to lie with a woman.” She heard the snide tone of Aegon as he began to jibe their nephew. The siblings sat close enough that they could hear each other, but far enough away from the adults across from them that any quiet commentary could be kept between them.
 
“Let us toast as well, Prince Lucerys… the future Lord of the Tides.” Ugh, the pride in her father’s eyes when he looked at those bastards. She unfortunately toasted that as well. Hearing Daemon’s enthusiastic cheering, she couldn’t help but look to her grandfather and smirk at the put-off look on his face. 
 
She couldn’t hear the rest of Aegon’s taunts as he turned to Jacaerys completely, putting an arm around his chair, but she could guess. She leaned towards Aemond.
 
“Father cares more for the second son of his

grandchildren

than he does his own,” Aemma quietly tutted mockingly to Aemond. He had been hyper focused on Lucerys since they sat across from them. She was pleased to see his hands clench tightly into fists at her words. Nothing stole Aemond’s attention away from Aemma like the cunt that stole his eye, and that was

not

something she liked.
 
She turned at her father’s cane tap and watched him struggle to stand. 
 
“It both gladdens my heart and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other in the years past.” Father, if only you had been more alert…
 
Aemma blinked as he reached up to take off his mask. 
 
“My own face is no longer a handsome one… if indeed it ever was. But tonight I wish you to see me as I am. Not just a king… but your father. Your brother. Your husband…and your grandsire who may not, it seems, walk for much longer among you.” Aemma could see the strain her father’s impassioned speech was causing his fatigued body. 
 
“Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown cannot stand strong if the House of the Dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances. If not for the sake of the crown... Then for the sake of this old man, who loves you all so dearly.” The crack in his voice twisted Aemma’s heart briefly. Everyone traded looks as he collapsed back into his throne.
 
Rhaenyra stood abruptly.
 
“I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen. I love my father. But… I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with unfailing devotion, love, and honour. And for that, she has my gratitude, and my apology.” She sat hastily. Aemma nodded at her words, lifting her cup high before drinking.
 
“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess.” Her mother blinked the tears from her eyes. “We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common than we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you and to your house. You will make a fine queen. “ Aemma saw her grandfather’s eyebrows dart up in surprise before he could control it. As everyone drank, Aemma was surprised to see the mood relax quite a bit. She supposed this would have been their lives had the cunning work of the Highowers not fucked everything up.
 
Aemma was prepared to serve herself and Aemond food when she spied Aegon making his way to Baela to whisper more of his seductive nonsense. 
 
“Here we go, be ready, Aemond.” She took care not to roll her eyes. She called it, as not long after, Jacaerys banged the table as he stood up to confront Aegon. Aemond immediately drew himself up to his full height as he stood and Aemma wanted to wrap herself on his broad back. Jacaerys, realising the attention now on him, cleared his throat uncomfortably. 
 
Aemma couldn’t help a smile at how awkward this had become. Jacaerys stared at her smile, nervously giving one in return before darting his eyes to Aemond’s intimidating figure. He picked up his cup, and punched Aegon on the shoulder haltingly. Aemma pressed her lips together as Aegon turned to her with a similar expression.
 
“To Prince Aegon and Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years. But I have fond memories of our shared youth, and as men, I hope we may yet be friends and allies. To you and your family's good health, dear uncles.” He did that awkward punch again and Aemma couldn’t help the giggle that slipped out. 
 
“To you as well,” Aegon said. She saw Lucerys and Rhaena share smiles with her as Aemond seated himself reluctantly. He settled slightly closer to her. Helaena of all people, stood then, grabbing her cup and rising. 
 
“I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They'll be married soon. It isn't so bad, mostly he just ignores you... Except sometimes when he’s drunk.” Aemma laughed loudly at that, joined by Daemon and Otto. She was finding it increasingly disturbing how similar her and Daemon’s humour was. Helaena looked at Aemma uncertainly but smiled when she saw her sister beaming reassuringly at her. She settled herself down with a laugh. 
 
“Good,” their grandfather whispered fondly to Helaena.  
 
“Let us have some music.” Finally, she could eat. She would scream if she had to deal with anymore stilted conversation. The entire affair would be less painful after food. She had only placed a handful of figs on her and Aemond’s plate when she saw Jacaerys walk to them. She paused as he locked eyes on her, coming to her side before turning with his hand stretched out to Helaena. Aemma’s brows rose. Helaena was pleasantly surprised and grasped his hand. 
 
“My good sister too please,” Helaena whispered, eyes not moving from the floor. As Helaena walked to the dance floor, Jacaerys turned back to Aemma and held his hand out to her. 
 
“Princess?” Aemma held his stare before delicately placing her hand in his, rising with confidence as he led them to Helaena. Aemma mourned the loss of her figs but acknowledged this was a better turn of events than she’d expected. Jacaerys was certainly a special man to have approached her sister so considerately. 
 
They spun and danced playfully for a few songs. Aemond had shifted in his chair to keep an eye on them, his brooding gaze burning a hole in her. Aemma hadn’t expected to enjoy Jacaerys’ company so much. It pleased her to see her sister being so free. He had a kindness about him that was rare to see, especially among young men whose interests almost always lay in what was under a woman’s skirts. Aside from Cregan Stark, the men her age that Aemma had interacted with aside from her brother’s have all wanted one thing from her. For Helaena, who rarely interacted with anyone aside from her family, to be comfortable enough in his presence to touch and laugh with him, the moment was even more stupendous. Baela will be a happy bride. 
 
As the musicians started another piece, Aemma pulled back to catch her breath.
 
“Thank you for the dances, My Prince,” she curtsied sweetly to him. He bowed deeply to her.
 
“Anytime, Princess. I hope you don’t mind if I continue being greedy and keep Helaena for a little while longer.” He smiled brightly at her sister and Helaena giggled in delight. She smiled at them both before returning to her seat.
 
No sooner had she settled that her mother summoned the guards to carry her father back to his rooms, his head held in his hands. As she turned to watch his exit, her eyes caught on Aemond’s sullen face.
 
“You could have asked me for a turn, Aemond.” she cooed at him. He scoffed irritably at her, but relaxed now that she was back by his side. He stayed angled towards her and the dancefloor to keep his eye on Helaena.  
 
Pulling a platter of roasted meats closer to her, Aemma began delicately loading as much food as she could get away with on her plate. She had already been hungry, but the physical exertion had made her starve. She hummed with pleasure at the gravy coated lamb, turning to Aemond to see him staring at her lips, mouth slightly parted. 
 
“Have you eaten?” she asked him. Aegon answered for him.
 
“The broody cunt was too busy watching to make sure nothing untoward happened with our dear nephew.” Aemma frowned at Aemond as he glared at Aegon.
 
“Eat,” she said firmly. She slopped a few slices on his untouched plate, seeing that the figs she had placed earlier had not moved. Looking over at Aegon’s she could see he had a few scraps but not much either. She put some slices on his plate too. When Aegon looked at her sceptically, she jested.
 
“Since when were you watching your figure, brother? A few slices won’t harm you.” Aegon made a point to slurp his food obnoxiously after that. Aemma could only stare in disgust. 
 
“Aegon,” their mother chided lightly at his manners. Abashed, Aegon settled. 
 
Aemma was able to eat a decent portion of food, and force feed Aemond his share before the next disruptive event occurred. Servants had come up from behind Aemond on his blind side and placed a platter of a roasted pig in front of them. Aemma made uncomfortable eye contact with Aegon before hearing the snickering of Lucerys across from them. She looked up to see he had also seen the pig, and was laughing, obviously recalling the prank their nephews and Aegon had pulled on Aemond when they were younger. 
 
She felt, rather than saw, the creepy head movement Aemond made to see the pig in front of him. His nostrils had flared from the smell so no doubt he already knew. As quick as a viper, he slammed his fist on the table to push himself up. The music abruptly stopped as everyone turned to stare at the interruption.

“Final tribute. To the health of my nephews. Jace… Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise…Strong.” Aemma watched as something nasty settled in his eye and her belly fluttered in anticipation. Aemond had been good to keep his mouth shut for most of the evening, he too could have some fun at least.
 
“Aemond,” Their mother warns. She could see the effect on everyone's faces as the fun leeched from the room; the simmering tension returning in full suffocating force.
 
“Come, let us drain our cups to these three, Strong boys.” Aemma had to squash a grin as Aegon, ever the supportive and shameless brother, raised his cup in solidarity. 
 
“I dare you to say that again,” Jacaerys glared from where he stood hunched on the dancefloor.
 
“Why? ‘Twas only a compliment.” Aemond swaggered over to Jacaerys with his cup in hand. “Do you not think yourself Strong?” The effect was immediate. Lucerys pushed himself up and began to walk over to defend his brother, only for Aegon to catch him by the shoulders and slam him into the table and hold him down. At the same time, Jacaerys had swung a punch at Aemond who hadn’t even moved. Aemma stood up with everyone else, and moved slightly to the side to catch her sister rushing over to them.
 
Aemond scoffs at Jacaerys’ attempt and shoves him back, causing him to fall on the floor. Not a single drop of his wine had split, and Aemond threw a wide grin at Aemma that caused her gut to clench. Keeping her face carefully neutral, she clasped Helaena to her as their mother rushed to scold him.
 
“Why would you say such a thing in front of all these people?” 
 
“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, mother. Hm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.” Aemond mocked petulantly, as he tore his arm from their mother’s grip. The scrambling renewed and it wasn’t until Daemon stepped forward that it settled.
 
 “Wait!” he called, holding his hand out to Jacaerys to calm him down. It was impressive how much space Daemon’s presence took up. It was almost suffocating as he turned to face Aemond with a sigh, as if to say ‘what are you doing, kid?’ Aemma frowned at the condescension. 
 
Aemma held her breath as they stared each other down, the atmosphere tense as two predators stared each other down. For that was what they were; Daemon a fierce wild dragon with a reputation that preceded him, and Aemond a tightly coiled adder, no less a dragon but one that would strike viciously and precisely. 
 
With a ‘hm’, Aemond turns away, strutting out and Daemon follows soon after, smirking. The room relaxes after that as everyone begins to leave and the servants arrive to clear the room of the mess. 
 
“You should go to bed too, sister,” Aemma comments to Helaena as she squeezes her arms reassuringly and steps away. 
 
“Rhaenyra,” her mother walks over to her half-sister, sighing. Aemma follows a half step behind her.
 
“It's best I think, if we go back to Dragonstone.” Rhaenyra seems surprised by the affection her mother offers. Her mother has only ever wanted them to be friends. Surely, Rhaenyra had grown up by now and would accept her mother had only done her duty when she was forced to marry the King.
 
“You’ve only just arrived, father doesn’t have long left, you should stay and spend what time he has left together.” Aemma pleaded, stepping forward. If her mother was surprised by her contribution she didn’t show it. Rhaenyra looked between them both and sighed.
 
“Let me see the children home. I’ll… return on dragonback.”
 
“The King and I would both like that.” Alicent smiled at her. As she left her mother turned to her questioningly. 
 
“I will speak with you about it tomorrow, know only that I support you in finding a peaceful solution.” Alicent stared at her daughter before nodding.
 
“Go rest, it’s been an eventful day,” she clasped her mother’s forearms affectionately and departed.

Aemma waited until the castle had gone to sleep, the sounds of servants scurrying through the halls settling and the clanking of armour stopping as guards took up their positions for the night. The moon was high in the sky by the time Aemma clicked the hidden panel on her wall to make her way through the hidden passageways, dressed only in her thin nightgown and slippers. Her breath quickening, she finally reached the door to his rooms and pushed them open. 
 
The noise had startled him, as he was already sitting up in her direction, dagger in hand as he watched her shadowy figure emerge. He waited for her to call first, as was their rule when visiting each other. Just in case.
 
“Aemond?” she whispered. She could just see him from the moonlight, clad in a loose linen shirt and relaxed cut off pants as his sleepwear. He huffed a breath as he relaxed, tucking the dagger back under his pillow. Aemma wasted no time rushing to the bed. She hiked up her gown so that she could straddle him, and the musky scent of him filled her nose; his sheets heavy with the scent from his heat. 
 
“I thought you would not come tonight, aren’t you angry that I spoiled the evening?” Despite his uncertain words, she could feel him stirring to life beneath her; the heat of her cunt seeping into his cloth covered cock and setting his blood on fire. She huffed a laugh.
 
“It took everything within me to not lift my skirts so you could fuck me on the dining table.” she breathed on his face, admiring his sparkling sapphire as his other eye stared heatedly at her. His hands rose up to grip her hips tightly. She started grinding lightly against him. 
 
“I knew you were up to no good. Very clever speech, brother.” She shivered slightly from the friction. “I’m a big supporter of wordplay.” He started thrusting lightly up into her and it made them both groan lightly. 
 
“You didn’t even

flinch

when he punched you.” She moaned as she rode harder. He grinned madly.
 
“You think that little tickle would topple me?” he halted her motions, lifting his hips to shove his pants down haphazardly to free his cock. Aemma pushed up his shirt to see his perfect tummy, fit and toned from years of hard work. As she bent down to lick his muscles, he bunched her shift in his hands and pulled it off her, Aemma raising her arms briefly to help him. While he tore his shirt off, Aemma reached between her legs for her slick, scooping some to spread on his cock. His breathing quickened at the smooth feeling and her tight grip. He gripped the back of her neck and pulled her down to him, their teeth clashing as he shoved his tongue inside her mouth. Aemma moaned at the roughness.
 
She resumed her grinding with more force, now with her slick cunt sliding along his cock. The heat and friction made her delirious. They breathed into each other's mouths heavily as they continued their sloppy kissing. She moved upright for more leverage, digging her fingers into his chest. Her favourite sound; that wet slick sound of sex, filled the room and urged her faster. She was so close. 
 
“When you smiled at me, I wanted to get on my knees and choke on your cock. You make me

feral

for you Aemond.” she panted out. 
 
“Aemma,” he moaned. He always did love when she spoke sweet words of praise to him. His hands reached for her nipples as he rubbed and plucked them. She shuddered on top of him, gasping, and he felt her cum rush out onto his cock. He rode her through it, his hands moving to grip her hips painfully tight as he thrust up into her chasing his own release. She leaned down to press open mouth kisses to his neck to encourage him along. 
 
“

My beautiful boy,”

she moaned in his ear. His hips stuttered as his cock exploded, his seed painting both their bellies. She hugged him to her tightly, shoving her face in his neck as they both caught their breath, uncaring of the sticky mess between them. He ran his warm hands up and down her back, giving her goosebumps as her skin tried to chase the trail of his heat. A moment, then one of his hands went higher, onto her scalp, and grabbed her hair tightly and moved her head towards his lips. She stiffened, ready to berate his audacity, when he spoke harshly into her ear.
 
“I don’t care who you marry, whether it be a Lannister prick or our bastard nephew. I will find you in your chambers and fuck my seed into you while he sleeps. Especially if it's our nephew.”

Aemma whined at his dirty talk, already she could feel herself getting wet again. She couldn’t choke back the loud moan that escaped her as she felt three of his fingers enter her abruptly. 
 
“Aemond!” 
 
“He can be awake and watch if he wants to. I’ll stuff a rag in his mouth and cuckold him as I defile his wife. And he won’t be able to help himself. He’ll stiffen up, and shamefully fuck his hand at the pretty sounds you make, because you’re delicious, Aemma.” She shuddered at his gravelly tone, his words painting a pretty picture in her head. 
 
“The seed of the dragon is strong, sister, and you will father my children. Silver haired and violet eyed. The court will whisper of his seed with relief, assured that perhaps the Targaryen looks had skipped him for his children.” He sped up, pounding deeper, as she clamped her teeth on his shoulder struggling to cut off her lewd sounds. “Or maybe, they’ll whisper about what a whore you are.

The Queen that fucked her brother.”

She almost ripped the skin off his shoulder with how hard she came. She seized in his grasp, eyes rolled back as she fought to breath. She felt him rut against her belly again, and it only took two grunts before he came again. 
 
They lay there, a panting, dirty mess. 
 
What. The. Fuck.  
 
Aemma could not believe that had happened.     
 
“Aemond… you’ve ruined me.” she sighed happily into his shoulder, pressing soothing kisses to the bloodied wound she had caused. He shifted her slightly to stare tenderly into her eyes. He gently moved her sweaty locks out of her face, and pressed a sweet kiss to her lips. 
 
Bonelessly, she moved to press their foreheads together. Her eyes watered with the intensity of her emotions so she squeezed them shut. He pressed gentle kisses to her nose, eyelids and forehead.

“I have yet to ruin you. Completely, utterly, irrevocably.”

The confidence in his words caused her to open her eyes. They stared at each other, his with searing intensity and hers with blazing ferocity; a burning promise lingering between them as they heard the roar of dragons.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Aemma sought her mother out in her rooms first thing the next morning. 
 
“We only have an hour, Aemma, Rhaenyra will be leaving to take Aegon the Younger and Viserys back to Dragonstone soon.” Alicent greeted her as she ushered her in. A small spread had already been organised for them to break their fast. 
 
“I thought she meant all her children?” Aemma questioned.
 
“Her youngest will depart. Both Jace and Luke are old enough to participate in the proceedings of court. Joffrey is…whatever.” Aemma snorted at her mother’s careless dismissal. They shared a cheeky smile before eating diligently. Aemma was glad to see some life in her mother returning in their interactions; a hint of the young woman not so thoroughly scrubbed out by Otto. She poured them both fresh tea before speaking.
 
“My familiarity with Rhaenyra must have been a shock. I had met with her prior to the dinner. Don’t be upset, mother, it’s in our best interests.” Alicent eyed her sceptically. Taking a deep breath, Aemma continued.
 
“I proposed a marriage between myself and Jacaerys.”
 
“What?!” her mother stared aghast at her. 
 
“It is not so subtle, mother. We know grandfather

will

force Aegon on the throne… I am simply seeking a peaceful solution to prevent any conflict before he lights the fire.” Aemma tapped her fingers lightly on her teacup.
 
“Marrying Jacaerys into our family will not give him much more of a connection to the Throne. Rhaenyra won’t want anything but direct inheritance to the Iron Throne.” Her mother stated firmly. 
 
“Yes, but this will prevent them from responding aggressively to us when grandfather makes his move. If Rhaenyra hopefully thinks ahead to the worst possible situation, she will see that marrying me will ensure his safety. Grandfather cannot move against my Lord Husband without good reason.” 
 
“I can only hope that Rhaenyra would entertain such an option. But she is no fool, she will consider the fact that she’d be scorning her cousins.” 
 
“They already have the certainty of Driftmark, Rhaena will keep the Driftwood Throne in Velaryon hands through her children, that has always been the Sea Horse’s main concern. The Iron Throne, however, will have been snatched from her. At least in this way he can stay at the Keep, and have either himself or our children be a closer inheritance.” Aemma quickly stuffed a delectable custard cream puff into her mouth. Her mother frowned lightly at her lack of manners; Aemma wondered when she had become so comfortable with her mother to abandon them.
 
“I will also be writing to the Paramount Lords, requesting ladies-in-waiting and squires. Ser Criston needs someone, yes? Aemond could probably use a sword sharpener.” She shrugged, she did not care much for the activities of the men, she had no idea what extra help a squire would be to Prince Aemond “The Independent” Targaryen.

“An excellent idea, Aemma. It is unusual for you to reach out so late in your years though. You should have taken ladies on earlier.” Her mother scolded. 
 
“You should have encouraged me earlier,” Aemma shot back. The arrogance of her youth combined with a lack of guidance continued to come back to bite her. Her mother held her tongue, a shamed look on her face. Aemma sighed.
 
“‘Tis why I extend the hand now. It may be on the nose for them, but it is a risk we must take to have their support. When grandfather finds out, tell him you told me to do these on your behalf.” She stared intently to see her reaction.
 
“You want me to take the credit?” 
 
Aemma shrugged. “He views me as an arrogant little girl, and you are now his newly inspired mastermind. Why wouldn’t you tell me to do something that would further our cause? Besides, your main task will be helping me to convince father to break Jacaerys’ initial betrothal and replace it with me.” Alicent’s eyebrows rose.
 
“‘My main task’? What am I, a servant?” her mother scoffed. 
 
“That was poor wording, I simply meant you are one of the few who can get through to father. I’d like to accompany you when you do visit him.” Her mother thought about it, then nodded.
 
“I assume you do not wish for me to speak of this beyond you?” 
 
“Please. But we also will need to approach Princess Rhaenys with an offering. To soothe the hurt.” Her mother thought it over. “If we do not say anything, and she finds out at the last moment, I fear she will shun us quite terribly. We need all the Targaryen’s we can get on our side.” 
 
“Perhaps we can offer her a seat on the Small Council. She has handled the running of Driftmark in Lord Corlys’ absence with remarkable comfort. She has more than proven herself a capable woman. It cannot hurt to offer.” Aemma nodded in agreement.
 
“We must break the betrothal first, then offer. Her family is too closely tied with Rhaenyra to be of any use to us at the moment.” Aemma cleared her throat delicately.
 
“Mother,” she started tentatively. “I confide in you these plans and rejoice in your enthusiasm of them. However, I ask that you lean less heavily on your father. For reasons we’ve discussed before, he should be low on your list of priorities. Mine will always be our family -

not

for the sake of power, but for the sake of our survival. I’m not sure I can say the same for grandfather.” They shared a heavy look. Aemma observed the downward twist to her mother’s lips and the furrowed brow.
 
A knock sounded at the door startling them both and Ser Criston opened the door. 
 
“My Queen, Rhaenyra’s party has assembled and is set to leave soon.” He browed briefly. 
 
“Thank you, Ser Criston, we’ll be there. Come along Aemma, we shall finalise discussions later.” 
 
–
 
Out in the courtyard, a small crowd had gathered to send off Rhaenyra, even if she was to return almost immediately on Syrax. A carriage had been organised, with servants packing away luggage. Some of their staff would return to Dragonstone with them, considering the bulk of them were nursemaids for the younger children. Aemma took careful note of who would be staying.
 
Aemma and her mother drew eyes as they approached. She saw Daemon double checking the comfort of his sons in the carriage, and Rhaenyra hugging her two older Strongs. Joffrey clutched at her legs. She turned when she saw the Queen and Aemma approach. 
 
“Your Grace, thank you for seeing me off.” Rhaenyra said mildly, a hint of warmth carrying from the previous evening into her interactions with her mother. 
 
“Of course, Princess. I wish you safe travels, and look forward to your return.” Rhaenyra bowed her head. 
 
“Safe journey, sister,” Aemma added, stepping forward to bow her head to Rhaenyra. 
 
“Thank you, Aemma. We will have much to discuss when I return.” She gave Aemma a pointed stare, and returned to Daemon to say goodbye. Aemma watched them kiss as her mother mumbled to her, barely moving her mouth.
 
“I am hardly one to hold onto hope, but something feels different, Aemma. I hope what you are putting into progress makes a difference.” Her mother was almost desperate to avoid conflict. Aemma couldn’t blame her. She’d never seen war, but she’d read enough about it to know that it wasn’t the glory that Aemond had crowed about when he was younger. It was ruined lands, heavy debt, loss of crops and livestock, famine and waste and disease, hundreds of thousands of human lives lost, and relationships between families forever fractured. No… Aemma would try to avoid war as much as possible, especially if it meant only having to crack a few bad eggs to make her breakfast. 
 
“I can’t help but have a little faith in her, mother.” she stepped closer and dropped her voice until it was almost non-existent, mindful of eavesdroppers. “It is the Rogue Prince that will be our biggest challenge.” As if on cue, her uncle’s eyes snapped to hers once Rhaenyra had disappeared into the carriage. The violence brewing in his gaze was startling… but also stirred a familiar feeling in her. There was no denying Prince Daemon was a handsome man, elegant Targaryen features hardened by the deadly edge of attitude he always seemed to carry. She could see why Rhaenyra had been caught up in him both as a young girl and as a woman. Her eye contact with him was broken as Jacaerys stepped into view.
 
“Queen Alicent, Princess Aemma,” he bowed his head to both of them. 
 
“Nephew, good to see you aren’t too exhausted from all your dancing last night.” she smiled cheekily at him. He looked startled to be jested with, but returned her smile pleasantly enough. Ser Harwin had certainly been gifted physically. Jacaerys’ brown hair hung in delicate curls, the colour reminding her of chocolate. He had chiselled features but a warm countenance, a complete contrast to Aemond’s icy looks and demeanour. 
 
“I had something I wanted to discuss with you, would you mind a stroll with me?” Jacaerys turned to her mother for permission as he asked this. Her mother raised a brow and nodded her permission. Turning back to her, he held out his arm, his brown eyes sparkling. 
 
“Shall we?” she nodded goodbye to her mother, looping her arm through her nephew’s elbow and taking one last look at Daemon’s burning gaze. She tried to bring red to her cheeks, pleased when she felt the heat of them, and looked coyly away.
 
Aemma and Jacaerys walked in comfortable silence together, she noted the eyes on them and the whispers starting at seeing the bastard so comfortable with a Green. Their steps eventually took them to the entrance of the gardens, a place Helaena often frequented. There was no sign of her yet but Aemma was sure she’d appear eventually. The heat of the sun was pleasant as Jacaerys led them to a half wall that overlooked Blackwater Bay. The scent of honeysuckle tickled her nose.
 
“I heard from my mother that you had proposed for us to be… wedded,” Her nephew looked up at her from his eyelashes. She turned to him with a pretty smile. 
 
“Yes, I did. Given the…tension between our families, I thought it best to offer a suitable solution. Eldest for eldest.” 
 
“But you knew from yesterday that I was already promised to Baela,” he frowned in confusion, his thoughts written all over his face. Another startling contrast to the closed expressions of her own family. 
 
“Yes,” she heated her gaze towards him a little. He flushed lightly, looking away. 
 
“It is not ideal, and I cannot honestly say whether Princess Rhaenyra will agree to it or discard the idea. But it is one that should have been put forth a while ago. A lot of incidents could have been avoided if our mother’s had seen beyond themselves.” Aemma said nonchalantly. 
 
“Careful, that is my mother you are insulting,” he warned. She smirked sardonically.
 
“And ‘tis my own mother I scorn as well. We have missed out on a lot of opportunities in our lives, sweet Jacaerys.” She took a small step closer to him, still maintaining an appropriate distance but making their conversation more intimate. He leaned in slightly. “Perhaps we could have been closer, known each other deeper than this...” She canted her head, letting her glossy hair spill down her shoulder enticingly. 
 
Jacaerys swallowed. “I am promised to Baela…however, I would not have been adverse to a match with you.” He said, almost shyly. 
 
“Baela will indeed be blessed with a lovely husband,” Aemma paused, and lowered her voice thoughtfully. “I hadn’t seen my sister smile and laugh so freely with a stranger before. Why did you approach her?” 
 
He shrugged. “She looked lonely,” 
 
Aemma looked down as if pained, but internally she was seething. How dare he assume such a thing. He had

no

idea what occurred behind closed doors. As if Aegon would be so stupid as to shower her with affection in public where it could not be trusted to be used against them. Instead, she said her next words lightly, as if unbothered. 
 
“Marriage is often uncaring of the woman, as long as it benefits the family that has sold her away. I pray often to have as pleasant a match as you and Baela.” Some of her honesty harshened her vocabulary, but she wouldn’t back down on her thoughts of marriage. As a Targaryen Princess, her hand was priceless, so it would only serve that she be selectively available to further alliances. Alliances and political moves could mean a variety of disgusting men, she had her mother’s suffering to attest to that.
 
“Surely, as a Targaryen Princess you will have your choice? There are not many Houses as high in standing as us.” He unknowingly echoed her thoughts. 
 
“That is precisely the reason why it will be awful.” She turned away to face the water. She had to squint her eyes slightly from the brilliant rays of sun reflecting back at her. “I apologise, Jacaerys, I did not anticipate letting my mouth run from me.”
 
“Jace, please,” she turned to him confused. His brown eyes sparkled as he smiled at the bewildered look on her face. 
 
“Those I’m familiar with call me Jace,” she hummed at him.
 
“Are we familiar,

Jace?”

Aemma tilted her head with a smirk. Jacaerys’ red lips parted as he stared at her heatedly. Tension hung in the air as they stared at each other.
 
“Aemma!” a sweet voice called. Startled, they spun around to see her sister approaching them, arms full of the twins. Jacaerys took a hasty step away from her. The twins squirmed at the sight of her and suddenly Helaena had armfuls of worms. Aemma laughed before rushing over to unburden her, eager to be away from Jace.  
 
“My favourite twins in the entire world! Have you been looking for your favourite aunty?” she said brightly as she scooped up Jaehaera to place a loud, wet kiss on her cheek. Seeing Jaehaerys beginning to get upset with the lack of attention, she gave him an even louder one. Helaena winced at the piercing noise.  
 
“You’re their

only

aunty,” Helaena smiled gently. Aemma enjoyed that Helaena conveniently forgot Rhaenyra existed. Aemma turned to Jacaerys, almost forgetting he was there with as silent as he’d been. She found him with an odd expression on his face; smiling warmly at the scene but with a confused frown, as if he hadn’t expected Aemma or her family to be so familiar towards each other. It had the effect of making him look constipated, she thought wickedly.
 
“I’m sorry to cut our talk short, but I’m sure we will have plenty of opportunities while you are here,

Jace.

” She cocked her head at him again and watched as his eyes honed in on her locks. “Farewell, nephew.” She smirked at his dazed look and turned to her giggling sister, departing with her. She let Helaena guide them to her favourite spot, a hidden path just off the side of the pavilion central to the gardens, that Helaena had populated with odds and ends. The scent of honeysuckle was heavier here, the wandering branches and delicate flowers grew wildly on the stone work and hedges. A frayed blanket lay on the flattened patch of grass, piles of pillows and books laid scattered across its large surface; a testament to how well loved this space was. Aemond rarely frequented the gardens, and Aegon had only ever been here once with them, so this space was exclusively for Helaena and Aemma. There was only one entrance, the rest of the space walled off by hedges. It was the perfect, intimate space.   
 
The sisters placed the twins down on the blanket and began arranging the pillows to their liking. Aemma was glad her sister had sought her out. It had been too long since they’d had any time together.
 
“Did I interrupt something?” Helaena asked slyly. If only Helaena knew of the passionate night she had shared with Aemond just hours before, there would be no question if her attentions were wavering.
 
“Took you long enough to speak up,” Aemma rolled her eyes with a smile. “Rhaenyra told our nephew about my proposition. It was a polite rejection, but he had been curious.” 
 
“More than curious,” Helaena hummed as she lay back against the pillows, Jaehaera instantly cuddling into her side to play with her dress. 
 
“Yes, Jacaerys is a loyal man, but he is just that - a man. To tempt him away from Baela will be no easy feat, but he is still young. All men, no matter their age, think with their cock first.” Aemma threw a smirk to her sister as she lay on her side, nose wrinkling as Jaehaerys shoved his face to hers unexpectedly. She laughed, startled, before wrestling with him lightly. 
 
“The twins are healthy, is Aegon treating them well?” Aemma asked, darting her eyes to her sister. She had not inquired about their marriage in a while, something she had been remiss in.
 
She relaxed at seeing Helaena nod. 
 
“Oh yes, for all his complaints, Aegon has accepted the role of father well. I think it has given him a new purpose. Something beyond pleasing you, or mother.” People often underestimated Helaena due to her soft and gentle demeanour, but she was a Targaryen just as they all were, and her tongue could be the sharpest of them all. Aemma rolled onto her back to huff at her sister’s barb. 
 
“Be glad he hasn’t devolved into some drunken whoremonger. Without you and the children, he’d be a wretch. The servants have been whispering of his clearer mind. Not that that has helped any of the serving girls escape his lecherous hands.” Aemma snorted. Her sister frowned at the callous words, but accepted the truth in them.  
 
“Aegon hasn’t sought pleasure outside our bed for two moons now,” Helaena said.
 
“It is impossible for Aegon to be abstinent,” Aemma scoffed. Helaena shook her head at her sister misunderstanding her.
 
“He has been in mine, sister,” Helaena emphasised. Aemma twisted her neck awkwardly to look at her suddenly. 
 
“You have been bedding regularly?” Aemma’s lips twisted upward, impressed. Her sister reflected the expression back with satisfaction. 
 
“Yes…and I have missed my moonblood,” Helaena looked away, smiling gently. Aemma’s jaw dropped as she scrambled to sit up, dislodging a grumbling Jaehaerys while she was at it. 
 
“Are you certain?” Aemma asked excitedly. 
 
“Maester Mellos confirmed it yesterday,” Helaena stared back at her warmly. Aemma squealed in excitement and launched herself at her, squeezing tightly. Helaena happily hugged her back, laughing while Jaehaerya squirmed obnoxiously between them, struggling to escape. 
 
“Aemmy, stop!” 
 
“Me too, me too!” Aemma suddenly found herself with Jaehaerys pulling and clawing at her hair to allow him entry into the embrace. She hissed in pain as she opened her arms, glaring at the brat. Helaena laughed loudly and quickly pulled him in before Jaehaerya could escape. A broad grin stretched across Aemma’s face as she basked in her sister’s joy. The glow was unmistakable; her eyes were crinkled with laughter, cheeks rosy and her skin illuminated. Her hair shone sparks of gold and silver in the sunlight as she tossed her hair about when she laughed. Truly, her sister was a beauty, and she was pleased Aegon and her had settled into a stable marriage. Non-platonic love would come in time, but for now they were a working partnership that placed their children highly. Aemma was glad her siblings had found comfort in each other.   
  
Back in her rooms, Aemma scribed letters to the Paramount Lords requesting for ladies in waiting and squires. She kept them succinct but friendly, waxing nonsense about being eager to strengthen the ties of House Targaryen to its vassals. She would later hand these letters to her mother for her to sign next to hers. The support of the Queen would go a long way in garnering interest and results. More importantly, she specified in Lord Borros Baratheon’s letter to send at least one of his daughters to become a lady-in-waiting, promising the utmost care in selecting her husband and personally increasing her dowry. Aemma would try her best to forge connections between their Houses that wouldn’t lead to selling off Aemond. With this, she could at least slight House Baratheon freely if needed and still keep their armies when they moved against Rhaenyra. Forgetting to betroth a girl on the brink of civil war is easier than breaking off a betrothal to a Crown Prince.  
 
Aemond would need to be a free agent if the situation worsens and comes to war. He would need the freedom to fly Vhagar to where he was needed and he wouldn’t be able to do that if he was required to put a babe in some unworthy bitch. An unattached man, a second son, was something that could also be easily looked over. But for herself, the eldest daughter and heir of her father’s children with Alicent, it did not make sense for her not to be betrothed. They would call her barren, a whore, crazy…any number of things to justify why she wasn’t married. There were already whispers of her. She was glad for once of the maids gossiping each time they stripped her bloody sheets every moon. At least then they could not say she wasn’t a woman, or that she was secretly with child.
 
Although undesired, if she can be betrothed to Jacaerys it would put an end to those whispers, in addition to wreaking havoc on plans laid by Rhaenyra and Otto. She would be free to move comfortably if she had Jacaerys for a partner, someone unassuming but attentive. But, it would mean an end to her dalliance with Aemond, the thought of putting a halt to their activities and their free intimacy twisted her heart painfully. Aemond was her only love, and the thought of having him marry anyone else but her makes her want to order Vermithor to burn the whore and her overreaching family. Her body heats with pleasure with the knowledge that she knows Aemond would do the same. His words from last night echoed in her head, a shiver going down her spine as she remembered them. Low, heady; heavy with promise. But... duty comes first. Aemma is not allowed the freedoms of a man in this world or the next.  
 
She had felt the energy in the air, could almost taste it on her tongue. It was vibrating constantly in preparation for change. What kind of change? She didn’t know, only that it was significant, and it didn’t matter if she was ready or not, because it would crash down upon them unmercifully. Aemma could only try to be as fluid as Vermithor when he flew to avoid storm clouds and towering buildings; planning, but able to take on unintended events as intentional with poise and grace.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Aemma cheerily readied herself for the day, waiting patiently as her handmaiden pulled her hair into her usual elaborate half up-do. She had woken much earlier than she normally did, the sun just barely warming the sky. The streaks of orange and red coloured the clouds, looking like fluffy bloody sheep. Thanking her servants, she settled with a book and the small plate of food she’d asked for prior to her washing. Today she would ensure she flew on Vermithor. She could feel the slightest tugs of impatience at her heart, and she knew that it wasn’t any mood of hers causing it. 
 
Checking her appearance one last time in the mirror, Aemma swept from her rooms to her siblings. The kingsguard bowed to her when she approached, and knocked on the door before opening it to announce her arrival. 
 
Stepping in, Aemma saw Helaena already awake, sleepily stirring sugar into her tea. Jaehaerya and Jaehaerys she could hear still being tended to by the nursemaids in the adjoining room. 
 
“Helaena,” she greeted, taking a seat close to her. Her sister blinked at her in response. 
 
“I will be asking a favour of Aegon that may require him in the company of whores once again.” She saw the awareness enter her sister’s eyes at once. “Do not be upset when you hear rumours of it.” Perhaps not the best greeting first thing in the morning but Aemma had things to set into motion.
 
“Why would you send him back? We… we’ve only just made a breakthrough.” Helaena frowned angrily, her eyelids fluttering with her agitation and her confusion. Aemma grasped her sister’s arm tightly and leaned forward to keep her voice low. 
 
“It is not for the purpose of whoring, it is who he needs to meet in these spaces. He has anonymity there, he can hide behind his vices. Places where I cannot go.”   
 
“Meeting who?” 
 
“I hope to find out today. Be warned, sweet sister, this won’t be the last time I ask something of Aegon you don’t agree with. We must look beyond ourselves for now. There is much to be done.” She bore her eyes into Helaena, willing her to understand. Of all her siblings, the one who had a glimpse of what is to come, what could be… she would have thought Helaena would be more understanding. 
 
Helaena stirred uneasily, acknowledging the rationality of her sister’s words but unwilling to acquiesce them. How she loathed when Aemma became rigid like this, as if she and her brothers were nothing more than a stepladder to use and put away. 
 
“Sister,” Aegon calls wearily from where he’s entered from the bathing room, his hair damp. His watchful eyes linger on where Aemma’s hand still gripped Helaena’s arm. Aemma released her, leaning back with ease to greet her brother. 
 
“Aegon, just who I need. I must speak with you in private.” Aemma rose to lead him away when Helaena interrupted.
 
“I will hear of it. Aegon’s business affects me too.” Helaena told her sister firmly. Aemma stared at her before nodding. Gesturing for Aegon to sit, like these weren’t his own quarters he thought with an internal scoff, Aemma switched to their language, aware of the nursemaids tending the twins who had dropped suspiciously in volume. 
 
She kept her voice low anyway.

“Aside from all the fucking and drinking you partook in when you visited the Street of Silk, did you foster other connections with the people who fucked and drank with you?”

Aegon frowned, confused and irritated for his sister to be talking about this, especially when he had felt he had made good efforts to be a better husband to Helaena, glancing at his sister-wife before staring at Aemma’s vivid violet orbs.

“Why are you bringing this up?”

he asked flatly. It was too early in the morning for this kind of talk.

“I need to know that if I need something done discreetly, you know the right people to accomplish the task.”

“What task?”

“An untraceable permanent silence,”

Helaena sucked in a sharp breath at her words as Aemma and Aegon stared unblinking at each other. Silence stretched between the three, setting them on edge. Aegon’s mind spun with questions as Helaena clasped her arms around her middle tightly, digging her nails in deeper the longer the tension went unbroken. 
 
Aemma saw movement in her periphery and her eyes immediately latched onto the corner where the door to the twins’ chambers lay. The hint of a skirt and white cap was all she needed to see.
 
“Out!” she barked sharply. Like a thread pulled too taut, her voice snapped the tension. Her siblings jumped, as did the spying nursemaid, who they heard squeak before shuffling out with her head bowed, her taller counterpart rushing to follow behind her. 
 
“It seems you will need to find new nursemaids, my loves. These ones have hot ears and questionable loyalties.” Aemma stared at the faces of the eavesdroppers, committing them to memory in case she needed to have them punished. 
 
“To whose ears will our conversation be repeated into?” Aemma questioned sharply, standing up to move in front of the cowering servants. 
 
“F-forgive us, Princess, we were seeking to leave with the twins. We had no idea of the tension in the room.” She was the smaller of the two, with wisps of blonde hair peeking under her cap. Aemma honed in on the slip like a hawk to a rabbit. 
 
“Tension? We are siblings conversing. What do you know of any tension if you had not been spying?” she darted out a hand to grab her jaw and force her head up to look into her eyes. A watery brown filled with panic. The girl stuttered through her defence.
 
“P-please, P-p-princess Aemma, I did no such thing.” she whimpered. The taller girl stepped forward with a deep curtsy.
 
“She is telling the truth, Your Grace, we had just finished dressing Prince Jaehaerys and Princess Jaehaera when she made to leave the rooms.” She spoke confidently but to her feet. Aemma seared her face with her gaze, letting the both of them stew in the heat of her as she saw sweat bead along their temples and upper lips. 
 
“Helaena,” she called her sister over. Aemma heard the shuffling of fabric as she walked, not letting her stare move from the cowering girls. 
 
“Sister?” Helaena questioned softly, knowing not to interrupt despite her apprehension. 
 
“You know these girls best, they have tended well to the little Prince and Princess. Do they tell the truth?” She turned her head to stare at her sister, seeing the gentle concern on her face. Helaena stared at the shivering girls sympathetically before nodding at her sister.
 
“They were a gift from grandfather to celebrate the twins’ births. They have served us well. I believe Elora is telling the truth.” 
 
Aemma nodded and released her grasp of the girl. Elora. She stumbled back and folded her shaking hands in front of her. Aemma admired the glaring red mark on her face.
 
“Do not scuttle like a mouse next time. Dismissed.” 
 
They watched as they darted out immediately. Helaena whirled on her sister angrily as soon as the door shut. Aemma held up a hand to halt the forthcoming lecture.
 
“She was spying ever since I mentioned whores. This means grandfather has had his ears in here for three years. Have mother find you new ones or do not speak a word of anything import in front of them. We cannot trust anyone.” Aemma relaxed herself back down onto the settee. 
 
Helaena’s hands reached up to grasp her hair angrily, her mouth moving in hissing whispers. Aemma ignored her as she leaned forward to sip at her sister’s sweet tea. She pulled a face immediately.
 
“Blegh! Cold.” she put the teacup down disdainfully and Helaena, sick of her sister, stormed off to her children in a huff. 
 
Aemma waited patiently for Aegon to either yell at her or leave. He surprised her by doing neither, and instead sat next to her, their legs touching as he murmured to her.

“I have shared whores with the kind of men you are seeking. A man who knows a man, who knows a man… Who are you intending to kill?”

Aemma shifted to face him and placed her arm on the back of the settee to rest her head on it as she watched him. He was leant forward with his arms resting on his thighs, his handsome profile available for her perusal. She noticed the deepening purple under his eyes. It seemed he still drank himself into a stupor even if he had forgone fucking whores in the past two moons.

“In due time, I’m sure you will figure it out with the minimal information I give you now. What I need you to do is enquire about someone who can administer something that can mimic a typical illness, or exacerbate a current one. I can pay any amount. Travelling will be required and it will need to occur within the next moon.”

Aegon raised a brow at that and turned to stare at her slowly.

“Discretion is a must, of course.”

“Aemma… are you going to kill father?”

Aemma couldn’t keep the shock off her face. 
 
“Uh…” she trailed off. 
 
Aegon suddenly grabbed her by the shoulders and jerked her.
 
“Are you insane?” he hissed. His purple bloodshot eyes stared wildly at her and she smelt the rosemary oil he must have used on his hair that morning.

“Get off, you oaf. Can you get it done or not?” Aemma pushed him with her weak might, but she knew he let himself be moved. He shoved himself up and paced around the room agitatedly. He came to a stop in front of her, dragging his hand roughly down his face as he sighed heavily. 
 
“Yes. I will need at least two weeks to settle in. To allow for a natural progression.” He said wearily, his eyes shadowing.
 
“Chin up, Aegon.

You don’t have to fuck a whore every hour, every day. Just one here and there to make it seem like you never left.”

“You’ll never understand just what I’m sacrificing to help you, Aemma.”

She narrowed her eyes, sick of her siblings self-righteousness.

“I’m getting tired of repeating myself. We are inconvenienced now, to thrive later. All our actions lead to our greater future.”

Aemma’s sharp eyes cut to her frowning sister who had hovered in the doorway for the past few minutes, a dozing Jaehaera held on her hips.

“We cannot allow ourselves to fracture as every other fucking facet of this family has done. We are attacked and undermined from every side: Rhaenyra, Daemon, mother, father, Otto, the fucking kingdom.”

Aemma stood up to pace angrily at this point.

“Do not allow my coldness to get in the way of our relationship. We need to do this for us to succeed. Through fire and blood we will be victorious. But it is fire and blood from

all

of us.”

Aemma turned her emblazoned eyes back to her siblings, seeing it reflected back at her. Good. She was sick of the whimpering of hurt feelings when there were bigger players on the board who cared even less about them - that would hurt them

more

than what she ever could.

“If I don't have your total support now, then there is no point in going forward.”

Aemma pleaded with them. She watched as Aegon turned to share a look with his sister-wife, the silence stretching between them as they had a conversation Aemma was not privy to. 
 
With a sigh, Aegon turned back towards her. 
 
“We understand that we will be challenged in many ways, and we are here to support you sister. But you must understand, we are your siblings. We are people with lives. We have

children

now. We need to look towards them first, always. They are our priority, and we cannot do that if you continue treating us as expendable.” 
 
Aemma tamped down her initial urge to lash out and instead stared at the little head of Jaehaera lolling on Helaena’s shoulder. They were two of the sweetest beings Aemma had ever met. Their birth had forged something between Helaena and Aegon, binding them in ways they never would have been able to before. In fact, their innocence had been refreshing for the whole family; her mother and Aemond less harsh, her father more aware and soft when he could manage it. Aemma herself had felt something unfurl within her when she had first seen the tufts of silver hair on their wrinkly tiny heads. 
 
Aemma wasn’t a mother yet, but she could understand their burning desire to protect the twins. They were precious, and now they had another child on the way. But surely they could understand why she would do

anything

to protect her siblings, and more so her nephew and niece! Aemma couldn’t deny that she was a harsh woman, blunt to the point of extreme when trying to achieve her desires. But as she reflected, she could see how her siblings viewed her as uncaring, and from her own experiences with mother and father, she knew how the mind focused on the negative even when surrounded by the positive. Her siblings were resourceful though, and they were the only people she trusted with her life. That’s why she leaned on them so heavily to do tasks because she knew they could see them through. She encouraged their growth and development for their own betterment, so that

all

of them could survive in this game. 
 
But… Aemma could acknowledge that perhaps they just want their sister, warm and loving, rather than the ambition driven role she often fell into. Aemma would try to do better, and be more gentle with them, but she could not simply let go of who she was. As the eldest it was her job to keep them all alive, and she would see her job done and done well. Nowhere was safe in this Keep, not even with their own blood. Her nose twitched just thinking of Otto and all the scheming he committed while they were young. Aegon had just been sighted as male at his birth and already their grandfather had planned his life out and beyond. It was scary…and out of their control. Aemond had been permanently disfigured, with trauma to be dealt with for the rest of his life be it physical or external, and because of the power of their father, the King, he received no justice for it. As children they couldn’t say anything, mouths sealed shut and dismissed simply because of their age.
 
Helaena wanted to be left alone, living a life of peace with her children and her thoughts, away from any conflicts. Aegon didn’t want to be King, he wanted a life of privilege and luxury without the responsibility. Aemond didn’t want to merely be a second son, he wanted prestige and status and worth, especially so after being dragonless for so long and now viewed as a cripple. It fell to Aemma to shoulder their burdens and desires and to make it happen for them. Aemma would be Queen so that her siblings could be free to be as they wanted, because she was the only one that had the drive to achieve it. With the support of her siblings, she could make this work, but she had to keep pushing.

So yes, Aemma would try to be better for her siblings if it was what kept them bound to her but she would not let her guard down. There were too many variables working against them for her to just be the doting elder sister. 
 
With a sigh she opened her mouth. 
 
“I…apologise. You’re both right. I know that this has been a trying time and it will only continue to get worse. I will endeavour to be a better sister to you both. But, we must work together so that we can overcome this. I wish things could just fall into place and we could all be free but we are Targaryens. We are the royal line. We are

destined

to be more.” Her posture slacked as she fiddled with her fingers. 
 
“Helaena, people assume little of you. Which is entirely stupid of them but I would appreciate it if you could use that to our advantage. Listen and observe what we cannot, allow them to talk over you as they spill whatever dull secrets we can utilise. I am sorry that I am sometimes considered one of those people. Aegon, it was wrong for me to approach you so forcefully, but I really need you to find those contacts. You don’t have to do anything you are uncomfortable with, your presence alone would be enough to spark rumours to cover your true purpose. 
 
“Asking for help has never been an issue for me, but I can see that asking for it,

nicely

, has been a point of contention, and for that I am sorry.” Aemma looked down at her feet, heart in her throat as she bared herself to them. This was harder than she thought, being vulnerable. She could feel the sweat dripping down her back as she squeezed her fingers tighter. She looked up at Helaena approaching her. Putting her hand softly on Aemma’s tangled ones, she asked.
 
“Was that so bad?” Helaena smiled beatifically at her. 
 
“That was the most uncomfortable moment of my life,” Aemma shuddered. Aegon and Helaena burst into bright peals of laughter. Aemma smiled softly at the sound and launched herself to hug Helaena, mindful of not disturbing Jaehaera. Aegon approached a moment later as she felt his hand warm her shoulder from where he placed it.
 
“The might of the dragon remains strong, so long as there is affection and love. You can be fierce and soft at the same time, Aemma. You don’t need to shoulder our burdens just for yourself anymore.” She pulled back to stare into Aegon’s pleading eyes. Her eyes stung as his words settled something in her heart she hadn’t realised needed mending. She smiled brilliantly at him, stepping out of Helaena’s arms to kiss his cheeks. 
 
“Thank you,” she whispered tenderly to him. His eyes brightened, and he kissed her nose. 
 
“We’ll always be here to put you in your place,” He snarked. 
 
“Aegon!” Helaena gasped. Aemma just patted his cheek lightly, rolling her eyes to give gentle kisses to Helaena’s cheeks and atop Jaehaera’s head.    
 
“I think I’ve reached my limit for affection for the day. Be well, brother, sister.” Aemma hurried out to the sounds of their laughs. 
  
Her affection had indeed reached its limit with her siblings but not for her favoured one, she thought fondly as she made her way to the training grounds. She’d made a quick stop in her rooms to change into her riding leathers and braid her hair, so the sun was high in the sky by the time she entered the training yard.
 
Her conversation with her siblings had done her a world of good, Aemma felt a lightness to her that she hadn’t known since… well ever. It was an addicting feeling, and something that she wanted to share with Aemond. 
 
She leaned over the balustrade and spotted him immediately. He was engaged with Ser Criston as was typical, as was the crowd of enthusiastic onlookers who circled around them. She was surprised to see two specific heads of brown hair sparring against each other, drawing their own small crowd of onlookers. Of course, men liked to train, so it made sense for her nephews to be here as well. Aemma still wasn’t used to seeing them around the Red Keep again. She returned to observing her brother and the impressive way he moved. She loved seeing his sharpness and skill. He was lithe and quick on his feet, dancing around Ser Criston but able to match any blows with unwavering strength. You wouldn’t be able to tell that he was blind in one eye with the way he moved. They must have been nearing the end of their session as she could see he was plastered in sweat, his normally gleaming hair clumping together in locks at his neck and temple. She felt heat stir in her belly as she watched him become more aggressive, eager to put on a show for their bastard nephews as they had paused in their sparring to watch, unable to help themselves. 
 
They drew as a final clash of steel rang in the air, Aemond’s sword tip at Ser Criston’s neck and the knight’s at his heart. Aemma joined in the applause as she made her way down the steps. The crowd parted and dispersed for her with heads bowed and murmurs of ‘princess’.
 
“Aemond!” she called as she grew closer. He spun immediately and she smiled at the sight of his sweat leaping off him in a shower of droplets.
 
Ser Criston sheathed his blade and bobbed his head to her. 
 
“Princess Aemma,” she returned his nod with her smile in place. 
 
“Ser Criston,” she could see in his eyes she had startled him by addressing him with her lack of usual indifference.
 
“You have your leathers on, are you going to ride Vermithor?” Aemond demanded her attention again, his eye fixed on her as he stared her down while sheathing his sword, lingering on her smile. He seemed bemused as to why she continued to do so. Was she really such a cold bitch all the time that everyone was shocked when she smiled? 
 
“Yes, I came to see if you wished to join but I can see that you must be exhausted,” Ser Criston waved over a servant while she spoke who immediately scurried forth with water and a towel. Aemond took the towel and began mopping up his sweat. Aemma’s mouth dried as she watched him lift his hair to soak it against the back of his neck.  
 
“Nonsense, I will accompany you.” He chugged down the goblet of water and moved towards her, holding out his arm. 
 
“Thank you, Ser Criston,” Aemond said while she grasped his arm. 
 
“Well fought today, my Prince,” Cole bowed first to Aemond then to Aemma. “Princess.”
 
Aemma began dragging him away immediately, excited to be alone with him again. 
 
“It has been too long since we last rode together, brother.” she chatted happily, pleased to be on his arm. 
 
“We rode together three days ago,” Aemond said with a smirk, lifting a hand to brush his hair out of his handsome face. 
 
“Hush you, it was three days too long,” Aemma threw a wide smile up at him. His eye widened slightly before crinkling, his smirk softening into a smile. 
 
“I’m pleased to see you as you are. Do I have myself to thank for your joyous mood?”
 
“You wish!” she laughed. “No, I had an interesting discussion with Aegon and Helaena just before. I think it -” 
 
“Aemma!” Aemma felt her smile stiffen as she turned to greet Jacaerys, who had made his way over towards them, Lucerys trailing behind uncertainly.
 
“Nephew, how good to see you,” Aemma greeted amicably. 
 
“I thought we had moved past the ‘nephew’ stage?” Jacaerys huffed a small laugh, darting his eyes to the looming figure of Aemond before returning to her. 
 
“Right, of course, please accept my apologies,

Jace,”

Aemma said playfully. She felt Aemond stiffen under her arm. 
 
“How goes your training?” 
 
“Quite well, we were working on Luke’s agility. He can be quite fast but there is always room for improvement.” Jacaerys said happily. 
 
“Yes, our Luke certainly has fast hands,” Aemond’s silky voice sneered.     
 
Jacaerys' face stiffened and Lucerys shuffled uncomfortably behind him, refusing to meet either of their eyes. Aemma cleared her throat delicately. 
 "Indeed, it is a worthy skill to hone, nephew. Enjoy the rest of your training, Lucerys, Jace, but we must be off. Aemond has a very grumpy dragon to see."  
Aemond allowed himself to be dragged away again, she knew without a doubt if they lingered for a moment more Aemond would have escalated the situation.

"Jace?"

Aemond spat the name as they walked away.
 
"It was one conversation, and as someone who I am trying to tie myself to it's only fair to seem familiar with him.

You know my heart belongs to only you."

She assured him.

"I know, my sweet. But you have no idea how hard it is to see the love of your life be with another man, to know he will have your maidenhead and your mind when he is unworthy of all that and more."

Aemond said between clenched teeth, unknowingly echoing Aegon's words of sacrifice from earlier. 
 
Aemma's heart ached. Her earlier conversation with her siblings rung true and she realised how unfair this whole situation would be for Aemond. She kept quiet as they saddled their horses to reach the dragonpit. 
 
She placed herself in Aemond's boots. If she had to see him marry another woman, one that had a tumultuous relationship with their family and posed a threat to their rule… and to see him be intimate with them and have to look away and keep her tongue. It felt like an icy hand had gripped her heart and squeezed. She felt physically sick. 
 
She felt some relief when they finally reached Vermithor and Vhagar. It had pleased both her and Aemond when the ancient dragons had got along well. They had been worried when Aemond returned with Vhagar that either her or Vermithor would be firm in their desire for solitude, but pleasantly they had subverted expectations, and roared in pleasure at seeing a distant friend. They often curled up together when resting. 
 
Aemma sent Aemond a soft smile as they climbed their dragons. Flying together was always a special experience for her. It was as if someone had taken a spoon and scooped out her thoughts, leaving her blissfully empty. Just her, Aemond, and their dragons. 
She closed her eyes and threw her head back, the wind whipping past her face and Vermithor's movements streamlining to the point she only heard, rather than felt, his wings cutting through the air.

Bliss.

"Aemma!" Aemond called over the wind. She opened her eyes and sat up abruptly. She looked over to see him pointing at an island they were flying over. She nodded to let him know she understood and commanded Vermithor to land. 
 
The island they landed on was a rocky mess. The dragons dropped them off on the flattest portion before stomping off to splash in the water. They'd recently discovered Vermithor adored fishing and snapping playfully at Vhagar who would simply whip her tail at him when he got too boisterous. 
 
Aemond came over immediately and brushed the knotted strands away from her face. 
 
"What troubles you, sister?" 
 
She smiled sweetly at him, always caring and aware, her Aemond. She pressed a gentle kiss to his lips and stepped back.
 
"The betrothal to Jacaerys may not happen, but I am hoping it will. Not because I desire him, but because of the boon it will grant us. If we can bind him to our family, it makes Rhaenyra easier to control. I know

I

know it means nothing to me. The vows, the affection…the bedding. But to everyone else it will look real. Including you." she took his hands in hers, rubbing them gently. 
 
“I have always been free in my affection for you. I love you so much it hurts, Aemond. I would melt King’s Landing with Verimthor if that’s what you asked of me. So I can’t imagine having to stomach watching me with the bastard, and for that, I’m sorry.” She stared into his eye miserably. It was not as hard to be vulnerable with Aemond as he was her other half. She could be whatever she wanted with him and he would accept it as completely her, no questions asked. It still made for an emotionally exhausting experience. 
 
Aemond sighed heavily and pressed their foreheads together. She closed her eyes as they stung. 
 
“I am doing everything I can to avoid a match for you, but if that is what you want I can find a …suitable woman,” she choked out. “Someone who can give you what you deserve.” 
 
“Aemma,” Aemond said, shocked. “What are you talking about?” 
 
“I have taken advantage of your love, Aemond. I don’t deserve it. I have treated you poorly, taken you for granted knowing you’d always be by my side and hurting you in the process. Why should I selfishly hold you back from what you desire when I have been doing whatever I wanted? Just tell me your wish and I will make it happen.” She cried, hot tears spilling down her cheeks. Aemond started shushing her. 
 
“You silly girl,

you

are the only one for me. I have loved you ever since I laid eyes on you. You have looked after me, made me strong, made me who I am today. As if I would ever want to let you go, the most beautiful and precious woman in the world?” Aemond’s eye stared fiercely into her own, becoming slightly glassy. 
 
“The bastard doesn’t deserve you, no one does… not even I, mangled and crippled as I am. I wake up everyday thanking the Gods that you chose

me

to be with. Somehow you saw something in me worth loving, for that I could never let you go. I don’t want any other woman, because she will never compare to you. Your strength, your beauty, your fierceness. Why would I lower myself to something less than the best, when the best is what I have already?” Aemma laughed wetly. She threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. 
 
“The situation is not ideal… but I am used to duty, Aemma. I am the second son… I will always come last in a situation of benefits. I am patient. I know we will find a way to make the arrangement work for us.” Aemond whispered into her ear. Aemma’s heart clenched at his sad words. 
 
“When I am Queen, Aemond, you will never be considered second ever again. We will rule together, equally. You will have anything your heart desires.” She squeezed him so hard she felt him wheeze out slightly. Her arms shook with the force of it but she wanted to become flesh and blood and merge under his skin; to become one. 
 “I just want you, sister, with all my being,” Aemond murmured huskily, and returned her hug just as fiercely, the breath choking out of her now. She smiled through the pain, loving the feel of his strong arms encompassing her. They stood there, hugging in their bliss, feeling like the air around them was charged with their love and affection. She shifted back slightly to press a sweet kiss to his lips that he quickly took the opportunity to deepen, slipping his tongue between her lips.  
She moaned into the intrusion, their tongues massaging each other as she felt her body heat with desire. They pulled back to breath, their shared panting filling the minimal space between them. 
 
“I want it to be you, Aemond,” He pressed a kiss to her lips.
 
“You have me, Aemma,” He continued peppering her with kisses as she tried to speak.
 
“No, I want it

to be you, Aemond.

You will have my maidenhead.” He hovered over her lips before crushing them to his forcefully. His teeth cut her inner lip as they clashed and blood flooded their mouths. They both moaned as the metallic flavour danced on their tongues, igniting the fire in their blood. A pact only they knew sworn between them. 
 
“Thank you,” Aemond breathed, his eye misting as he stared at her so dearly. She smiled so wide it hurt her cheeks.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Rhaenyra returned two days later, the screech of Syrax heralding her arrival. It was late afternoon and Aemma was getting ready for an early dinner with her family when she heard the dragon. Her mother and her were intending to visit Viserys that evening after supper to try their hand at persuading his addled mind. Her father had exerted a lot of energy defending Rhaenyra, so they knew he wasn’t long left for this world. He was hanging on by a thread.

Rhaenyra's arrival didn't deter their schedule much, in fact it meant that whatever was the result of their visit to father could be addressed immediately.

Dinner was uneventful. Otto dined with them that evening and kept his talks to his daughter and Helaena. Aemma was fine with that, there wasn't much she could say to him without wanting to put a fork in his eye. Otto couldn't achieve all that he had just by himself. Aemma needed to figure out who was loyal to him so that they could be weeded out when Aegon was crowned. Perhaps it was time to investigate the serving staff more thoroughly. The reaction of those nursemaids had concerned her. Anyone would be scared when they were called out, but that girl had not been subtle in her spying. She should never speak anything but High Valyrian to her siblings again. There really were ears in the last place you’d expect, nowhere in the Keep was truly safe.

Her father’s bed chambers were heavy with the scent of incense when they entered hours later. Maesters Mellos and Runcitor were murmuring quietly to each other as they cleaned their tools, being mindful to not disturb the dozing king. Aemma could see the fresh bandages wrapped around her father and smelt the acrid scent of cleanser, letting her know that they had just finished tending to him. She watched as they fiddled with their metal instruments and gathered soiled muslin strips to sterilise and wash later. Her mother remained where she was, patiently waiting for them to finish but Aemma quietly stepped to the side, using the shadows of the room to remain hidden as she stealthily moved closer to where they were.

“...inform the Lord Hand…”

“...not long now, of course…”

“...not pleasing, given her return…”

Aemma strained to hear but only snippets of their conversation travelled to her. It was enough to make her curious. The Maester’s reported to Otto as per his role as Hand of the King. It was important for him to know the king’s health and how best to aid him. That in itself wasn’t a cause for concern, their whispers discussing her father’s condition could be taken in any different way given her lack of context. But the next sight was one that had the hair on her arms raising.

Clean up had finished and Runcitor had moved onto the prepping the milk of the poppy dose. Aemma watched Runcitor crush the petals of the red flower with his mortar and pestle, the red leaves beginning to bleed white. Mellos’ arm twitched, and a white powder dusted the mixture. Aemma’s brows rose. She didn’t know much about medicine, but she knew enough to know that milk of the poppy was a simple extraction process. She had watched the Maesters prepare it often enough for Aemond when he first lost his eye. She did not believe there were any additional steps. Had they developed the recipe for this to be something additional for pain relief and healing?

“How is he this evening?” Aemma watched as the Maesters startled, her own heart stuttering slightly as her mother caught them off guard. Mellos whirled around to greet Alicent.

“M-my Queen, forgive us. We did not hear you enter.” He quickly bowed, eyes darting to the door behind her to see it shut and that she had come alone.

“‘Tis fine, I did not wish to interrupt your work,” Her mother said calmly as she stepped into the light.

Aemma kept her eyes on Runcitor as her mother and Mellos conversed. She watched, hidden in the shadows, as he turned his body to shield his mortar after greeting the queen, hastening to roughly stir and crush the petals once again. The powder dissolved immediately, leaving no trace as the mixture began to form the white, milky substance of its namesake. Aemma had her doubts. Her father had been on a steady decline ever since he contracted this mysterious illness. Either it was worse than it seemed and the Maesters had helped stabilise him… or the Maesters were hastening Viserys’ journey to the Stranger.

Runcitor poured the finished mixture into a small silver vial with a stopper and turned towards the king.

“Leave it, I will administer it tonight. Thank you for your help, Maesters.”

“As you wish, Your Grace,” they bowed low, Runcitor placed the tincture on Viserys’ bedside table while Mellos collected their tools. They shuffled out and Aemma and Alicent were left in silence.

“The Maesters are often left unsupervised to tend to the King?” Aemma stepped forward from the shadows.

“Yes, any medical procedure is done behind closed doors, as you well know.” Her mother said.

Aemma hummed thoughtfully. She knew that her father was attended to frequently, but she was sure there were at least servants in the room. To see the Maesters working so comfortably without anyone there suggested frequent unfettered access to the King… a dangerous thing.

Alicent had made her way to Viserys, shushing him soothingly as he gasped in pain, fighting to push out words through his wheezes. Aemma watched as her mother held his head up just enough to drink his pain draught. The wheezes turned into comprehensible words, and Aemma stepped closer when she saw the confused frown on her mother’s face.

“I believe it to be true,” came the whispered words.

“Believe what to be true, my King?” All thoughts of proposing a betrothal between her and Jacaerys left her mind as the King continued rambling.

“Don't you remember? Aegon…” Aemma and Alicent shared a bemused look.

“Our son?” Her mother questioned, leaning over Viserys to hear him better.

“His dream… the Song of Ice and Fi–. It is true. What he saw in the north. The Prince that was Promised.” What? The Song of Ice and Fire? Aegon…the Promised Prince? What ridiculousness he was spouting in his fevered state. If Aegon had ever had the abilities of a dreamer, she would know. He had never brought up any such thing ever in their lives.

“I don't understand, Viserys,” her mother was also growing agitated.

“The Prince,” Her father stressed.

“Prince Aegon?” Her mother looked at her again, eyes swimming with confusion. When had father changed his mind on crowning Aegon?

“To unite the realm against the cold, and the dark. It is you. You are the one. You must do this.”

Aemma and Alicent can do nothing but stare at each other in a stupor, their features slackened in shock. Her father…basically on his deathbed, had declared it her mother’s duty to crown Aegon instead of Rhaenyra, his heir who he had never swayed from. She wasn’t sure what the Song of Ice and Fire could be… perhaps she should consult Helaena and Aemond on it, and Aegon to see where in Westeros her brother had produced such a fanciful dream. She would need to study the words he spoke later, in private. The cold and the dark… the only place she knew that could fit that description was the Winter in the North. But he had been emphatic, to the point almost killing himself trying to speak it. Her brother…why would a Prince need to be promised? And to who?

She opened her mouth to speak but her mother threw her a look.

“I understand, my King,” Her poor mother looked stressed as she blew out the candles. Aemma swiped the empty flask of milk of the poppy and followed after her silent mother.

They reached the door and Alicent grabbed her arm to halt her.

“This cannot leave this room,” her mother stared intently at her. Aemma shuffled closer to keep her voice low.

“He’s gone mad with pain, did you hear the nonsense he was speaking?”

“Careful, that is the King you are talking about, and your father,” Aemma scoffed.

“He’s been neither of those for a long time now, Mother,” Alicent sighed. “Are you going to take this information to grandfather?”

There was a pause, then a nod. Aemma sneered in disgust.

“Aemma, he can use this to legitimise his push for Aegon’s claim. If we can solidify Aegon’s standing before Viserys passes, we will have less resistance from Rhaenyra.”

Aemma knew that to be true. Rhaenyra wanted her crown, but she was not desperate enough to fight against the words of their father.

“Daemon would never accept this, he would call it a farce,” Aemma stated. Her mother nodded.

“I agree, but if we can appeal to Rhaenyra, I believe she will be able to keep him in line,” Aemma scoffed again.

“He’s a wild dog, I do not take him to be tamed by her cunt,” Her mother gasped in disgust.

“Mind your tongue, Aemma! Where did you learn such horrid language?”

“Regardless, we will need to discuss this with Rhaenyra. Grandfather won’t be happy, but if we hide this and forcibly crown Aegon there will be war.” Aemma frowned in concern. Her mother nodded.

“There was always going to be a war. We just need to do all we can to stop that." Aemma hesitated.

"Mother... don't mention the Song of Ice and Fire to him. I feel like that is something...special, something that isn't meant to be heard by everyone's ears." Her mother studied her face, before acquiescing.
 
“Go now and rest. I will speak with your grandfather on our next steps.” Aemma bowed her head and departed for her siblings. There was no way she would sleep this night, the new information was overwhelming, and she needed to sort through it.
 
She collected Aemond from his chambers and led him to their married siblings, their twin heads of silver shimmering in the moonlight as they walked briskly. He didn’t ask any questions, the look on her face was enough to make him follow her.

The halls were mostly cleared of people, only a servant or two moving about their business. Once they reached their siblings' rooms, she saw their usual guard was absent. Aegon pulled the door open before she could knock, surprising her and Aemond.

“Helaena has not been feeling well. She mentioned you might visit tonight.” Aemma’s brow raised but she nodded and went inside when Aegon stepped aside.

Aemond sat on the settee and Aemma laid herself down on it, placing her head in his lap. His hands immediately ventured into her hair, pulling out pins and massaging her scalp. Aemma felt her eyes roll to the back of her head as he kneaded the tension from her.

“Where is Helaena?” she asked without opening her eyes.

“Here, sister,” came her whispered voice.

“No additional bodies?”

“Elora just left after putting the twins to sleep,”

Aemma twitched but forced herself to relax. An issue for another day. Silence, and then.

“Have any of you heard of the Song of Ice and Fire?”

Aemma opened her eyes when nothing reached her ears. She turned her head to the right to see Aegon and Helaena sitting on a shared settee, holding hands and staring in confusion at Aemma. Both of them were in their night clothes, she had caught them just before they’d gone to bed.

“Mother and I visited Father a few hours ago. He said something…life changing.”

Aemma recounted the conversation from earlier in the evening.

“He explicitly mentioned you, Aegon, as the Prince that was Promised. Have you been discussing dreams with him?”

Aegon frowned.

“I haven’t spoken with Father in months, nor have I dreamed any strange dreams. He’s… he’s changed his mind? He

actually

wants me as his heir?”

Aegon was struck, a mixture of feelings he couldn’t even begin to unravel, sending his body into a cold sweat.

“He emphasised your dreams. ‘Prince Aegon…his dreams of the North’.”

Aemma pointed out.

“There are tales of the Children and First Men. How they fought against an ‘Other’ in the far North. The greatest Winter the land had ever seen - The Long Night. Could that be what he is referring to, when he says the cold and the dark? I can’t imagine he’d be referring to Lord Cregan Stark and his running of his House.”

Aemond mused. She knew he would be best to consult with this, he had always been an avid reader of all histories.

“Those are mere stories.”

Aegon waved his hand dismissively.

“Passed down for generations, there must be some truth to them,”

Aemma countered.

“It sounds like a prophecy,”

Helaena murmured. The siblings exchanged glances.

“The Song of Ice and Fire…something that binds the light and the dark. Something that must be of great importance.”

“And if not our Aegon who dreamt it, then it can only be Aegon the Conqueror. Is this some kind of vision of his that is passed down through our bloodline?”

“Why would you think that, Aemond?”

Aemma asked.

“We know from our Helaena that Targaryen blood is special. We have a history of Dragon Dreamers, it’s what allows us to bond with dragons. If Viserys knows of this… prophecy, then it holds true that it would be passed down. King to King, since none of us have ever heard of it before.”

“I wonder if Rhaenyra knows?”

Aegon questioned.

They sat in silence as they pondered that.

“It

must

be important if the tradition of Aegon I’s dream has continued to be passed down. It appears the timing is not clear since nothing has happened prior to us. We don’t even know what the Song of Ice and Fire is or who this Promised Prince is. No offence Aegon, but I don’t believe it is you.”

Helaena teased. Aegon scowled at her playfully.

“Fire obviously represents us; Targaryens. Given Aegon’s dream of the North… The only significant Ice relation has to be the Starks.”

Aemond nodded.

“This Promised Prince is supposed to deliver us from…Winter? By having our lines join?”

Aemond thought out loud.

“The only way the North will unite with us is through a union. Mother didn’t accept Rickard’s proposal for Aemma and Cregan when they were younger, and Cregan has no eligible females fit for a Crown Prince.”

Aegon added.

“Regardless, Mother will twist these words to suit Otto’s desires. Viserys did say that it was

her

duty.”

Aemma said, bringing them back to the topic.

“We can only speculate that this prophecy is asking us to unite the Stark and Targaryen bloodlines, for all we know it could be referring to a wolf and dragon fight.”

But even as she said the words, Aemma felt them ring untrue.

“It is not long now until father passes. A week at most. He is clinging to what life he has left. Aegon, you must be ready to do your part.”

Aemma said, reaching over to grasp his hand in hers.

“We are here for you, whatever you need.”

She swore.

Aegon squeezed her hand back in gratitude. These next few moons would not be easy on Aegon. Regardless of his thoughts on being crowned, he had no ill will towards Rhaenyra, but he would unfortunately be taking the brunt of the retaliation. As the King, he would no longer be a background character.
 
Aemma sighed and shifted to relax back onto Aemond. She rolled onto her side and felt something jab into her hip. Pulling the object from her pocket she blinked at the silver object, her mind rushing to catch up with her thoughts. She had completely forgotten that she had swiped the used bottle of milk of the poppy. Removing the lid, she looked inside to see white sediment at the bottom. Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled, taking in the earthy sweetness that the milk usually had. She drew back in surprise though, when it immediately became cloying. It was as if she had an overly sugared cake slice in her hand.

“Aemma?” Helaena asked. Aemma sat up and passed the bottle to Aemond, indicating for him to smell it. He did so, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. He passed the bottle to Aegon and then Helaena.

“That is a used container of milk of the poppy,”

“It may look like it, but that smell…

it can’t just be milk of the poppy,”

Aemond spoke up immediately, intimately aware of the properties of pain relief tincture.

“I watched Maester’s Mellos and Runcitor prepare this mixture. Before finishing the grinding process, Mellos threw in a pinch of a white powder. It blended seamlessly into the milk, both in colour and texture. It is only by smelling this that you could know it had been tampered with.”

“Tampered is a strong accusation, Aemma. You can’t possibly be suggesting that the Maester’s….are

poisoning

the King?”

Helaena asked, wide eyed.

“Someone beat you to it, Aemma,”

Aegon chortled. She threw him a dirty look.

“We have no way of knowing if this was the final dose in a succession of very small ones, or a large dose intended to kill. The maester’s have had years to weave their false medicine on the king.”

Aemma contemplated, concerned.

“It was only by chance that I was able to eavesdrop. They spoke of Rhaenyra’s return…I think they wanted to have killed the King before she came back.”

Aemma said, turning to face the wide eyed looks of her siblings.

“…on whose orders?”

Helaena whispered. Aemma hesitated before answering.

“I think you already know,”

Helaena closed her eyes, pained. Of them all, Otto had taken a special liking to Helaena and regularly made the effort to spend time with her and her children. Perhaps Elora had been a genuine gift for her siblings, but Otto never gave without receiving. He enjoyed his granddaughter’s company while gaining impertinent information on the happenings of the royal children when acting free of the gaze of the public. Helaena would lose a father figure and someone who entertained her fancies. It was a shame that he worked against their interests and that Helaena would be the most hurt by the end of this. Unnecessary ambition begets unnecessary pain.

They sat in silence after that. Helaena had retreated to Aegon’s lap where he was stroking her hair soothingly. Aemma had moved to the wall with the bay window, sitting with her legs drawn up on the ledge and her arms hugging her knees as she stared blankly out at the moonlit city. Aemond had stretched himself out on the settee, his silver hair spilling over the side closest to her and his booted feet dangling off the other. His arms moved in and out of her vision as he fiddled with his eyepatch; raising his hand to spin it by the band or throwing it up and catching it with alternating hands.

None of them could sleep. Hours passed as their eyes burned with exhaustion but something kept them awake. Perhaps it was the overwhelming knowledge that they couldn’t trust their Maesters, the figureheads of knowledge in their society, or that their grandfather had seen fit to look them in the face with familial love and plot their bloodline's demise behind their backs. Aemma had known Otto was an ambitious man who viewed the people in his life as pawns, claiming that what he was doing was for the good of their family. She was both annoyed and impressed with him. Mostly she was annoyed at herself for not seeing these schemes sooner. She had known that Otto could not have been working alone. He had access to information and secrets like no other, seemingly pulling it from thin air. He had to have procured it from something that had access to unfiltered and private content. Gods, the Citadel was in the seat of the Hightower’s. How Aemma hadn’t drawn this connection sooner would always taunt her.

She had never really thought of the Maester’s beyond their roles and that, she supposed, was the perfect cover. Most households ignored them until they were needed, but that was a horrible oversight. Maester’s had access to educating children, the communications between Lords and Ladies of various Houses - often being the one themselves to write them. They claimed absolute knowledge of intensive anatomical knowledge, leaving them the only ones they could rely on for injuries, treatments, and childbirth. The Citadel controlled the flow of information for generations; who knew what and when. They even wrote the histories of Westeros! Aemma was sure they took many liberties to twist certain figures. No matter their claims of neutrality, they controlled the narrative.

It was the perfect disguise, and Aemma couldn’t help but be impressed by the whole network. It was significant in its complexity and terrifying in its meaning. What purpose does this serve? What is the ultimate goal of the destruction of her bloodline? It couldn’t just simply be to oust the Targaryen rule from the Crown. Or could it? Aemma dug her palms into her eyes, rubbing them to encourage moisture back into them. To kill the King right under the Queen’s nose was an incredibly bold move to make. Too bold. Just like the fact they could interact with the King frequently and unsupervised, just the thought that they knew they could get away with the poisoning meant they were too comfortable. They’d been allowed to run unchecked for far too long. There were simply no competing institutions.

Aemma knew once the Throne was theirs there would be massive changes. She’d have to organise her own correspondence now, and ensure any health issues were managed away from the Maesters. Her heart stopped. Helaena was with child. This would be harder than she thought. Aemma would need to research who else could be fit to look after her sister. Ousting the Maesters would be an impossible task, but she could at least control how much access they had to the royal family.

As they sat in silence Aemma rested her head against the stone wall and rested her eyes. Otto would have to die, there was no way around it. He had committed treason, and even if he disproved anything within a trial, he was too dangerous to keep alive. Her mother would protest, to be sure, but she would learn that it was for the best.

Aemma dozed lightly, that whimsical state between consciousness and slipping away into the land of dreams. She felt she was needed here in the room with her siblings, that something was keeping a tight grip on them. Or perhaps what had kept them awake, was the foreboding tension they had felt swelling all night.

Hurried footsteps and heavy breathing heralded the arrival of the bad news.

The door opened immediately, whoever was on the other side obviously not expecting them to be awake or all congregated in the same room. Twisting her neck to stare blearily at the disturbance, she sat upright immediately and the sleep cleared from her eyes.

Their mother stood in the doorway, twisting her fingers in distress as her features tipped downwards in sorrow.

So it had finally happened.

“The King has passed.”
  
Their mother said nothing about them all being gathered together, or why they were all awake. She was only grateful that she hadn’t needed to search all their rooms. Aemma and Aemond waited while Helaena and Aegon quickly dressed. Their mother had gone on ahead to wake Rhaenyra and her ilk. A decision Aemma thought Otto would strongly disagree with. 
 
She was correct, when she saw his face as they all entered the small council chamber to find him already hosting a meeting with Maester Mellos, Lord Lyman Beesbury, Lord Jasper Wylde and Lord Tyland Lannister. Lord Commander Westerling and Ser Criston stood guard by the door and they all turned to look as she and her siblings stepped through. Aemma nodded her head to Ser Westerling when he brought out additional chairs for her and her siblings closer to the head of the table. Aemma placed herself gracefully into the chair immediately to the right of the Hand’s chair, while Aegon slumped into the chair next to her. Helaena hesitantly sat in hers, quickly reaching for Aegon’s hands under the table. Aemond declined a chair and instead stood resolutely behind them, his firm presence a reassuring comfort at her back. Her mother walked to take her place at the head of the table.
 
“Whatever has been discussed must halt until Rhaenyra arrives.” It looked like Otto’s face couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be appalled or betrayed. The constipated effect had Aemma biting her cheek to prevent a smile.
 
“Rhaenyra?” He sneered. 
 
“Her father has passed, she has a right to be here,” her mother held firm.
 
"The King is dead?"
 
"Viserys?" 
 
The shocked voices of the small council were overshadowed by Otto's contempt. 
 
“Your folly with Rhaenyra continuously brings us ruin. You know not what you have ruined by waking-” 
 
“Ruined what?”
 
The whole room turned at her half-sister’s voice. 
 
Rhaenyra stood, elegantly clad in her red dressing gown. Even hastily dressed she looked well put together. Her silver hair was long and unbound. Hovering at her shoulder like a vulture lurked Daemon, not a hair out of place and his sword on his hip. Just behind them, struggling to look like he was meant to be here, was Jacaerys. Aemma was surprised to see him. Given how much Rhaenyra kept him tucked away in her protective arms, she didn’t think she’d make the effort to wake her precious baby. The odd meeting hour must have alarmed her in more ways than one. 
 
Chairs were brought for the three and Rhaenyra sat to the left of the head, Jacaerys in the middle and Daemon next to him. His brown head was a jarring juxtaposition in the rows of Targaryen silver.
 
Alicent eyed down her father from her seat, glaring at him to sit down. He only stared stubbornly in return. 
 
“Targaryen practices don’t seem so queer when you pit your cocks against each other like that,” Although Daemon’s words were a jest, his tone held an undercurrent of steel. “It’s the hour of the wolf. Why have we been summoned?” 
 
Otto moved to his seat but did not sit down, instead preferring to stand next to Alicent with his arms crossed. Her mother sighed and turned to Rhaenyra.
 
“Rhaenyra… I'm sorry…” Her mother couldn’t get the words out. 
 
“The King is dead.” Otto spoke up for her, adopting a sorrowful tone as the room fell into shocked silence. “We grieve for Viserys the Peaceful, our Sovereign…our friend.” Aemma watched as Rhaenyra struggled to keep her face composed, her mouth opening and closing slightly as she blinked furiously. Jacaerys was even worse at hiding his emotions, his grief and surprise written plain across his face. Daemon sat frozen at his side, his burning glare deepening the more Otto spoke.
 
“But he has left us a gift, with his last breath he impressed upon the Queen his final wish that…his son, Aegon, should succeed him as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.” 
 
“You fucking cunts!” Daemon’s chair screeched as he stood up, blade drawn as he pointed it at Otto. Ser Criston and Ser Westerling’s blades drew in response, rushing forward to pin Daemon at sword point. 
 
“Enough! Lay down your swords!” 
 
“Daemon!” 
 
“By the Seven!” 
 
The air behind Aemma’s back displaced as she felt Aemond shift into a ready position. He didn’t have his sword and was most likely regretting its absence. 
 
“The King dies and how convenient it is, that his Hightower whore is the only one to hear his ‘dying wish’,” Daemon spat. Ser Criston surged forward aggressively, pressing his sword into Daemon’s chest. Daemon bared his teeth at him in a snarl.
 
“I will not suffer insults to Her Grace, the Queen,” Ser Criston sneered. 
 
“Enough, Ser Criston. You can put aside your blade.” Alicent said wearily. They stayed locked in that stare, the tension becoming uncomfortable as Ser Criston ignored his Queen.
 
“That is an order,” her mother said more firmly now. 
 
“Daemon…” Rhaenyra warned gently. With a tight roll of his neck, Ser Criston sheathed his blade, stepping back but staying close to the table. Daemon dropped his eyes to his wife, scoffing at the pleading look in them but sheathed his all the same. He stayed standing, body coiled with tension as he loomed behind Rhaenyra. 
 
“It is true. His last words uttered with his lips…and now he’s dead.” Alicent sighed into the silence. 
 
“W-what plot is this?” Lord Beesbury spoke up, astonished. “I am six-and-seventy years old. I have known Viserys longer than any who sits at this table, and I will not believe that he has said this on his deathbed…alone with only the - the boy’s mother as a witness!” His voice had grown angrier as he spoke. Was he about to insult her mother? 
 
“Plot or no, the King changed his mind,” Lord Wylde said calmly. Aemma could see Daemon practically vibrating on the spot, hearing the treason being spoken and wanting to take action. 
 
“Hundreds of Lords and landed Knights swore fealty to the King’s chosen heir, the Princess Rhaenyra!” Lord Beesbury continued in his outrage. 
 
“That was twenty years ago, most of them are now dead.” Lord Lannister dismissed lazily, as if the topic of their conversation was not sat with them. Aemma studied her half-sister intently. The glassy eyes from earlier had disappeared in the wake of these statements. 
 
“The way you speak, my Lords… Am I to understand… that the members of this small council have been plotting to install Aegon behind my back? That you have been committing treason? For years?” Rhaenyra’s tongue cut through the din like a whip. All conversation halted as eyes turned to her. Her eyes stared back, lit with fire. 
 
“I am my father’s heir. In all the years he was alive he has stayed true to this claim. Not once did he change his mind. Not when I stepped away to Dragonstone, and certainly

not

when he had a son.” Rhaenyra’s eyes bored into Aegon. Beesbury was nodding along emphatically with her words. Aemma saw from the corner of her eye as her brother stiffened in his chair, discreetly pushing himself into the backing; wishing to escape her glare. Well now that wouldn’t do, only Aemma was allowed to intimidate her brother. 
 
“If any of you had held your tongues long enough to let my mother speak, you would have learned what was said… and that I was also there as witness.” Aemma said more sharply than she intended. The tension in the room and Rhaenyra’s dismissal of Aemond’s existence had her on edge. She controlled her features as all eyes in the room burned into her. She let them see a calm, relaxed face, but she felt the sweat begin to immediately bead and drip down her back and collect under her breasts. None felt heavier than Mellos’, whose eyes had shot immediately to her at her reveal. She was already prepared to adjust her story to place her out of his attention. 
 
Aemma kept her eyes only on her half-sister, whose startled ones stared back almost betrayed. 
 
“I joined my mother after putting the twins to bed to visit the King last night like any other evening. Mother informed me he had already been seen to by the Maesters and was set to rest peacefully, like any other evening.” Aemma paused dramatically, unable to resist the urge to embellish the story.

“Unlike

any other evening, my father was determined to stay awake. Often he cries for his medicine or for an adjustment of his position. Last night, however, he was determined to speak. I had not seen him so intent on getting his words out ever since our family dinner.” She swallowed to rehydrate her dry mouth before continuing.
 
“You must all understand that I agree with Rhaenyra-” 
 
“Aemma!” her mother and grandfather hissed, betrayed. Her words had done their job though, and she could see Rhaenyra start to relax, Daemon still vigilant but not bloodthirsty, and the other members of the small council hung on her every word. 
 
“Our father never gave up on the Princess as his heir,” she saw Rhaenyra nod, pleased at her words. “So that was why I almost couldn’t believe the words he said either. On the Old Gods and the New, I swear that my father, King Viserys, used his last breath to tell my mother that he would be succeeded by my brother, Prince Aegon.” Gods, she should have been a mummer. The way everyone’s faces fell after lifting in excitement… who knew speeches brought out her flair for the dramatic. 
 
A formal swear on all the Gods was not to be taken lightly. The people present here would have no choice but to take her words as truth or put her to death… and as a favoured Princess of the Realm, she doubted that would be a considered course of action. 
 
Aemma leaned forward slightly to engage her half-sister when she saw Daemon about to blow up again. 
 
“He asked my mother to

promise him

, that she see this happen. It is her duty to

unite the realm

under Prince Aegon…against the

dark.”

Aemma studied Rhaenyra’s face intently to see if her emphasised words produced any reaction. It was minute, but she could see confusion and alarm swimming in her half-sister’s eyes. Daemon honed in on the tactic like the hunter he was.
 
“What a tale you spin, byka vaokses.” Aemma’s eyes cut to his at the pet name,

little spider.

“The silky words that leave your poisonous mouth weave together to trap us in your web.” Daemon’s upper lip curled in disdain. Aemma wasn’t phased.

“The only webs here lay in Viserys’ bedchambers. Ask yourself why the most powerful man in Westeros with constant care succumbed to a simple infection?”

Daemon pulled back abruptly, thrown off by her words, instead moving to squint at her in thought. Rhaenyra mirrored him in his shrewd assessment, the words of their first conversation no doubt coming back to run through her mind. 
 
Aemma didn’t know if it was a simple infection or something worse, but the Maester’s were learned men, with medical knowledge beyond any means. Surely Viserys’ ailment had not been so complex as to evade their understanding. The Throne had judged his worthiness and found him lacking, making him bleed. In this, she could accept the mysticism of. But ultimately, they were just cuts, one of the most treatable injuries a Maester learns to heal. No… the poisoning she witnessed earlier that evening had confirmed for her that Viserys had suffered from medical neglect at the Realm’s most trusted advisors. 
 
“Aemma…in a language we all understand, please.” Her mother scrubbed her eyes tiredly. 
 
“Forgive me,” Aemma cleared her throat. “I have sworn to the Gods that what I say is true. My father wanted Prince Aegon to succeed him.” She leaned back and let herself be withdrawn from the conversation. 
 
“It is admittedly hard to believe, Your Graces…” Maester Mellos began hesitantly after a moment of silence. “We, of course, can take your word for it…but the public would be harder to sway.” 
 
“Of course, b-because it is seizure! It is

treason!”

Beesbury pressed. He had sat dumbfounded through her whole speech, amazed that everyone had fallen so easily into Aemma’s fanciful lies. Beesbury was too honest to see that the whole council would sway according to the winning party. Maester Mellos didn’t entirely agree with the scheming, or the absurd story Aemma had told (no matter its truth), but he would follow because he could see that Aegon’s support outweighed Rhaenyra’s.  
 
“Mind your tongue, Lyman,” Mellos’ warning proved her thoughts of him.
 
“Lord Beesbury, I appreciate your loyalty to my father and my claim. It seems it is a rare thing now, to see a sworn oath that hasn’t been so carelessly thrown away.” Rhaenyra commented sharply, glaring icily at Mellos and the rest of the table.
 
“And what claim for these oaths, other than blood, do you have, Princess?” Otto began coldly. His patience had worn thin, and his daughter’s actions had turned an opportunity into a catastrophe. All his carefully laid plans, slipping like sand between his fingers. 
 
“You will have to speak up, Lord Hand, for I think I heard you contest me, eldest child and heir of the King, as a claimant to the Iron Throne?” Rhaenyra began dangerously. 
 
“Viserys broke years of tradition to name you as heir because he had no other options.”
 
“Was it not

you

that put forth my name?” Rhaenyra leaned forward to sneer. 
 
“Only to prevent

Daemon

from being named heir. The Realm would have crumbled to ruin in his hands.” Otto said angrily. Daemon snarls in response. 
 
“Struggling to hold the smarmy face concealing your cunty self, Otto?” The Lord Hand ignored him.
 
“Those oaths were sworn for the King, not out of any desire for you. A young girl, with no knowledge or interest in running the realm.” 
 
“You will cease these insults against my mother, the Queen!” Jacaerys had stood up angrily. Aemma had completely forgotten he was here. Rhaenyra pulled at his arm to seat him immediately. 
 
“They were sworn nonetheless, Otto. Are you so irreverent with your honour that you would agree the Lords and Knights of the realm absolve theirs?” Rhaenyra tutted mockingly at him. 
 
“You have always worked in your own selfish interests, Princess. How could the

heir

abandon the Crown for years in a self-imposed exile in Dragonstone?” Rhaenyra stood up, affronted. 
 
“An exile made certain by

your

efforts!” She barked. “How long have the Hightowers been working to undermine my rule? You sold your daughter to my father, made her breed her half-Green brood all to place your own blood on the throne!” Aemma stiffened at the insult. The hatred Rhaenyra and Daemon had of Otto was certainly reciprocated. She was pleased to see them abandon decorum and throw accusations, but not at her expense. Although, the best kind of damage you could do to a person was one that was self-inflicted. 
 
“Of whom have more of a place in court than

yours.

Tell me, which name will they claim to debut in court? Targaryen? Velaryon?…or Strong?” Otto sneered smugly. Aemma’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. She had not expected Otto to go that far. 
 
“Father, enough, you go too far,” her mother stood up. Daemon had his hand on his sword again.
 
“He is only saying what we all see, Your Grace. Long have I thought it…I’m sure many others do too.” Lord Lannister spoke up, unable to resist stirring the pot. 
 
“The seed of the father is

strong

. If not the silver hair then the black skin of Ser Laenor should be present…the colouring is…not there.” he trailed off silkily. 
 
“You forget yourself, Lord Lannister. Your words are treasonous. My sons are true Velaryons, and any claims against that have already been dissuaded by the King. I don’t know why this foolishness is still discussed.” Rhaenyra said with a stern frown, crossing her arms harshly. 
 
“And yet, it

is

still discussed.” Otto tilted his head mockingly at her. “And if it is still talked about, it is

still

an issue.” Their eyes bored into each other hatefully. 
 
“Your actions are treasonous, Rhaenyra. You would put forth an

imposter

as your heir. The Realm does not and will not take to being lied to so openly.” Otto said. 
 
Rhaenyra opened her mouth but nothing came out. Otto pushed salt into the wound.
 
“The King was the only one willing to be blind for you Rhaenyra. But he is no longer here. There is no one that will abide by this blatant…disrespect that you have any more.” 
 
“Your forked tongue has spoken enough, snake. My brother was resolute in his naming of Rhaenyra as heir. He saw her as worthy and denied his

son

the right for all these years.” Daemon commanded, throwing the word ‘son’ at Aegon like an insult. 
 
Ser Criston readied himself behind Daemon. Having bested him once in the tourney years before her birth, Aemma was sure he could defeat him again as one of the greatest swordsmen in the Realm. 
 
“And yet, on his deathbed, he saw sense. Aegon

will

be crowned.” Otto breathed in triumph. 
 
“I’d rather fuck your daughter’s cold corpse before I see that drunken bastard of a usurper crowned,” 
 
Chaos broke out. 
 
Ser Criston tackled Daemon from behind, just preventing him from drawing his blade on Otto. They descended into a fist fight, the meaty sound of flesh meeting flesh joining the cacophony of screams in the room. Ser Westerling rushed to split them apart. Otto had been so incensed he had gone to join the brawl but Aemond had moved just in time, wrapping his strong arms around his torso and pulling him back. Against the likes of Daemon? Otto would have been destroyed, and now was not the time for that to happen. Everyone had stood up and pushed away from the table into various positions of distress; Helaena huddling herself into Aegon’s arms with her hands over her ears. 
 
Aemma ignored them all and marched for her half-sister, dismissing Jacaerys who had stepped in front of her to defend his mother. She reached around him to grab Rhaenyra’s arm roughly and turn her to face her. 
 
“Bind our families in marriage and end this nonsense,” the words tumbled out of her mouth in a low voice. 
 
“You have no allies, sister, and grandfather won’t give you the chance to gain any. He has you backed into the corner. Aegon will be crowned, and grandfather

will

convince him to destroy your line, root and stem.” Aemma threw a glance at Jacaerys before staring meaningfully into Rhaenyra’s wild eyes. Her eyes hardened in response.
 
“I am my father’s heir, I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and you are all traitorous usurpers-” Aemma grabbed her other arm and shook her harshly to knock some sense into her, stepping closer until they were nose to nose.
 
“Do you not understand?

Otto wants this to happen. He wants our family to rip itself apart to end the reign of the dragon. Daemon will do his work for him!”

Aemma almost couldn’t breath with how she fought to keep the hysterical note from her voice. It had risen in pitch, drawing attention.

“It will be a war, dragon against dragon, and only our blood will be wasted at the end of it all. We have no choice in this!”

Aemma panted, staring crazily into Rhaenyra’s eyes willing her to understand. The room had fallen silent but Aemma couldn’t look away. If Rhaenyra wouldn’t bend then all would be for naught. They would have the civil war Otto and the Maester’s wanted and Aemma would have to fertilise King’s Landing with the blood of the dragon.
 
“Unhand my wife, byka vaokses,” Daemon said calmly into the silence. 
 
Aemma blinked rapidly back into awareness, flitting her eyes about the room to take in the bloodied and bruised Ser Criston and Daemon watching them with dark eyes; to the council members frowning at their closeness; to her concerned mother, Aemond and Otto, who had rounded the table to be closer to her.   
 
Aemma allowed her arms to drop slowly, taking a small step back. She kept her eyes on Rhaenyra, unwilling to move until she accepted. 
 
Rhaenyra closed her eyes, face scrunched in pain. Opening them with her head tilted back towards the Gods, she sighed heavily.
 
“I will cede my claim to Aegon on one condition.” Rhaenyra began wearily.
 
“Rhaenyra-” Daemon immediately protested. She held up a hand to hush him. 
 
“I will not leave my family vulnerable after what I am being forced to sacrifice. I do not trust you, Otto, to not have my family murdered in an

accidental fire

.” The room drew in a sharp breath at her accusation. The pain of the burning of her Strong lover was still fresh in her mind. Rhaenyra turned to Aemma then. 
 
“Jacaerys will marry Aemma, binding our families through marriage. Any harm coming to either of them will deem the traitor a kinslayer.” Rhaenyra stated firmly. Aemma’s blood sang with glee as the tide turned for them. She nodded in approval and looked to her mother for confirmation, who smiled back in relief.
 
“What?” Otto questioned sharply. “You would sully the-”
 
“This doesn’t concern you any longer, grandfather. This is a matter between my mother and Rhaenyra now." Aemma interrupted, unwilling to have him ruin anything further with his foul mouth. 
 
"The wedding will happen by the weeks end, Aegon's coronation will occur after that. We will need the time to get ready for these two significant events." Her mother said. “With regular meetings for planning.” 
 
Aemma nodded to the dumbstruck Jacaerys and stepped to be beside her mother.
 
“Rhaenyra…

with no consulting you would give away your eldest? You would bend the knee so easily to these Hightower cunts? Where is the blood of the dragon? Your fire?!”

Daemon’s voice got increasingly louder the more he questioned. At least he had a little decency to spare Rhaenyra a modicum of embarrassment by speaking in Valyrian. Daemon was fire and brimstone, he would never tolerate settling matters by words. His pride would be his downfall.

“There is more at play here than just giving in, Daemon. Giving in is not giving up.”

Rhaenyra returned quietly, exhausted with it all. 
 
Daemon sneered at her weakness.

“I didn’t think my wife would roll over like a bitch at the first sign of aggression,”

All those that understood Valyrian reared back in offence at the harsh words.

“Perhaps if you treated your wife with better respect when things didn’t go your way, she’d see fit to turn to you as a trusted advisor,”

Aegon bit out sharply. Aemma smiled, marriage had been good for him.

“Finally finished hiding behind your sister’s skirts have you?”

Daemon grinned dangerously, the smile reopening the split on his lip and bloodying his teeth, daring Aegon to continue. Aemma rolled her eyes at the posturing. For all his intimidating bulk, Daemon was immature; too used to throwing tantrums and being appeased. 
 
“That is your future King you are taunting,” she said. Daemon gestured with a mocking bow as if to say she had just proved his point. 
 
“It is done, yes?” Aemma turned to address everyone in the room. “Rhaenyra will publicly swear obeisance to Aegon, allowing a smooth coronation, in return for my hand in marriage to Jacaerys.” 
 
Daemon spat a bloodied glob on the floor and spun on his heels, exiting swiftly. Rhaenyra stared after him in dismay before nodding at Aemma.
 
“Yes. I agree to those terms.”
 
-

When Aemma would look back on this night, she would be struck silly each time at the lack of mourning that had been displayed that night. For all his talks of peace and family, Viserys had surrounded himself with the coldest people in the final days of his life.

That discussions had been a fight for succession rather than discussing his funeral arrangements was incredibly sad. A messy situation that he had done nothing to prevent. Aemma would only mourn this one loss for Viserys. As a person, he deserved more. But as a negligent father, and a dangerously passive ruler of the Realm… Aemma thought it a fitting end for him, to watch them spit in the face of his final wish for peace in whatever afterlife he'd arrived in.