Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The blade always came down the same way. Alicent Hightower stood over her in the dream, dressed in green silk. Her face was calm, almost kind, as if what she was about to do wasn’t cruel. Aelianna couldn’t move. Invisible hands pinned her to the stone floor. Alicent leaned in close, her breath warm against Aeliana’s ear.

“Bastards don’t keep what isn’t theirs,” Alicent whispered.

The knife flashed. Pain tore through her left eye, the violet one. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. The world is split in two. Violet and brown.

She woke up gasping. Sweat clung to her skin and soaked the thin fabric of her gown. Her heart pounded in her chest. Her hands hovered near her face, expecting to find blood.

There was nothing. Her vision clear, and both eyes were intact.

"It's just a dream, Aelianna. It's just a dream."

Her breathing came too fast. She sat still and forced air in and out until it stopped hurting. Her long, wavy, white hair stuck to her neck and temples. She pushed it back and touched the corner of her left eye for reassurance.

The nightmares had started days ago. Every night. Always Alicent. Always the same words. Always that eye.

She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The stone floor was cold against her feet. The window was cracked open.

Distant voices echoed through the courtyards, servants starting their work. Somewhere, the Sept bells rang faintly. The whole castle stirred while she sat alone, trying to push the dream away.

“I am not a bastard. I am a Targaryen."

Chapter Text

The first light of dawn spilled through the window, painting the room in a shade of orange and gold. Aelianna was already awake, of course. It had been too long since she had to be woken up. Nightmares made sure of that.

She sat in the wide window frame, her back against the stone, knees drawn up to her chest. A silver gown pooled around her legs, hiding her bare feet from the morning chill. Her long white hair was tangled from sleep, but it fell past her hips in loose waves. In the moonlight, her pale skin glowed.

The Red Keep was stirring. The clatter of practice swords echoed faintly from the training yard.

Her eyes lingered there. Harwin Strong was already awake, speaking to a group of men near the fence. Even from this distance, she could see the easy way he laughed, the way people leaned toward him when he spoke. When he looked up and spotted her sitting in the window, his grin widened. She smiled back and lifted a hand in a small wave. He returned it with a quick one of his own before turning back to the yard.

People whispered that Harwin Strong was her real father, not Laenor Velaryon. She’d heard it in corners, and she was supposed to pretend not to know. But if it were true, she wouldn’t mind. Harwin was kind. Honest. A constant presence in her life.

“My lady!” a voice called from the doorway. “Get down from there, you’ll hurt yourself!”

Two handmaids hurried into the room, arms full of linens and a gown for the day. They clucked their tongues as they saw her perched in the window like a cat.

“I’m fine, Marie,” Aelianna said, not moving.

“You’ll give us all heart attacks,” the other muttered, setting the folded gown on the bed. “A princess shouldn’t be dangling over a courtyard like a sparrow.”

Aelianna finally pushed herself off the ledge, bare feet hitting the cold floor. "You ought to speak to my mother about that. I'm no princess."

Marie only sighed and motioned for the others to bring in the tub. Servants filed in and set it near the hearth, steam curling up from the water as they poured in the last of the hot buckets.

Aelianna didn’t argue. She slipped out of the silver gown and stepped carefully into the bath, sinking until the heat chased away the morning chill clinging to her skin.

The handmaids moved around her, washing her hair, working out the tangles with careful fingers. Another poured warm water down her back. Aelianna stayed quiet, lost in her thoughts.

As they worked, Yerena, the elder maiden, began listing her duties for the day. “You’re to join your brothers and Lady Baela in the training yard before breakfast. The Queen may attend, so your mother wants you properly dressed. There’s to be a small gathering in the afternoon. The Hand will be there...”

Aelianna only nodded. She was listening, but she wasn't hearing her.

When they were finished, they wrapped her in a thick towel and helped her out of the tub. Her hair was brushed and put into three main braids that tied into one. The pale blue gown they had chosen was laid out across the bed. It was no doubt her step-grandmother's doing to suggest such a thing. Look the Velaryon part, wear the colors of the ocean, the seas her father and his father wore.

"No." She said.

The maidens looked at one another, then back at her.

"My lady?" Yerena approached her.

Aelianna turned to face her, naked and unashamed, and passed off the gown. "I would like to wear my house colors today."

Marie dug through the wooden wardrobe quickly and approached with another blue gown, a darker one now. Aelianna shook her head and huffed, approaching the wardrobe herself.

"Marie, I think we have all learned our histories in this room, wouldn't you say?" She asked as she looked through the many options.

The handmaidens stiffened, afraid they were walking into a verbal trap. Finally, she replied quietly, "Yes, my lady."

Aelianna scanned the rows of gowns, fingers brushing over silks and velvets in every shade. “Tell me,” she said, her tone light but cutting through the quiet, “when a woman is heir to two great houses, which colors should she wear?”

Yerena hesitated. “The colors of her husband’s house, my lady?” she offered weakly.

Aelianna turned slightly, one brow raised. “I’m not wed, Yerena. Let’s try again.”

Marie swallowed. “The colors of her father’s house?”

Aelianna gave a small smile. “Are you familiar with King Viserys? His Grace, my grandfather.” She didn’t wait for them to answer. “He named my mother heir to the Iron Throne. And as her eldest daughter, I follow the line of succession. So, tell me… which house is higher?”

Silence fell over the room. The handmaids shifted nervously, but they understood what she was asking.

Finally, Marie moved to the far end of the wardrobe and pulled out a gown the color of deep wine-red, with black embroidery along the sleeves and bodice. She held it out carefully.

“Yes,” Aelianna said. “That one.”

As they helped her into it, fastening the back and smoothing the skirts, Yerena glanced up at her reflection in the mirror and murmured, “Red looks best on you, my lady.”

Aelianna met her own gaze in the glass and let the corners of her mouth lift just slightly. "I would agree with you completely."

Once the gown was in place, Aelianna crossed the room to her nightstand. Resting against the polished wood was the sword her grandfather had given her on her tenth nameday. Valyrian steel, its edge gleamed faintly even in the dim morning light. A violet dragon had been carved into the hilt, its wings curling around the grip—a symbol of Morningwind, her own dragon.

The blade was nearly the length of her arm. Light, balanced, and deadly.

She fastened a slim black leather belt around her waist, the kind designed to hold a sword without disrupting the gown’s lines. She slid the blade into its sheath at her side.

By the time she stepped into the corridor, her honor guard was waiting. Two knights fell into step behind her without a word. Aelianna clasped her hands neatly behind her back and began the walk toward the training yard.

Servants bowed as she passed. A few stared at the sword. A few at the gown. She kept her chin up, gaze forward, the echo of her boots steady against the stone floors.

Her boots clicked against the stone floors, the knights trailing behind her like shadows. As she stepped out into the open courtyard, the cool morning air hit her face.

The training yard was busy. Her kind of place. The red gown swayed with each step as she approached the center.

Jacaerys and Lucerys were already there, swords in hand, circling each other under Harwin Strong’s watchful eye. Harwin stood with his arms folded, calling out pointers between strikes. When he caught sight of Aelianna striding in, his expression shifted into the kind of warm grin she’d known her whole life.

“About time,” Jacaerys called, lowering his practice sword slightly.

“I was dressing,” she replied dryly as she joined them. Her hands slipped from behind her back as she came to stand at Harwin’s side. Mud spattered the hem of her gown, but she didn’t seem to care. The Valyrian steel at her hip caught the morning light, and a few heads in the yard turned to look.

Harwin gave her a nod. “Let’s begin—ah, Baela. Good of you to join us.”

Baela came running into the yard, her boots kicking up dirt behind her. She wore her usual riding clothes: tight leather trousers, a cropped top reinforced with small dragon-scale plates, and bracers strapped at her wrists. Her silver curls were pulled back into a single tight braid that swung against her back as she slowed to a stop, hands on her knees, as she caught her breath.

“You stink of dragon,” Aelianna called out, smirking.

Baela shot her a look that softened almost immediately. The two girls shared a short giggle, and Harwin's glare silenced them at once.

“If you’re all done chatting, I’d like to start,” he said firmly. “Luke with Baela, Aelianna with Jace.”

The four of them moved to the center of the yard. Luke and Baela took their positions opposite each other, wooden practice swords in hand. Aelianna and Jacaerys circled one another slowly, both holding their swords low as they sized each other up.

Jace moved first, lunging forward with a clean strike toward her shoulder. She parried it easily, the sharp crack of wood meeting wood cutting through the noise of the yard. She stepped sideways, keeping her weight balanced, eyes locked on him. He grinned.

“You’re not wearing Velaryon colors,” he said as their swords met again in the middle. “About time.”

She pushed against his blade, forcing him to give ground. “Why should I?”

He twisted away and came back at her from the left, forcing her to duck. “Father’s been gone for ages,” he said, his voice lower now, more serious. “Luke’s the only one who should be wearing it. He’s heir to Driftmark. You—”

“I know,” she cut in, shoving him back with a quick upward strike. He stumbled a step, laughing under his breath.

Around them, Luke and Baela traded quick, messy swings. Baela was faster, but Luke held his ground with surprising focus, each hit ringing out across the yard. Harwin moved between the pairs, calling out corrections—“Baela, footwork!”—“Luke, lift your guard!”—“Jace, don’t get cocky!”

Jace came at her again, a sharper strike this time, but she met it with equal strength, their swords locking together. Sweat began to bead along her hairline, but her expression didn’t waver. She twisted out of the lock and struck toward his ribs, earning a surprised grunt from him as he blocked at the last second.

“Better,” he muttered, grinning.

“Always,” she shot back.

Footsteps echoed against the stone archway. The yard grew quieter. Queen Alicent entered, dressed in dark green, Ser Criston Cole just behind her. His white cloak dragged through the dirt as his eyes swept over everyone. Alicent’s gaze landed on Harwin first, then moved to the children. When it reached Aelianna, it stayed there for a moment, sharp and unreadable.

Harwin gave a short nod and turned back to the drills. “Again,” he said. His voice stayed calm and steady, but Aelianna could tell he felt their eyes on him. They all did.

The pairs sparred again until their arms ached. The sound of wood on wood echoed across the yard. When Harwin finally called an end, everyone lowered their swords, breathing hard. Sweat clung to their faces and hair.

They began to walk toward the archway together when Alicent’s voice cut through the noise.

“Aelianna.”

She stopped and turned. The queen approached with Criston at her side, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her eyes traveled from the red gown, to the sword at Aelianna’s hip, to her face.

“You’ve chosen a very striking look today,” Alicent said. “Red suits you. It makes a statement.”

Aelianna met her gaze, spine straight. “It’s my mother’s house,” she said. “My stepfather’s house. And my grandfather’s. I thought it was fitting.”

Alicent’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said. She turned and walked off, Criston following.

Aelianna rejoined her brothers. Harwin caught her eye from across the yard and gave a small nod before returning to his men.

Chapter Text

By the time they arrived , the throne room was full. Members of court lined the walls, whispering behind jeweled hands.

Aelianna stood beside her mother. Rhaenyra’s hand rested at her shoulder. On Rhaenyra’s other side stood Prince Daemon, silent as a drawn blade. Across the hall, Queen Alicent waited with her sons.

King Viserys sat on the Iron Throne, crown slightly askew, face pale under the weight of his years. But when his eyes found Aelianna, a sudden warmth sparked there.

“My sweet girl,” he said quietly.

The words carried farther than he meant them to.

Aegon tried to hide his frown. Aemond’s expression didn’t move, but his good eye flicked toward her. Alicent’s mouth curved just enough to notice.

Viserys cleared his throat. “Rumors have reached me again,” he said. “About my daughter’s sons. About her daughter. I will not let this rot take hold in my house.”

Alicent folded her hands. “Your Grace, the court only seeks to quiet its doubts. It is not malice, merely—”

“Lies,” Daemon said. His voice cut clean through hers.

The Queen’s eyes flicked toward him, but Daemon’s face stayed unreadable.

Viserys gripped the arm of his throne. “My blood does not need defending,” he said. “But I will defend it all the same.”

Aelianna’s pulse pounded in her ears. “If anyone should question my brothers, let them look at me first, “ she said. Her voice carried steady through the room. “If I’m not proof enough, then nothing will be.”

Aemond’s mouth tilted into a small, mocking smile. “Proof can be deceiving.”

Daemon’s head turned slightly, just enough for Aemond to see the look in his eyes. The boy dropped his gaze.

Viserys rose, slowly but fully. “Enough,” he said. “I will not hear another whisper of this. The children of my daughter are true-born. The matter is ended.”

He extended a trembling hand toward Aelianna. “Come here, child.”

She climbed the steps. His hand was weak but warm when it touched her cheek. “You remind me of your grandmother,” he said softly. “You’ve her heart… and your mother’s fire.”

Aelianna flashed him a small smile. “Thank you, grandsire.”

Viserys own smile was faint, pride showing through the sickness in his eyes.

Behind them, Alicent’s sons stood rigid. Their father had not been so kind to them in their life, but was always first to defend their older sister and now her bastard children.

Daemon stepped forward, his voice low. “You heard your King.”

That was enough to make all whisperings in the vicinity cease.

Rhaenyra dipped her head. “Come, Aelianna.”

Just as she took her daughter’s arm in her own, she turned to look at the King.

“Thank you, father.”

He weakly waved them off with a smile.

Chapter Text

The handmaids worked quickly, brushing oil through Aelianna’s long silver hair until it gleamed. Strands were left loose, soft waves down her back, with several small braids woven through and pinned with gold thread.

Her gown for the evening lay waiting. It was silk in the color of pale sunlight, embroidered with a dragon curling across the bodice. The sleeves were made of sheer tulle that caught the light when she moved.

When the last braid was tied off, one of the women stepped back. “You look radiant, my lady.”

Aelianna glanced at her reflection. Gold lined her eyes, soft but striking. For a moment she didn’t recognize herself.

“Thank you ladies.”

They fastened the last clasp, and she headed off to dinner.

The hall was warm and bright, candles flickering against the long table. Baela was already there, her hair swept up neatly with a few curls falling at her temples. Her gown was a deep violet, the beads along her sleeves catching the light.

“You look beautiful,” Aelianna said as she sat beside her.

Baela smiled. “As do you. Gold suits you.”

Their colors glowed side by side like the sun and amethyst.

Baela leaned closer. “What you said this morning… it defended me too, you know. My father’s blood runs through us all, however tangled that may be.”

Aelianna’s mouth curved faintly. “Then let them whisper. They’ll tire of it eventually.”

At the far end of the table, Rhaenyra and Daemon were seated together. She wore black silk that shimmered like midnight and his coat matched. They leaned close, whispering quietly to each other.

Further down, Jacaerys and Lucerys were half-listening, half-laughing. Lucerys flicked a single pea at his brother. It bounced off Jace’s shoulder, earning a glare that turned into laughter.

The noise of the room stilled as the doors opened.

Aemond and Aegon entered first, both dressed in black. Helaena followed behind them, her green gown simple and soft, hands clasped before her. Then came the King and Queen.

Viserys looked thinner again but pleased, as though he meant for this dinner to be peace, not battle. Alicent’s smile was perfect and unreadable.

“Tonight,” Viserys said as he reached the table, “we eat as one family again. Let us put the ugliness of these rumors behind us.”

Servants began to move serving bread, wine, roasted fowl.

For a moment, it felt almost calm. Like a real family dinner.

Then Viserys spoke again. “It’s time we speak of marriage.”

A few heads lifted. Jacaerys frowned. “Marriage?”

Viserys nodded. “It is decided. Aemond and Aelianna will be joined in due time. It is the best way to keep the blood pure with the old Valyrian blood, dragon’s blood. The realm must see unity restored.”

The table froze.

Aelianna blinked, unsure she’d heard correctly. “What?”

Aemond leaned back, voice flat. “As if I’d marry her.”

Aegon snorted into his cup. “You’ll not need to look at her face, little brother. Just bed her a few times and she’ll give you dragonspawn soon enough.”

There was no laughter. Her brothers did not appreciate Aegon’s comments in the slightest.

Aelianna pushed back her chair. The sound scraped through the hall. Her voice came out low, shaking but clear. “You knew about this?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked to Daemon.

Daemon spoke first. “It was the King’s decree. He thought it best for the realm.”

“You agreed?” she demanded.

Rhaenyra’s words were careful. “We were going to tell you—”

Aelianna shook her head. “You should have asked me.”

No one answered.

She looked from her mother to Daemon, then to the King.

“I can’t… I can’t believe this.”

She slammed her cloth napkin down and turned to walk away.

“Aelianna, wait a moment sweetheart!” Rhaenyra got up from her seat to go after her daughter.

Alicent took a large gulp of wine. “She shouldn’t have to marry if she doesn’t want to, you know. Aemond has more marriage offers every day. We could use these family houses streng-“

“Do you never close your mouth?” Daemon rolled his eyes and stood up, leaving the dining room.

Chapter Text

Aelianna didn’t wait for her mother to call her again. The doors had barely closed behind her before she tore down the corridor, heels striking hard against the marble.

“Leave me,” she said to the servants who tried to follow. Her voice broke halfway through. “All of you. Just—leave me.”

They hesitated, but the look of rage they saw in her made them scatter like rats.

She reached her chamber, kicked the door shut, and ripped the pins from her hair until the braids fell apart in waves. The gold threads slipped loose and clattered to the floor like tiny chains.

Her reflection in the mirror showed her eyes bright with tears, cheeks flushed. For a moment, she just stood there, fists clenched at her sides, trying to breathe. Then she tore the jeweled heels from her feet and threw them aside.

She reached for her old leather boots; they were the ones she wore for riding. She pulled them on beneath the silk hem. The contrast looked ridiculous, but she didn’t care.

The corridor outside was silent when she stepped out again. She didn’t bother to take a cloak; the air was cool, but her blood was too hot for her to feel it.

By the time she reached the training yard, the torches were burning low. The place was empty, having been abandoned for the night, and the weapons still scattered across the racks.

Her breath hitched. She moved toward one of the wooden dummies and reached for a steel sword lying on the table. It was far heavier than she was used to but her fingers closed around the hilt anyway.

The first strike rang through the yard, metal against wood. The second came harder. The third nearly split the dummy’s shoulder clean through.

Tears blurred her sight. She bit down a sob and swung again.

"They didn’t ask me." She said to herself. "Didn't bother to see what I had to say about it."

Each blow came sharper, angrier, until her arms ached and her hair stuck to her face. The golden gown caught in the wind, shining under the torchlight like fire, her boots slipping against the dirt.

She lifted the sword again and froze when someone caught her shoulder.

Aelianna spun instinctively, blade raised high.

“Woah—woah, easy, easy it's me!"

Harwin’s voice stopped her mid-swing. He stood a few feet away, both hands raised in surrender, his expression stricken.

Her chest heaved. “Don’t—” she choked out. “Don’t touch me right now.”

“I'm sorry,” he said quietly, stepping closer only when she lowered the sword an inch. “Easy, Lianna.”

The sword trembled in her hands before she finally let it go. Harwin caught it carefully, setting it on the table beside them.

“What happened?” he asked, voice gentler now.

She gave a hollow laugh. “The bloody Targaryens happened.”

He waited, searching her face.

“My grandsire wants me to marry Aemond.”

Harwin froze. “And your mother agreed?"

She nodded once, eyes glistening. “For the bloodline. For the realm. For everyone but me.”

He looked down at the sword then back at her, at the golden silk streaked with dust and sweat. “And what do you want?”

Her voice came out small but fierce. “To be rid of this fate. Will even the Gods foresake me so?"

A voice answered from behind them. “Careful what you ask the Gods, niece. They tend to listen.”

Aelianna turned. Daemon stood in the archway, half in shadow, his expression unreadable.

Harwin’s hand went instinctively toward the sword before he caught himself. He and Daemon locked eyes but no words. A tension between them was clear.

“My prince,” Harwin said finally, bowing his head.

Daemon’s gaze lingered on him a moment too long. “Ser Harwin. Out late, aren’t we?”

“Only ensuring the Heir to the Iron Throne doesn’t hurt herself.”

“She won’t,” Daemon replied softly. “Not while I’m here.”

Harwin hesitated, glancing once at Aelianna. Her shoulders were trembling, eyes still bright with tears.

He exhaled slowly and a small nod. “Try to rest.”

When he was gone, silence filled the yard again.

Daemon stepped closer. “Your mother’s looking for you.”

“I don’t want to see her.” She replied quickly.

He stopped a few paces away. “Then see me.”

Her voice broke, sharp, raw. “I don’t want to see you either.”

For once, Daemon said nothing. He only looked at her and then turned his gaze toward the shattered dummy, the sword marks splintering its chest.

The torches flickered in the wind.

Aelianna’s breath came uneven. “You all treat me like a piece on your board.”

“There are worse games to play, child."

A pause between them now. Silence filled the training yard.

Daemon’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “Then you’ll have to learn how to win.” he added.

He left her standing there in the torchlight, alone with her thoughts.

"I guess I will" She whispered to herself before walking inside.

Chapter Text

Light slid through the curtains before she opened her eyes.

Her arms hurt. Her hands too. When she flexed them, her palms stung with skin split from gripping the sword too tight.

The gown from last night hung over a chair, wrinkled and dirty. Gold silk gone dull. She looked at it and felt nothing.

Someone knocked. Once.

She didn’t answer.

They let her be.

By the fire, a tray waited with tea that had gone cold, a roll, a folded note.

“The Princess asks for you when you wake.”

Aelianna read it twice and set it back down. She didn’t want to see her mother. Not yet anyway. The sting of it all was still fresh.

She washed, threw on a plain black dress, left her hair down. The mirror showed someone she barely recognized. Skin pale, tired eyes swollen from crying.

From her window she heard her brothers laughing in the yard. It almost hurt.

She pressed her hand to the glass. “Let them decide my life if they want. I’m done fighting for it,” she whispered.

Then she turned and left her room.

The hall was quiet when she stepped out. Most of the castle still slept, and she thought maybe she could get away with slipping into the kitchens for food, eat alone before anyone found her.

She was halfway down the corridor when two Kingsguard rounded the corner. Silver cloaks, blank faces.

“My lady.”

She stopped and raised a brow. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“The King requests your presence,” one said. “In his chambers. For breakfast.”

Her stomach sank. “Now?”

He nodded once. No room to argue. So she followed.

The path to Viserys’s rooms felt longer than usual. Every torch along the walls seemed too bright, every echo too loud. When the doors opened, warm air hit her — thick with the scent of honey and wine.

King Viserys sat propped against a mountain of pillows. The tray before him looked ridiculous: breads, fruits, a bowl of porridge, even a plate of tiny cakes. His hands shook slightly when he reached for his cup, but his smile was real when he saw her.

“Aelianna,” he said, voice rough but kind. “Come closer, my dear. Let your grandsire look upon your face.”

She hesitated at the edge of the rug, then stepped forward.

“You’ve grown again,” he said, squinting like he wasn’t sure. “I remember when you could barely reach this bedframe.”

She gave a small smile. “That was a long time ago, grandsire.”

“Not long enough,” he muttered. Then, louder, “Sit, sit! There’s enough food here to feed all of the castle. Have something.”

She perched on the stool by the bedside. A servant poured her tea and vanished, leaving just the two of them.

The King watched her as she took a sip. “Your mother worries, you know. About you, my dear granddaughter.”

Aelianna kept her eyes on the cup. “I just needed air.”

“Air,” Viserys repeated softly. “I used to say that to my council whenever they pushed me too far. ‘I need air.’ They always thought I meant a walk. But I meant time. To breathe. To remember who I am before they start telling me who I ought to be.”

He smiled faintly. “You remind me of her, you know. Rhaenyra, my only child. She often ‘needed air’ too, as I tried to remind her.”

Aelianna didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure what he wanted her to say. If her mother understood then why did she agree to this?

Viserys waved a tired hand. “Eat, my dear. You’re too thin. I sometimes think the servants fill my tray in hopes I won’t finish it and they might feast away in the kitchen with my leftovers.”

Despite herself, Aelianna laughed once, quietly.

The King smiled at the sound. “There she is,” he murmured. “My star-eyed dragon. Don’t let them take that from you, Aelianna. Not your mother, not your uncle, not even your old grandsire.”

She didn’t know how to answer that either. So she just nodded, and reached for a piece of bread.

The air outside was still cool when she left the King’s chambers.

She’d stayed longer than she meant to and only left when Viserys to start drifting in and out of sleep between sentences. He’d smiled when she kissed his hand goodbye. “Go on, my girl,” he’d said.

So she did.

The path to the Dragonpit wound down through the cliffs, past the stone steps slick with salt spray. Most riders came with keepers and guards. Aelianna preferred to walk alone.

By the time she reached the archway, the heat of the dragons’ breath was already rolling through the tunnels. The air shimmered, thick with smoke and the metallic tang of scale and ash.

Morningwind was awake.

The violet dragon stretched lazily where the cavern opened into light, her wings half-unfurled, tail curled in slow coils across the stone. Her scales caught the sun like glass that was pale lavender in some places, deep amethyst in others.

Morningwind lifted her head when she saw her. A low rumble filled the cavern, echoing off the stone walls. Then the dragon moved, her tail sweeping behind her in wide, excited arcs.

Aelianna barely had time to brace herself before Morningwind’s snout nudged against her shoulder, warm air blowing through her hair.

“Easy, girl,” she whispered, laughing softly. “I’m here.”

Morningwind crooned, pressing closer. She sniffed along Aelianna’s arms, then her neck, pausing at the faint scrapes on her hands. Her golden eyes narrowed, a soft growl slipping from her throat.

“I’m fine,” Aelianna said quietly, resting her palm against the dragon’s jaw. “Just a rough night.”

The dragon tilted her head, as if unconvinced. She lowered herself to the ground until her massive head was level with Aelianna’s.

Aelianna leaned forward until her forehead met the dragon’s. Warm, steady. For a heartbeat, it felt like breathing the same breath.

Everything else — the castle, her mother, the weight of what she’d been told — fell away.

For the first time since the feast, she could think clearly.

Morningwind blinked slowly, and Aelianna could almost feel the thought that wasn’t words at all — a calm, pulsing question: What now?

Aelianna pulled back, exhaling. “Now,” she said, “I do things my way.”

She reached up, brushing her fingers over the dragon’s scales. “If they want me to marry Aemond Targaryen,” she said, quieter this time, “then he’s going to hear what I think of it.”

Morningwind’s throat rumbled again, deeper now — not anger, but approval.

Aelianna smiled faintly. “My way, Morningwind. Mine alone. ” she murmured.

Two knights stood outside Aemond’s door as she approached.

One straightened when he saw her. “Lady Aelianna,” he said, surprised. “Prince Aemond is not to be disturbed.”

She tilted her head. “Not even by his betrothed?”

That made them hesitate.

She crossed her arms. “My grandsire, the King, told me himself I should begin getting accustomed to my future husband. Unless you’d like to explain to him why you refused me?”

The guards exchanged a look. Then, after a beat, one stepped aside and pushed the door open. “As you wish, My lady.”

She didn’t thank them.

The room was dim, the air thick with the smell of wine and sweat. Curtains drawn. The only light came from the window where the sea glared white and bright.

Aemond was in bed, shirtless, half-buried under the sheets. His hair spilled across the pillow like silver thread. Beside him, a woman of red hair lay naked. Her breasts facing him and her lower half covered by the sheets.

Aelianna stared for a moment. Then rolled her eyes. “Of course.”

She walked over, grabbed the nearest thing — a silver cup of water from his bedside — and threw it.

It hit his chest and splashed across his face.

Aemond jerked upright with a startled breath, hair plastered to his skin. “Seven hells—” He blinked, saw her, and froze. “Aelianna?”

She set the empty cup back down, voice flat. “Good morning, fiancé.”

The woman stirred at the sound of his voice, blinking in confusion. When she saw Aelianna standing there, she went pale and clutched the sheet to her chest.

“Out,” Aelianna said. Her voice was calm.

The woman glanced at Aemond, who was still wiping water from his face, then back at Aelianna.

“I said,” Aelianna repeated, “leave us. He won’t be needing your services.”

That did it. The woman scrambled from the bed, wrapped herself in the blanket, and slipped out without another word.

The door closed. Silence.

Aemond sat there for a beat, chest heaving, water dripping from his hair. “How in the hells did you even get in here?”

She didn’t answer. She was looking straight at him — not the sheets, not the floor. Just him.

He swung his legs off the bed and stood, still bare, anger flaring behind his one clear eye. “What do you want, Aelianna?”

She didn’t blink. “To talk.”

“About what?” He took a step closer. “You’ve already made your feelings known, haven’t you? Out there, screaming at dummies like a mad girl.”

“I’m not the one who paid for company,” she shot back.

His jaw tightened.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The air between them felt alive — sharp, charged, something that could tip either toward violence or something else entirely.

Aelianna lifted her chin. “Get dressed. I’ll wait.”

Aemond’s mouth curved into the faintest, humorless smile. “Careful now. You might find you don’t like the man you’re meant to marry when he’s clothed.”

She met his stare, unflinching. “I already don’t.”

He dressed quickly — black shirt, dark trousers, boots half-laced. When he fastened the patch back over his eye, something in his face settled; the rawness was gone, replaced by the cold, careful mask she knew too well.

“Now,” he said, gesturing toward the small table by the window. “You came to talk. So talk.”

Aelianna sat first. He followed, movements precise, distant.

“I don’t want you,” she said flatly. “Not in the slightest.”

He gave a short, dry laugh. “That makes two of us.”

“Good.” She leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Then you’ll like what I have to say.”

He tilted his head, waiting.

“We’re going to play this my way,” she said. “You’ll do your dutiful part — the loving fiancé, the devoted husband, all of it. You’ll smile when they look, you’ll stand beside me at feasts, you’ll make them believe this marriage is a gift from the gods themselves.”

He arched a brow. “And why, exactly, would I do that?”

“Because,” she said, voice low, “it serves you. And me. You’ll be tied to the heir apparent. You’ll have the King’s favor and my mother’s trust. And in return, you can keep doing whatever it is you do when no one’s watching.” Her gaze flicked briefly toward the bed, then back to him. “I don’t care. But in public, you’ll be the perfect husband.”

Aemond’s jaw worked, unreadable. “And what do you expect in return?”

“Simple,” she said. “You’ll stand with me. With my mother. With my brothers. When the time comes, you’ll swear your sword to her claim — and mine.”

He stared at her for a long time, silent. Then, finally, he smiled — small, sharp, dangerous. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I have to.”

A beat. Then he leaned back in his chair. “Very well. We’ll play it your way.”

“Good.” She stood, smoothing her dress. “I’ll see you at supper, then. Try to look like you’re in love.”

Aemond’s smirk deepened. “If I must.”

Chapter Text

The great hall smelled of roasted duck and spiced wine.

Aelianna entered last. A silk dress again but this time a dark red with a fitted bodice, jeweled pins in her hair. Her makeup was soft, her expression softer. Only her eyes gave her away.

Rhaenyra rose slightly from her seat when she saw her, the beginnings of a smile forming. “Aelianna—”

Before she could cross the space between them, Aemond appeared. His hand found Aelianna’s waist as if it belonged there. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.

“Forgive our delay,” he said smoothly. “My betrothed wished to look her best for the family.”

Rhaenyra froze. Whatever she’d been about to say died on her tongue. Daemon, beside her, raised a brow.

Before the silence could curdle, Queen Alicent swept in from the opposite corridor, followed by the King’s guards. “Ah, the happy pair,” she said, her smile all polished courtesy.

Viserys followed behind her in his chair, looking frail but alert. His eyes brightened when he saw them. “Ah a happy pair indeed my wife,” he said warmly. “Come, come. Sit. Let me look at you both.”

They took the seats nearest him. Aemond pulled Aelianna’s chair out before sitting down beside her.

Dinner began.

It was quiet, some of that due to the lack of children. Tonight, just the King, the Queen, Rhaenyra, Daemon, Aemond, Aegon, and Aelianna. Helaena was absent, and Aegon was too deep in his cup to notice.

When the servants poured wine, Aemond took the jug himself and refilled Aelianna’s glass before his own.

Conversation drifted around them on the health of the King, trade routes, the harvest. Aemond said little. When he wasn’t speaking, his hand rested at Aelianna’s hip, thumb drawing slow, deliberate circles against the fabric of her gown.

Rhaenyra’s gaze caught on that. Daemon’s did too. But neither of them spoke about it. They just shared glances at each other.

Aelianna lifted her cup and sipped, keeping her face perfectly composed.

Viserys, watching them both, smiled again. The tired, contented smile of a man who wanted to believe in peace. “You make a fine pair,” he said, voice gentle. “Truly.”

Aelianna reached for his hand across the table. “You’re kind, grandsire.”

When supper ended, the King rose with Alicent’s help. He kissed Aelianna’s forehead, his hand trembling slightly. “Good night, my dear. And to you, Prince Aemond. You give me hope for our house.”

“Sleep well, father ,” Aemond said smoothly.

Viserys nodded once, smiling, before being wheeled from the hall.

Aegon had been quiet for most of dinner, slumped in his chair with his chin propped on one hand. But when he finally looked up and noticed Aemond’s arm resting around Aelianna’s waist, he let out a loud, uneven laugh.

“Well, look at that,” he slurred. “Our little dragon tamer’s gone domestic.”

Aemond’s fingers stilled.

Aegon kept laughing, trying to pour himself more wine and missing the cup entirely. Alicent’s sigh was sharp enough to cut through the noise.

“Guards,” she said, not even looking up. “Take him to bed. And on his side this time.”

Two of them hurried forward, half-dragging Aegon from his chair. He mumbled something about brotherly advice on his way out, laughing until the door closed behind him.

Alicent exhaled, rubbing at her temple. Then she looked at Aelianna.

“My dear,” she said, voice measured, smooth as silk, “I do hope you’ll find joy in our family. I would very much like to serve as a good mother-in-law to you.”

Aelianna blinked, caught off guard. “Of course, my queen.”

“We should have tea soon,” Alicent added, reaching across to take her hand — cool, gloved fingers against Aelianna’s warm ones.

Aelianna hesitated, then nodded once. “Of course.”

Beside her, Aemond inclined his head, silent.

“Good,” Alicent said softly, squeezing her hand before releasing it. “Then I shall look forward to it.”

She left soon after, the train of her gown whispering across the floor.

Now it was only Rhaenyra, Daemon, and the two of them.

Aelianna started to stand. Aemond rose with her, ever the picture of the attentive betrothed. But before they could take a step, her mother’s voice stopped her cold.

“Aelianna Visenya Targaryen.”

She froze. No one used her full name unless they meant to remind her who she was.

Slowly, she turned. “Yes, Mother?”

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked between them — her daughter and the man who wasn’t supposed to have gotten this close this fast. “What,” she said carefully, “is this?”

Aelianna’s lips curved, faint and tired. “It’s what you wanted, Mother.”

Daemon leaned back in his chair, watching, amused but silent.

Rhaenyra, though, looked almost… hurt. Confused by the distance in her daughter’s voice. “I was only doing what was asked of me,” she said quietly.

Aelianna’s gaze didn’t soften. “Yes,” she said, “so am I.”

The silence that followed was sharp. Even Aemond seemed to feel it. He reached for her arm, fingers light but deliberate. “Let’s be off, my love,” he said, voice smooth as ever. “You look tired. Perhaps it’s the hypocrisy in the air.”

Daemon’s smirk twitched — half amusement, half warning — and Rhaenyra’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“Goodnight, then,” Rhaenyra said finally, her tone cool. “To you both.”

Aelianna dipped her head in a polite nod. “Goodnight, Mother.”

Aemond guided her toward the door. His hand stayed at her elbow as they walked out, the soft click of the closing doors echoing in their wake.

Daemon let out a low hum, almost a laugh, and Rhaenyra exhaled slowly, still staring at the empty space her daughter had left behind.

“Was I this.. impossible at that age?”

Her husband rose to meet her side. He came up behind her and rubbed her arms in attempts to soothe her.

“Worse, as i recall it.”

That did not make her smile.

“Oh Nyra, you have to give her time. Thats all.”

She only nodded. If her daughter was anything like her at that age it would be a long while before things were normal.

When the young false couple reached her chamber door, Aelianna stopped.

“Well,” she said, turning to face him. “This is where we part.”

Aemond looked at the door, then back at her. “Is it?”

She raised a brow. “You’ve seen me to my room. You’ve done your duty.”

He hummed, the corner of his mouth twitching. “And yet, wouldn’t it be wiser if I stayed?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Stayed?”

He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “Think of it. If your maids find me in your bed come morning, they’ll whisper. And they’ll tell the other maids. And by sunrise, half the castle will know the betrothed pair are already inseparable. You’d have everyone convinced before breakfast.”

Aelianna crossed her arms. “You’re suggesting I let you sleep in my bed so the gossip spreads?”

He smirked. “I’m suggesting you use every advantage you have. Even rumor.”

She stared at him, unimpressed. “No, thank you. I have no interest in being known as the flaunter of premarital relations.”

Aemond laughed quietly — not mocking, just low and surprised. “As you wish, my fiancé .”

He took a step back, bowing his head slightly. “Sleep well.”

“Goodnight,” she said, hand already on the door.

Chapter Text

Aelianna didn’t need to hear the words to know what was going on. It was in the looks her maids gave her as they poured the water, the way one bit her lip to keep from smiling.

Aemond waited outside her door. Not long, but enough for them to remember.

She dismissed them with a curt gesture and washed in silence. The water was cold, suiting her mood. She dressed herself in a pale blue gown and twisted her hair into braids that felt more like a crown than decoration.

When the knock came, she half expected her mother. She figured she couldn’t avoid her or her stepfather much longer.

Instead, it was the Queen’s lady. “Her Grace asks that you walk with Prince Aemond this morning, my Lady. For the public to see.”

“Of course,” Aelianna said, though the words felt like glass between her teeth.

Demanding of her already? That was to be expected. Still. Didnt mean she loved it.

By the time she stepped into the corridor, the castle was fully awake. Servants swept, guards changed shifts, and sunlight spilled through high windows.

At the far end of the hall, Aemond was already waiting, his hands clasped behind his back, in his usual all black attire.

“My Lady,” he greeted, offering his arm.

She stared at it, then at him. “We’re really doing this?”

“We’re expected to,” he said.

Aelianna sighed through her nose and set her hand on his arm. “Then let’s get it over with.”

The gardens were already busy when they stepped outside. Courtiers pretending to stroll, servants pretending to work, every head turning as if by accident.

“They’re staring,” she muttered.

“Smile,” Aemond said.

She didn’t. “For them?”

“For yourself. It unsettles people when they can’t tell what you’re thinking.”

Her mouth twitched but not a smile, not quite. “Maybe I’ll start smiling at you, then.”

“That might be dangerous,” he said lightly. “They’d think you meant it.”

She shot him a look, but he didn’t bother hiding the amusement in his voice. It made her want to shove him into the nearest hedge.

They walked in silence for a few moments, the gravel crunching beneath their boots. She caught sight of Rhaenyra on the balcony above, Daemon beside her.

Farther down, Alicent stood with her ladies, eyes staring at them without shame.

“How convenient,” Aelianna murmured. “They’re all here to watch us play nicely.”

Aemond’s lips curved. “Let’s give them a good show.”

Aelianna slipped on the wet stone beneath her feet, just barely — but his arm caught her instantly, firm around her waist.

For a heartbeat, the world went quiet. A maid gasped from the balcony, then quickly covered her mouth and looked away to appear as though she wasn’t staring .

“Careful,” he said softly.

“I was fine,” She furrowed her eyebrows.

“You weren’t.”

“Then maybe stop watching me so closely,” Aelianna squinted at him now.

“Impossible,” he said, before he could stop himself.

The corner of her mouth twitched again, in disbelief. She stepped back, brushing her gown smooth.

“Wonderful,” she muttered. “Now they’ll think we’re halfway to the sept already.”

“Would that bother you?” The Prince quirked a brow.

“Yes,” she said flatly. “You?”

He paused. “Not in the way you mean.”

He’d already turned away when another voice carried across the garden.

“My children do like to make a scene,” Alicent said lightly as she approached, skirts whispering against the gravel. A small circle of her ladies trailed behind, smiles painted on like armor.

Aelianna’s spine straightened before she’d even turned. “Your Grace,” she said smoothly, dipping her head.
Alicent’s smile was the kind that could have meant anything. “You startled half the garden. I imagine the rumors will outpace us to breakfast.”

Aemond’s tone was unbothered. “Let them. They would speak anything but the truth if they could.”

“Perhaps,” Alicent said. “Though sometimes a pleasant lie is better company.” Her gaze flicked between them, assessing the space that used to exist between their shoulders. “I confess, I did not think I’d live to see you look so… at ease, my son. You’ve never been one to charm so easily.”

Aemond inclined his head. “Perhaps I’ve found better company.”

That earned a soft hum from her, equal parts approval and warning. She turned to Aelianna.

“You move easily together. It gladdens me.” Then, after a beat too deliberate to be accidental:

“Maybe the Gods will bless me with a grandchild sooner than I’d dared hope.”

Aelianna blinked, caught between disbelief and decorum. “Your Grace,” she managed, the words careful as her cheeks flushed.

Alicent’s expression didn’t waver. “Oh, don’t look so alarmed, my dear. I only mean that Aemond usually keeps the world at arm’s length. But with you—” her smile deepened, “he seems less inclined to keep his distance.”

“He caught me before I fell,” Aelianna said quickly. “That’s all.”

“Ah,” Alicent murmured. “Then perhaps that’s all it takes. Some men spend their lives waiting for a reason to reach out.”

Aemond’s jaw tightened, a flicker of something passing through his composure. “Mother.”

The Queen raised a hand, conceding. “Of course. I’ve embarrassed you both enough for one morning. Enjoy your walk.”

She glided away, her ladies trailing like ripples in a wake.

For a long moment, neither Aelianna nor Aemond moved. The sound of the fountain filled the air between them.

Aelianna stepped closer and sat on the low marble edge, her skirts spilling like water around her. “She’s subtle, your mother.”

Aemond followed her gaze to where Alicent had disappeared behind the hedges. “Subtle as a sword in a smile.”

That almost made her laugh. “You think she meant it?”

He looked at her then, one brow raised. “About the child?”

She made it sound like she’s already expecting one,” Aelianna said. “As if Jaehaera and Jaehaerys weren’t enough.”

Aemond huffed softly, not quite a laugh. “They’re Aegon’s. That’s different.”

“How?”

“They were expected of him.” He skimmed a fingertip along the rim of the fountain, sending small ripples across the water. “My mother never expected any from me.”

Aelianna watched him, surprised by the calm in his voice. “Because you don’t seem the type?”

“Because I wasn’t raised to be.”

He didn’t look at her when he spoke, eyes still on the water. “My brother was meant for heirs. I was meant for war. It’s strange — you spend your life being told what kind of man you are until you stop asking if you ever wanted to be one at all.”

She was quiet for a moment, letting that sit between them. “And now?”

“Now they call me betrothed,” he said, a trace of irony in his tone. “And they look at you like you’re the answer to a question I never asked.”

Aelianna hesitated, then said softly, “Maybe you should ask it.”

He glanced at her. “Which question?”

“What kind of man you’d rather be.”

For a moment, he only looked at her — really looked, as if the idea itself startled him. Then he said, quieter now, “One my children wouldn’t fear.”

That silenced her. She hadn’t expected sincerity, least of all that kind.

“You think they would?” she asked.

“They should,” he said, almost to himself. “Fear can keep them alive.”

Aelianna traced a finger through the water beside his. The ripples met, crossed, and faded.

“My mother wanted me to be strong,” she said. “But only if I was still soft enough to obey her. Sometimes I think strength only counts if it’s convenient to someone else.”

Aemond’s mouth twitched — not quite a smile, not quite disagreement. “Then maybe that’s what we have in common.”

She tilted her head. “That, and overbearing parents?”

“And a throne that keeps trying to sit on us instead.”

That drew a smaller laugh out of her — quiet, genuine.

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp anymore. It settled between them like a truce, uneasy but real.

Aemond finally stood, straightening the leather of his tunic. “If the court’s expecting us to provide an heir before supper,” he said, half-dry, half-earnest, “we should at least let them see us part on civil terms.”

Aelianna rose too, smoothing her gown. “And what would civil look like?”

He offered his arm again, the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “Try not to look like you’d rather stab me.”

She took it — because refusing would make more noise than accepting. “I’ll do my best,” she said, and for once, he believed her.

As they turned back toward the castle, the sound of the fountain lingered behind them — steady, even, unbothered by what had just passed.

Chapter Text

The summons came on parchment that still smelled like hot wax.

Aelianna found it tucked under her cup at midday — the Hand’s seal, the letter H stamped in green.

— Lady Aelianna will attend the afternoon sitting of the council, for the instruction of state.

The script was neat, measured. Otto Hightower’s hand. Of course it was.

She turned the parchment between her fingers, watching the light slick over the seal. Instruction of state. Instruction, not invitation. As if she were a girl again, summoned by a septa with a slate and a scolding.

When she glanced up, the room had noticed. The servants; the guard pretending not to stare; her mother, across the solar with a ledger open and three quills stabbed like spears into an inkwell.

Rhaenyra’s eyes flicked from the seal to her daughter’s face. It was like she was seeing her own childhood unfold. Ordered around by Hightowers as the Targaryens held the Throne. An insult.

“Well?” her mother asked.

“Instruction,” Aelianna said, but Rhaenyra did not react because she wasn’t shocked in the slightest.

“Then go learn what they think they know.”

The small council chamber had a cold feel to it. The windows were open to the sea breeze, and the draft worried the corners of a map weighed down with bronze ships.

Aemond was already there when she entered, speaking low to Ser Harrold Westerling about the King’s hour. He straightened as she approached and pulled a chair out for her without looking at it.

“My lady,” he said.

“My Prince.”

He did not smile. He didn’t need to. Something in the set of his shoulders told her he remembered the fountain — and what hadn’t been said there.

She took the seat beside him. Her mother had told her once: if you cannot control the table, at least choose the edge from which you’ll fall.

Otto Hightower arrived last, minutes past what he ordered the rest for.

He sat himself into the Hand’s chair as he adjusted his pin. To his left, Grand Maester Orwyle fussed with a leather roll of letters.

Aegon slouched in beside him with a goblet already in hand, hair uncombed, eyes bleary.

On Otto’s right, Lord Beesbury fanned himself despite the chill. Larys Strong lingered near the shadows and Lord Tyland Lannister of the treasury tapped a finger against a ledger and smiled at the sound of his own rings.

“Good morrow,” Otto said, which was a lie. “Let’s begin.”

A clerk read the agenda: storms off the Stepstones, disputes over harbor tolls, complaints from Gulltown, a shortage of pitch and rope. It was the sound of men convincing themselves they were useful.

“First,” Otto said, sliding a weighted cord along the edge of the map to hold the bay in place, “the Master of Ships requests we settle the matter of the Dornish oranges rotting on the docks.”

Lord Corlys’ sigil still hung on the wall, though he hadn’t warmed this table in months. Tyland Lannister cleared his throat. “The crates belong to a Myrish factor. He refuses to pay our raised harbor dues. He insists his agreement was with Lord Corlys, not the crown. The crates rot while he waits to see if we blink.”

“Then burn the oranges,” Aegon muttered, grinning at himself. Orwyle looked pained and ashamed of it.

Aelianna kept her voice even. “Who owns the cranes?”

Tyland blinked. “Pardon?”

“The cranes, Lord Tyland. The men who load and unload. If the factor won’t pay dues, he can’t use the cranes. If he can’t use the cranes, his fruit rots. But the rot stinks in our house, not his.”

“Which is where it belongs,” Aegon said cheerfully. Otto’s hand flattened on the table without looking at him.

Aemond’s tone was mild but final. “Let her finish.”

Otto’s eyes flicked to his son, then to Aelianna. “Go on.”

“We can let the crates rot to teach him manners,” she said, “or sell him the service he’s trying to dodge. Move the fruit to crown warehouses, charge him storage, guards, and every day’s delay. If he balks at dues, he’ll pay three times more for his pride.”

Tyland’s grin turned admiring. “You propose we turn his defiance into a revenue stream.”

It was clear all he saw in his eyes were gold and more gold.

“I propose we choose where the stink lives,” she said. “If it must be ours, let it at least pay rent.”

Larys murmured, “Wax and stamping. I can conjure a seal in an hour. A crowned lemon.”

“Or an orange,” Tyland said lightly. “Literal has its charms.”

The meeting went on—ships, tariffs, storms, a dozen tedious things that somehow mattered.

Aelianna spoke when she had to. Not to impress, not to prove herself—just to fix what the rest of them overcomplicated. Her thoughts came clear, steady.

By the time the quills caught up, even Tyland had stopped talking over her, and the Hand’s pen was moving faster than his tongue.

Across the table, Aemond stayed quiet. At first, she barely noticed. Then she did.

He wasn’t just listening—he was watching. Not the way men usually did, with calculation or hunger, but with the still kind of focus that made her aware of every word she said. He didn’t interrupt. He didn’t correct her. He just watched, as if the longer he did, the more sense she made.

When the last scroll was sealed and the council began to rise, the room filled with the scrape of chairs and the rustle of robes. Tyland was humming to himself, Otto already half lost in thought.

But Aemond didn’t move.

When Aelianna finally looked his way, he was still there—leaning back slightly, that quiet, unreadable smile on his face.

She hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of the table. “Well?”

His brow lifted. “Well what?”

“Did I make a fool of myself?” she asked, half meaning it, half trying to break the silence.

Aemond’s mouth curved—not quite a smirk, not quite soft. “You were brilliant,” he said simply. “I’ve never seen anyone quiet my grandsire like that. Not even my mother.”

That startled her more than the compliment itself. “He let me speak because he thought I’d embarrass myself.”

“He let you speak,” Aemond said, standing now, “and you made him listen.”

She wasn’t sure what to do with that. The words, the way he said them so steady, without any trace of flattery, settled somewhere she couldn’t quite name.

“I should go,” she said at last.

He nodded, still watching her with that same calm, knowing look. “You should,” he agreed, and when she turned, she could still feel his gaze following her.

Chapter Text

They’d barely cleared the council table when the summons came again—this time on a silver tray, no seal, only a neat line in a lady’s hand: Her Grace invites you to tea in the east solar.

The east solar was all afternoon light and soft colors, beautiful painted walls and the finest collection of art from corner to corner.

The tea things gleamed. A bowl of sugared lemons perfumed the room.

Alicent stood when Aelianna entered, warm as a hearth. “My lady,” she said, and kissed the air near her cheek as if they were old friends. “You were splendid this afternoon, so I hear.”

Aelianna wasn’t shocked at all how quickly she heard tell of court.

She dipped her head. “You’re kind, your Grace.”

“I’m accurate.” Alicent guided her to the low table by the windows, two chairs perfectly angled toward one another”

“When men of a certain age begin their little speeches with as we have always done, it takes a steady hand to move them without letting them notice it.”

She poured one cup, then the other. No maid hovered. it was almost as though privacy was real.

Aelianna wrapped her fingers around the porcelain. The cup was thin enough to see light through. “If the room listened, it was because the Hand allowed it.”

“The Hand allowed it because you made it foolish to do otherwise,” Alicent said. “If you will let me say so—” she smiled, almost conspiratorial, “—you have a gift for making the useful sound inevitable.”

“I don’t know that it’s a gift,” Aelianna said. “Only practice.”

Alicent’s eyes warmed. “Then keep practicing. The realm will need it.” She added, almost offhand, “My father tells me Aemond looked proud.”

The cup paused near Aelianna’s mouth. “Did he.”

“Oh, he hides it well.” The Queen’s smile turned wry. “But we notice the small things: the way his shoulders ease, the way he doesn’t interrupt. Approval, in my son, is a very quiet animal.”

Aelianna took a careful sip. Lemon and honey, bright and soft. “He was…supportive.”

“He was attentive,” Alicent said, as if she’d been there. “It suits him.”

They let the teacups speak for a while. Aelianna preferred it that way. She still did not understand why she was being so kind when days ago she wished for her and her mother’s side to be rid of the castle.

“You must forgive me,” Alicent said at last, laying a hand lightly on Aelianna’s sleeve. “I have so often wished for a conversation like this. With a woman who will help carry what must be carried. So much of ruling is done by hands no one sees.”

Aelianna just half smiled and nodded but she did not know what to say. Where was she going with this?

“You know, my lady, the realm runs on such small mercies. Quiet arrangements, quiet expenses, quiet children put to bed so the men with banners can sleep.” A beat. “It is a relief to see a future for our house in which such things continue to be done.”

The compliment sat on the table and watched her.

Aelianna set down her cup. “You invited me to praise me.”

“I invited you to welcome you,” Alicent corrected gently. “Praise is only the easiest ribbon to tie on it.”

“Then…thank you,” Aelianna said, wary of the curve under the water.

Alicent folded her hands in her lap. “I will be plain. The betrothal was wise. Aemond will be a hard shield and a true sword to his brother. He has never sought a crown, and he does not need one to be powerful. You—” that warm smile again, “—you make that power endurable.”

Aelianna felt the smallest tightening under her ribs. “Endurable to whom.”

“To everyone watching,” Alicent said, as if it were obvious. “To the court. To the commons. To the gods, if they still look our way. People must believe a thing is safe to accept it.” She tilted her head. “Aegon will be king.”

The words were thrown lightly, like seeds over a wall, so they could not be easily thrown back.

Aelianna did not blink. Her mother is pronounced heir, she wanted to say. But she held her tongue.

“It is the order of things,” Alicent said, still gentle. “And it is why this marriage is such a blessing. My son Aemond will stand at his brother’s right hand, as sharp and tireless as duty can make a man. And you—” her voice softened, and the kindness in it made something in the air go cold, “—you will make that duty bearable. You will give them a house that holds together. You will keep the lamps burning when they ride.”

The lemon tea felt bitter in Aelianna’s mouth. “And where,” she asked, hearing how even she sounded, “would you have me keep these lamps.”

“Where it makes the most sense.” The answer came softly, almost fond, as if advising a daughter about a dowry. “Dragonstone is quiet when it needs to be. It wears you well. The people there will love you; the wind will toughen you; the castle will remember your name. You will raise strong children while Aemond sees to the work that keeps them safe here.”

While Aemond sees to the work. While Aemond. Sees the work.

A second cup poured, the thin gold rim not wavering in Alicent’s hand. “This is how peace is kept, my lady. By men who do not fail in the field, and by women who do not fail at home. Do not let poets make you ashamed of either.”

There was no edge in her voice. And perhaps that was the edge.

Silence fell over them a few minutes as the Queen enjoyed her tea, staring at the paintings in a false admiration for their work.

After setting her cup down, Alicent then touched her sleeve once more and let her hand fall. “You will be adored on Dragonstone,” she said, as if offering a gift. “You will hear little feet in the corridors and see little white heads at your knee. You will have a husband who rides at dawn and returns at dusk with the world bent a little straighter. It is not a small life, my lady. Do not let anyone tell you that it is.”

Aelianna’s mouth moved. No sound came out.

“And if there is any misunderstanding,” Alicent added, so soft it could have been mistaken for kindness, “about what this marriage is for—about how it strengthens the line, how it steadies the realm—put it away. Doubt is a luxury for people who will not be asked to bleed for their doubts. You and I are not those people.”

She rose then. It was graceful and without rush. The meeting was over. Or the lesson was.

Aelianna stood because there was nothing else to do that would not look like something worse.

“Thank you.. Your Grace,” she said.

“Thank you for your steadiness,” Alicent replied. “You wear it beautifully.”

They smiled, two polished things reflecting each other. A curtsey. A nod. Aelianna left the east solar holding in her breath.

She only let it out when she felt no one was around to hear her gasp.

Dragonstone. Salt wind in the teeth, fires banked against the damp. Babies with silver hair and winter-pale eyes. Aemond’s boots on the stair at dawn, the door closing on the hour before sunup, the door opening after dark.

Her hands—a mother’s hands—learning the weight of swaddled bodies, the way small lungs sound when they sleep.

The court remembered without her. The great table crowded with maps and men and not a seat named for her. Aemond will be his brother’s right hand. And her own life would be what? Measured in lullabies? In solitude?

“My lady?”

She blinked and found him a few paces ahead.

Aemond took in her face and did not pretend not to. “Were you hurt?”

“No,” she said, then realized she’d spoken too quickly. She tried again. “No.”

He looked toward the solar doors and back to her. “What did my mother do? Hurt you? Threaten to?” he asked, quiet enough that it was almost a courtesy.

“No. Just careful advice,” Aelianna said.

He stood still. Even his breath seemed careful. “Will you tell me what this advice consisted of or shall I beg?”

She almost laughed.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I think—I think I’m trying to put my life back together from what she just told me it ought to be.”

He didn’t move closer. He didn’t touch her. He only took a step backward to lean against the cold stone of the corridor and gave her the length of it to think in, looking at her as if calculations could wait.

“What did she say,” he asked, when the silence had done some of its work.

“That Aegon will be king,” Aelianna said. “That you’ll be his sword. That I will keep lamps lit on Dragonstone and count that as a kind of crown.”

He watched the words land between them. His jaw shifted once, as if testing old scars.

“Really? And is that what you want?” he asked.

The question was so simple it knocked another piece loose. Aelianna opened her mouth. The answer did not arrive.

“I don’t know,” she said again, but softer now, less ashamed of it. “I know I don’t want to fade into a nursery so the realm can say how lovely the noise is from a distance. I know I don’t… want to be placed like a painting in some room to be observed.”

He let that stand. “Then don’t.”

“Don’t?” She almost smiled. “And how shall we tell your mother I’ve declined to be a dutiful woman.”

His eye warmed, not with humor, exactly, but with something like recognition. “By not mistaking her description for a sentence.”

“She called it order.”

“She likes the word.” A pause. “I like different ones.”

“Such as.”

“Choice,” he said simply. “Work. Use.”

The corner of her mouth twitched despite the weight in her chest. “Those are ugly words for a love story.”

“We haven’t got one of those,” he said.

“Our reins are already tied,” she shook her head.

“Then we cut them.” He looked toward the end of the hall and back to her. “Will this do for now?”

It was so dry it nearly undid her. “For now.”

He nodded. “Walk?”

“All right,” she agreed.

They didn’t touch. They didn’t speak for a while. The castle carried the small noises of its late day around them. A serving boy hurried past with a basket of lemons. It reminded her of how many wins she thought she gained this morning. And how it could’ve meant nothing.

As they reached the stair, Aemond said, almost idly, “If I am sent to fight, you will not sit quiet on a rock and wait for my letters.”

It should have sounded like a command. It didn’t.

“What will I do, then,” she asked.

“Whatever you choose,” he said. “Preferably things that make it harder to forget you weren’t at the council.”

She looked over. “And if I choose poorly.”

“I’ll take the blow where they can’t see you bleed,” he said, like it was not a favor but a fact. “And then we’ll make a different choice the second time around.”

They stood at the top step, the sea laid out in blue iron through the arrow slits. She realized her throat didn’t feel stuck anymore.

“Very well,” Aelianna said. “One day at a time.”

“Today,” he said, faintly smiling, “we start by not letting my mother write your day in her hand.”

“And tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow we lie and tell her she did.”

Chapter Text

They chose a day of clean light for the Queen’s birthday. Silk canopies went up in the Kingswood, banners lifted, horns polished until they flashed white in the sun.

Servants hurried with baskets of fruit and paper cones of sugared delicacies.

Alicent wore green the color of a new leaf. She took the greetings with a measured smile.

Rhaenyra arrived late and under protest, hair braided like a crown and mouth a straight line that kept forgetting it was allowed, for an afternoon, to smile at all.

Viserys came in a litter, wrapped like a king in winter. He was very thin and his face pale but upon seeing the woods he had a smile forming on his mouth to share.

Aelianna rode between the two worlds with her jaw locked and her palm damp on the reins. She had slept in fragments reliving Alicent’s warning.

“Smile,” someone had murmured when she’d dismounted to bow to the Queen. Not Aemond. A lady, a cousin of somebody. “It’s a celebration, my lady. The gods love joy.”

“Do you speak for them? I had no idea you were so close.” Aelianna had answered snappy without looking, and the woman had laughed awkwardly as if she’d told some clever little joke instead of saying a thing that made her stomach hot.

Now, mounted again, she found Aemond already at her side. He had the same look he wore for council like he was aware of everything and unwilling to make a show of it.

His horse, black and clean-limbed, stood under him the way a sword sits easy in a practiced hand.

“You look beautiful,” he said, low.

“It’s not for them,” she said, eyes on the tree line. “It’s for me.”

He accepted that, which surprised her. He always accepted more than she expected.

The horns sounded. Hounds leapt as if released from a bowstring. Courtiers fanned into movement in bright, chattering flank: Lords and second sons, women in half-riding skirts, boys on too-tall geldings trying to look like they were not afraid to fall. Aegon laughed near the front, already pink in the face, bottle swinging from two fingers.

The Master of the Hunt pointed, and the line eased into the first path under the trees.

The Kingswood closed around them in green. Sunlight dappled the leaf-litter; the horns sounded again, further ahead. They rode for a while in that flat, bright quiet broken by hoof sound and the small communications of reins and hands meaning steady, right, left, stop.

“You look like you’re waiting for something to go wrong,” Aelianna said without meaning to.

“I usually am,” Aemond said. “It saves time.”

“Always?”

“It’s paid well so far.”

She almost said not at the fountain. Almost.

When the horns sounded and the stag broke from the trees, she didn’t think — she spurred her horse forward.
Voices called after her. She didn’t care.

The woods swallowed the noise behind her. The stag vanished; silence fell too quickly. Then the boar came.
It hit like thunder. Her horse reared and threw her hard into the dirt. Pain flared, sharp, alive. She rolled, grabbed the small knife from her belt, and met the charge head-on. The struggle was brutal and short; when the world stilled, she was bleeding but standing over the carcass.

Breathing hard, she looked at what she’d done and laughed once, breathless.

“I’m not a painting.”

The forest was quiet when he found her.

Aemond reined in hard. For a heartbeat, he thought she could be dead.

Then she turned her head, hair half undone, blood streaked down her arm, gown torn across one side. The boar lay still beside her . A massive, ugly, and perfectly dead animal.

He was off his horse before thought could catch up.
“Aelianna.” His voice came sharp, rougher than he meant it. “Are you hurt?”

She blinked, dazed but upright. “It’s not mine. Mostly.”
He ignored that.

His eyes tracked the red down her arm, the shallow slice across her thigh, the dirt on her cheek. He stepped closer, the scent of iron and pine between them.

“Where?”
“What?”
“Where does it hurt?”

She tried to stand and winced. That was answer enough.

“It’s nothing,” she said, though her leg trembled under the lie.

He dropped to a knee before she could protest. The sight of him so composed, formal, kneeling in the mud with one glove pressing gently above the wound — almost undid her.

“Aemond—”
“Hold still.” His tone left no room. He tugged the torn fabric aside just enough to see the shallow gash, bleeding but not deep. “You’re lucky. A tusk this size should have split you open.”

She tried to laugh and failed. “You make that sound comforting.”

His head lifted. “I’m not trying to comfort you.”

“Good,” she said softly. “It’s working.”

For a moment, neither moved. The forest was so still it felt like the world had stopped breathing. Then he exhaled once, low and deliberate, and brushed his thumb across her knee.

He checked for swelling, for breaks. His touch was careful, but the intimacy of it startled her anyway.

Her eyes followed the sharp line of his jaw, the single strand of hair that had fallen loose from its tie, the faint tension in his mouth.

There was concern there — real, unguarded. It looked wrong on him, almost too human to belong to his face.

“You shouldn’t have come after me,” she said, but her voice wasn’t steady.

“I should’ve sooner.”

That quiet conviction stole her reply.

When she tried to rise again, her leg buckled. His arm caught her at once, firm around her waist. The sudden closeness made her breath catch — his leather brushing her ribs, the heat of his body cutting through the cold.

“Stop,” he said, already shifting his hold. “You’ll make it worse.”

“I can walk.”

“I didn’t ask if you could.”

And before she could argue, he lifted her.

She gasped, half from surprise, half from the pain of movement. His grip didn’t waver once. With one arm beneath her knees, the other across her back, it was like the world tilted, her hands instinctively clutching his shoulder.

“Aemond—put me down.”

“No.” His voice was calm again, that same infuriating steadiness she’d heard in council, in the courtyard, in every place he refused to be shaken. “You’re bleeding, and the Queen will want proof her future daughter-in-law survived her birthday.”

She tried to scowl, but his words nearly made her laugh — or cry.

“You’re enjoying this,” she muttered.

“I’m not,” he said, and the faint crack in his voice made her believe him.

The ride back was a blur.

When they broke the tree line, voices rose in alarm. Someone shouted her name. A dozen courtiers stopped pretending to enjoy themselves.

By the time they reached the tents, Rhaenyra was already moving.

“Aelianna!”

Aemond set her down gently, and her mother was there in an instant, eyes wide, hands everywhere at once — checking, touching, convincing herself her daughter was whole.

“What happened?”

“She killed it,” Aemond said simply. “The boar.”

That stunned everyone within earshot.

Rhaenyra looked at the blood, and at those watching the event unfold.

“Get her inside,” Rhaenyra ordered. “Now.”

Harwin appeared next, breathless and pale, already pushing the tent flap aside.

Aelianna wanted to protest, but her voice wouldn’t come. Between those two, she’d never win anyway.

Inside smelled of lavender and linen. The sound of voices outside faded to a soft murmur, broken by the clink of armor and the ripple of gossip. Someone whispered she killed it herself and another whispered she nearly didn’t.

Aemond stayed at the entrance, his shadow against the canvas, silent and watchful.

When the maester arrived and began to clean the wound, she winced. Rhaenyra held her hand.

“Hold still,” the maester murmured. “You’re lucky — no tendon cut.”

Outside, horns blew again. It was the signal that someone had found the stag. A wave of noise swept through the camp, dragging all attention away. The whispers shifted: the Queen’s birthday would not end in blood, only in trophies.

When the maester finished and stepped back, Rhaenyra exhaled hard, brushing a stray hair from Aelianna’s temple.

“Reckless girl,” she whispered, though her voice shook with relief. “You and your brothers will be the death of me.”

Aelianna smiled faintly. “Not today.”

At the flap, Aemond hadn’t moved. When Rhaenyra turned toward him, he raised a brow.

“Suppose I should be giving you my thanks, brother,” she said. “You’ve done your duty.”

He inclined his head. “It wasn’t duty.”

That earned him a look, an unreadable one. But before Rhaenyra could respond, Harwin stepped forward.
“I’ll see her back to her tent,” he said quietly.

Aemond hesitated. His gaze flicked from Aelianna’s face to the bandage at her thigh, then back again. For once, he didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands.

“Rest,” he said finally. “The camp doesn’t need another hunt today.”

She wanted to thank him for finding her, for carrying her, for that moment in the woods where he hadn’t been a prince but just a man who looked frightened for her — but the words tangled somewhere in her throat.

He left before she could find them.

The tent flap fell closed, and the sound of cheering rose outside — the court celebrating a stag they hadn’t caught themselves.

Aelianna lay back against the pillows, the pain dulling, her mother’s voice fading into the background. She thought of the look on Aemond’s face when he found her — the sharp fear, the softness that followed it — and for the first time, she wondered if she’d stopped belonging to herself the moment he’d said her name.

Chapter Text

By the time she could walk without wincing, the bruise on her thigh had turned an ugly yellow.
Everyone in the castle still talked about the Queen’s hunt like it was legend. Every version got it wrong — in some, she’d fought off a bear; in others, Aemond had killed the boar himself.

She didn’t bother correcting them.
She just wished he’d come by.

He hadn’t. Not once.
Three days since he carried her back to camp, and nothing. No note, no word, no glimpse of him in the hall.

By the fourth morning she was tired of staring at the same walls. She pulled on her boots, ignored the ache in her leg, and went looking for something to do.

Harwin was in the training yard, sleeves rolled up, a grindstone humming under his hand. The sound was rough and steady, like it could file the thoughts right out of her head.

“You’re limping,” he said, not looking up.
“Barely.”

He smirked. “That’s still limping.”

“I came to help.”

“With what? You can’t train yet.”

She rolled her eyes. “Then I’ll sharpen. You’re terrible at it anyway.”

That made him laugh — the easy, rumbling kind that always made her want to smile even when she didn’t mean to. He slid a sword toward her.
“Fine. Slowly.”

She sat beside him, took the whetstone, and started working. The blade hissed softly under her hand. For a while, neither spoke. The quiet wasn’t bad — just heavy in the way things get when they have nowhere to go.

Eventually, Harwin said, “You’ve been quiet. That’s never a good sign.”

She didn’t look up. “I’m fine.”

“Mm.” He didn’t buy it. “Fine usually means you’re mad.”

That made her glance over. “I’m not mad.”

“Liar.”

She sighed. “Alright. I’m… annoyed.”

“With?”

She stopped sharpening. “Aemond.”

“Ah.” He nodded like he’d been expecting that name. “What’d he do?”

“Saved me. Then disappeared.” The words came out sharp, fast. “Didn’t visit. Didn’t send a single word. Not even a polite note saying ‘hope you didn’t die of infection.’”

Harwin grinned a little. “That’s romantic.”

She shot him a look. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he said, still smiling, though softer now. “He didn’t mean anything by it. He left the morning after the hunt. Some diplomatic thing for the Queen. Grain routes, trade talk, who knows.”

She blinked. “He left? Just like that?”

“Didn’t have much choice. Orders are orders.”

She leaned back, jaw tight. “Could’ve told me.”

“Probably thought you’d still be asleep.”

“Still could’ve told me,” she muttered.

Harwin just shrugged. “You wanted him to check in.”

“I wanted him not to vanish,” she said, voice quieter now. “Is that so unreasonable?”

He leaned on the table, studying her for a long moment. “For someone who swears she doesn’t care much about him, you sure sound like someone who does.”

That got him an eye roll. “Don’t start.”

“Not starting anything,” he said. “Just saying.”

She went back to sharpening. The stone slid against the metal, rhythmic and clean. It helped — a little.

“He’ll be back soon enough,” Harwin said after a while.

“Good,” she muttered. “He can explain himself.”

Harwin chuckled. “That’ll be fun to watch.”

Aelianna didn’t answer. She just kept her eyes on the blade, watching her reflection flicker along the edge — tired, annoyed, and a little too aware that she missed a man who hadn’t asked to be missed.

Chapter Text

The maester said another day or two before the last bandage came off.
That meant no training. No riding. No anything.

So she ended up in the library.
It was quiet there — dust, old paper, a candle half burned down. She sat at a table near the window, reading about Visenya Targaryen and pretending the ache in her leg didn’t matter.

She didn’t hear him at first.
Just the sound of boots on stone. Then his voice.

“Your maid said you’d be here.”

She didn’t look up. “Then I need a new maid.”

A pause. “Why’s that?”

“Because no one was supposed to know where I was.”

He stepped closer. “I’m your betrothed,” he said, tone even. “If she disobeys me, she’s disobeying you too. In a way.”

She turned a page. “That’s not how it works.”

“It’s how it should.”

She let out a breath. “You sound like my mother when she’s trying to win an argument she already lost.”

That pulled a small laugh from him, but she didn’t join in. The silence that followed hung between them.

He glanced at her leg. “How’s the cut?”

“Healing.”

“Hurts?”

“Not much.”

The short answers made him frown. “Did I do something?”

“No.”

“Then why won’t you look at me?”

“I’m reading.”

“You closed the book.”

She did, finally — slowly, like admitting defeat. “Fine. Maybe I’m not in the mood to talk.”

She started to stand. He moved first.
His hand caught her hip before she could walk past. It wasn’t rough — just enough to stop her. The book slipped from her fingers and hit the floor. Neither of them looked at it.

“Aelianna,” he said quietly. “What did I do?”

“You didn’t do anything.”

“Then what’s this?”

She shook her head, staring somewhere over his shoulder. “You left.”

He blinked. “What?”

“After the hunt. You left the next morning. Didn’t tell me. Didn’t send word. You saved my life and then vanished like I didn’t exist.”

He looked at her for a long second. “I had to leave. My mother sent me—”

“You could’ve said goodbye.”

“I thought you’d still be resting.”

“I was.” Her voice softened, but it was still sharp around the edges. “That’s not the point.”

He didn’t say anything right away. His jaw worked once. “I didn’t think it would matter that much.”

“Well, it did.”

That landed hard. He exhaled, the sound small. His thumb brushed against the fabric of her gown, like he wanted to say something else but couldn’t find the words.

They stood like that for a few beats — too close, too quiet.

Finally, she said, “You can let go now.”

He did. Slowly.

The book was still on the floor between them.
He bent to pick it up, brushed the dust off the cover, and handed it back.

“Visenya,” he said, reading the title. “Figures.”

Chapter Text

The sun was out, warm but not heavy, and the garden smelled like mint and early roses. She thought maybe she’d sit awhile, breathe, maybe even enjoy not limping for once.

Then she saw him.

Aemond stood near the fountain, half turned toward a woman in a pale blue dress. One of the Queen’s maids — older, pretty, the kind who knew how to laugh quietly. And she was laughing now, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear like it mattered what he thought.

Aelianna stopped before they saw her.
Watched long enough to feel stupid for watching.
Then she turned to leave.

“Lady Aelianna.”

His voice stopped her cold.
She turned back, her expression already fixed.

He’d stepped away from the maid, hands clasped neatly behind his back. “I was hoping to see you,” he said. “I was thinking for the next council meeting—”

“Maybe you should think about not flirting with random women first,” she cut in.

His brow lifted. “Excuse me?”

She crossed her arms. “You’re betrothed, Aemond. Maybe don’t make it look like you’re about to take someone else to bed in the Queen’s garden.”

For a second, his face went blank — the kind of silence that could mean anything. Then he laughed once, short and dry.

“She’s one of my mother’s maids,” he said. “She was thanking me for carrying a message this morning.”

“Is that what that was?”

“Yes,” he said. “That’s what that was.”

She looked at him, searching for the tell, the smirk, the hint of arrogance — but he just looked tired. Amused, maybe, but not cruel.

“You really thought—” he started, then shook his head. “You think I’d risk all of Westeros whispering over a servant when I’m already promised to you?”

“You’re doing a good job of making people wonder,” she said, still clipped, still proud.

“Then let them,” he said simply. “They’ll stop wondering soon enough.”

Her jaw tightened. “You’re impossible.”

He smiled, faint but real. “You’ve said that before.”

She turned as if to leave, but he stepped into her path — not close, just close enough.

“I am glad to see you, you know,” he said, quieter now. “And I did mean what I started to say. The council meets again tomorrow. I thought you might join me.”

Her tone softened in spite of herself. “You want me there?”

“I do,” he said. “It’s easier when someone in the room makes sense.”

That almost made her laugh. Almost.
She just nodded once. “We’ll see.”

He inclined his head, a faint trace of a smile pulling at his mouth.
“We will.”

As she walked off, she didn’t look back — but she knew he was still standing there, watching, the sound of the fountain filling the silence they didn’t quite know what to do with yet.

Chapter Text

The council meeting was canceled again.
Half the lords were off handling trade disputes, and no one seemed in a rush to replace them. Aelianna didn’t mind. It meant she could finally get through her wedding fitting without someone asking about tariffs.

The seamstresses had her standing on a small platform in the solar, surrounded by white silk, pins, and nervous chatter.
It wasn’t the finished gown yet — just the first layer. Simple, soft, the shape of what would come later.

“Hold still, my lady,” one of the women murmured, mouth full of pins.

“I am,” she said, though her shoulders were tense. The silk clung to her in ways armor never would. It made her feel strange — visible in a way she didn’t like.

The door opened before anyone announced him.

Aemond stood there, half shadowed in the doorway. His gloves were off; his hair had slipped loose from the tie at his neck.
The room froze.

“My prince,” one of the seamstresses stammered, nearly dropping a spool of thread.

Aelianna’s head whipped around. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said quickly. “You can’t see me like this.”

His gaze didn’t waver. “This?”

“This is the base layer,” she said, exasperated. “It’s not finished. I look ridiculous.”

He took a slow step forward. “You don’t.”

Then, to the seamstresses and maids: “Leave us, please.”

The women looked at each other — wide eyes, hands half-covering smiles. One of them let out the faintest giggle before catching it. Another whispered something that made the rest blush. They bobbed curtsies and scurried out in a flurry of silk and gossip.

When the door shut, Aelianna turned on him. “I can’t believe you just dismissed my own maids.”

“I needed a moment,” he said.

“For what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze moved over the silk, the clean white of it against her skin, the pins catching the light. It wasn’t lust — just that stunned, wordless kind of admiration people try to hide and fail to.

“This isn’t even the second layer yet,” she said, half laughing from embarrassment.

“I know,” he murmured.

He reached out, fingers brushing the edge of the fabric. It was light, barely there — smooth under his hand. “I wanted to see what it feels like,” he said, mostly to himself.

“And?” she asked.

He looked up at her. “It suits you.”

Her heartbeat jumped, stupidly. “It’s just silk, Aemond.”

“It’s not,” he said. “Not when you wear it.”

She shook her head, trying to hide the smile threatening her mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Possibly.” His tone softened. “But you’re beautiful.”

That stopped her.

“You don’t have to say that,” she said quietly.

“I didn’t have to come here either.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable — just still. He kept his distance, one hand still resting on the fabric at her arm, like he was afraid that if he let go, she might vanish.

Through the door, faint voices could be heard — the seamstresses whispering about how the prince had cleared the room to kiss his bride.

Aelianna rolled her eyes. “You realize they’ll spend the next week talking about this.”

He almost smiled. “Then let them.”

“Of course you’d say that.”

He finally stepped back, the spell breaking. “I should go before they decide we’ve eloped.”

“That would make your mother faint.”

“Exactly.”

He turned toward the door, then hesitated. “I meant what I said,” he told her. “You’re beautiful. Even when you’re angry at me.”

She jumped down from the little platform before she could think better of it. The sudden closeness startled them both. He steadied her automatically, one hand finding her waist. The touch was simple, but it felt different this time — careful, like neither of them wanted to move first.

Her fingers brushed his sleeve. His hand lingered at her side, warm through the silk.

He lifted his other hand and let it rest against her face. The gesture was slow, uncertain, but sure by the time it landed. His palm fit the curve of her cheek perfectly. His thumb moved once, tracing a line beneath her eye.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, quiet and sure.

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. She just looked at him — really looked — and felt something inside her give way.

The air between them thinned. They leaned toward each other without meaning to—

The door opened.

“My son.”

Alicent’s voice broke the silence clean in two. She stood in the doorway with three of her ladies, hands clasped neatly in front of her, face composed but eyes sharp.

The seamstresses behind her froze, realizing instantly what they’d walked in on — or thought they had.

Aemond didn’t move at first. His hand stayed on Aelianna’s cheek for one suspended heartbeat too long before he finally dropped it.

“Mother,” he said evenly. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to see my daughter-in-law in her gown,” she said, the words perfectly measured. “It seems I arrived just in time.”

Her gaze slid from him to Aelianna, lingering a moment too long. “You should go, Aemond. Before anyone mistakes this for impropriety.”

He hesitated — jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Then he bowed slightly, the picture of control.
“As you wish.”

He stepped past his mother, every movement deliberate, but Aelianna caught the briefest flicker in his eyes when he glanced back — apology, maybe. Or something harder.

Alicent waited until the door closed behind him. Then she turned back toward the fitting table, her smile polite, her eyes cold enough to cut.

“Now,” she said to the seamstresses. “Let’s see this gown that’s causing such a stir.”

And though her voice was calm, Aelianna could feel it — that flash of something sharper, burning quietly behind the Queen’s smile.

Aelianna said nothing. But when Aemond’s hand left her face, it was like warmth had drained from the room.
She felt cold where his touch had been — and somewhere deep in her chest, an ache she couldn’t name took root.

Chapter Text

That night was the first time she dreamed of him.

It started the way dreams often do — pieces of something real stitched together wrong.
The white silk from her fitting. The warmth of his hand against her cheek.
Then the light shifted, and he was closer, his hair falling loose around his shoulders, the sapphire where his eye should be catching the candlelight like it had a pulse of its own.

He was in her bedchamber somehow.
The air felt thick, quiet.
He said her name — soft, careful — and when he reached for her, she didn’t move away.

They were so close she could feel his breath.
And just before he kissed her, she woke up.

Her heart was hammering.
For a second, she didn’t know where she was. The silk sheets, the faint smell of lavender — all of it too real after what she’d just seen.

She sat up fast, shoved her hair back, and muttered, “Seven save me.”

At the basin, she splashed cold water on her face. Once. Twice. A third time, until her skin stung.

She stared at her reflection, dripping and wide-eyed.
She’d faced monsters, blades, her mother’s temper — but not this.
Not dreams about the man she swore she wouldn’t care for.

“Get a hold of yourself,” she whispered, gripping the edge of the washstand.
It didn’t help.

The image of him — the hair, the scar, that sapphire eye — stayed behind her eyelids, waiting for her to blink.

Later, Aelianna walked with Baela along the beach below the keep, the two of them barefoot, skirts hitched just enough to keep from catching the saltwater. The gulls wheeled low overhead; the breeze carried the scent of brine and kelp.

Baela nudged her shoulder. “You’ve been quiet all morning. Brooding again?”

Aelianna shook her head. “Just thinking.”

“That’s what brooding people say.”

A small laugh slipped out of her. “Maybe.”

They walked a little farther before Baela said, “You keep touching your face. Something happen?”

Aelianna hesitated, watching the waves. “I dreamt of him.”

Baela blinked. “Of Aemond?”

“Yes.”

Her stepsisters grin was immediate, wicked. “Oh, that kind of dream?”

“No,” Aelianna said quickly, kicking at the sand. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I mean it,” she said, half laughing now. “We didn’t— it wasn’t anything like that. He was just… there.”

Baela’s smile softened. “And?”

“He looked beautiful,” Aelianna admitted, voice quieter now. “His hair, his eye… everything. And then I woke up.”

“And?” Baela pressed, curious but gentle.

Aelianna’s eyes stayed on the horizon. “I felt cold,” she said. “Just… cold. Like I’d forgotten something important and couldn’t get it back.”

For a while, they walked in silence, the surf hissing at their feet.

Baela glanced sideways at her. “You’re falling for him.”

“I’m losing my mind,” Aelianna said.

“Same thing.”

That earned her a real laugh this time. She bent down, scooped up a small stone, and threw it out into the waves. It skipped once before sinking.
Finally Baela said, “You sound like you’re in love.”

Aelianna snorted, half-hearted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“It’s not ridiculous. It’s obvious.”

She shook her head again, staring out at the water. “I can’t be in love, Baela. If I am, then it all becomes real. Then I’m the woman waiting in Dragonstone while he’s off fighting or negotiating or whatever duty comes next. Then there are children, and rumors, and I stop being part of anything that matters in the Red Keep.”

Baela tilted her head. “You think love takes things away.”

“It does,” Aelianna said. “It takes your choices first.”

Baela was quiet for a moment, then said gently, “Or it gives you a reason to fight for them.”

Aelianna didn’t answer. She bent down, picked up a smooth stone, and threw it into the waves.
It skipped twice, then sank.

“Maybe,” she said finally. “But I’m not ready to lose the ground I’ve barely found.”

Baela linked their arms as they kept walking. “Then don’t. Just don’t lie to yourself about what’s already happening.”

Chapter Text

The keep was still half asleep when Aelianna saw her.
A woman she didn’t recognize. Her blonde hair loosened, dress straps on the wrong, rushed way, clutching a velvet pouch to her chest.

She moved quickly, eyes lowered, the sort of hurried shame that told its own story.

The door she’d come from was unmistakable. It was Aemond’s chambers.

Aelianna froze.

The woman’s perfume lingered in the air a moment after she vanished down the hall, and with it came the sting betrayal.

She tried to swallow the feeling all day.

But when he came to find her later, calm, composed, silver hair falling neatly as if nothing in the world were amiss—something in her snapped.

“You seem troubled,” he said.

“Do I?” she answered, not looking up from the book she wasn’t reading.

“You do.”

Her voice cut sharp.

“Maybe I’m only seeing things more clearly than before.”

He frowned. “Meaning?”

“Meaning my betrothed has an interesting way of showing devotion.”

That caught him off guard. “Your betrothed—?”

“Don’t act stupid, Aemond. I saw her. Leaving your chambers with coin in her hands. Gods, you couldn’t even wait until after the betrothal vows to start—”

“Enough.”

The word came low, clipped, dangerous. But she was too angry to stop.

“Do you have any idea how that looks? How it sounds? My fiancé rutting with whoever passes the door—”

He stepped closer. “Watch your words.”

“Why? You don’t seem to.”

Silence. A heartbeat. Then two.

He moved before she could react—closing the space, pressing her gently but firmly back until her spine met the cold stone wall. His palms flattened beside her head, trapping her in place but never touching her.

“You think I’d touch another woman,” he said quietly, the restraint in his voice worse than shouting.

“Since the day they named you mine?”

She turned her face away. “I know what I saw.”

“You saw me giving coin to a woman I wanted gone. One who belonged to Aegon, not me. He was drunk, I was disgusted with him. But I haven’t touched anyone since they called you my betrothed.”

He leaned closer, his eye falling on hers.

“The only woman I want in my bed is you, Aelianna.”

Her breath caught, but she wouldn’t look at him.
He searched her face for disbelief, for anything that would make the words untrue.

She should have said something sharp. She always did.
But everything she meant to say scattered.

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” she whispered.

“It’s only the truth.”

Her chest ached. There was something almost boyish in the way he said it, a rawness she’d never seen in him before.

And she hated that she wanted to believe him. She wanted it so badly it felt like pain.

“Aemond…”

He swallowed, gaze dropping to her mouth for the briefest second before he forced it away. His hands stayed on the wall, rigid, as if moving them would ruin what fragile control he had left.

“If I touch you,” he said softly, “I won’t stop.”

The words broke the air between them.

Aelianna’s pulse throbbed in her throat. Every part of her wanted to move closer to him, but she remained frozen in place.

The world had narrowed to the space between them, the breath they shared.

“Then don’t,” she murmured, though it didn’t sound like a command.

He exhaled, slow and shaky, and stepped back a single pace. The distance hurt more than the nearness.

“I’ll prove it to you,” he said. “That you’re the only one.”

And then he left. He was quiet, composed again, as if he hadn’t just undone her completely.

She stayed against the wall, staring at the mark his hand had left in the dust of the stone, the echo of his body heat still clinging to her skin.

When she finally moved, her knees felt weak.

Yearning, she decided, was a cruel thing. It made you believe in almosts.

Chapter Text

The great hall was warm with candlelight and chatter. Laughter drifted between tables, wine spilled easily, and for once, even the storm outside seemed content to listen from a distance.

It was the final gathering before their wedding. Lords from every corner of the realm had come to witness the match, to see if the stories about the Star-Eyed girl were true.

When Aelianna entered, conversation softened for a breath.

Her dress was pale gold, simple but catching light like it remembered the sun. She’d chosen to braid back only half her hair, leaving the rest loose. It wasn’t vanity. She just wanted to feel like herself, not some carved figure beside a prince.

Aemond found her instantly.

He didn’t mean to; his gaze simply went there and refused to leave.

She made the rounds with the grace expected of her—nodding, smiling faintly—but his attention never wavered.

When she finally reached him, she could already feel the heat of his stare.

“You’re late,” he said quietly.

“Fashionably.”

His mouth twitched. “You look—”

“Don’t,” she cut in. “You’ll sound like everyone else.”

But when he offered his hand for the dance, she took it.

The crowd watched as they moved. It wasn’t perfect, their steps a little off at first, but there was something magnetic about them—the way he leaned close to murmur something she couldn’t quite hear, the way her hand stayed in his long after the music ended.

And he didn’t stop touching her.

Not indecently, just… constant. A hand at her elbow as they walked, fingers brushing hers when she reached for a goblet, his palm finding the small of her back when someone tried to pass too near.

Between dances, she finally caught his wrist and pulled him toward one of the side halls, away from the crowd’s noise and eyes.

“What’s your deal tonight?” she asked under her breath.

“My deal?”

“You’re acting like you’ve forgotten where we are.”

“We’re at our own betrothal feast.”

Her jaw tightened. “Right. All part of the show.”

He frowned. “What show?”

“This one,” she said, stepping back. “The one where you act like you mean it.”

Before he could reply, she turned and walked away. Her skirts caught on the corner of a table as she passed, and she didn’t even stop to fix it.

⸻

He found his mother and sister soon after. Alicent looked tired but radiant, her smile practiced and unwavering.

“Where’s your bride?” she asked as he poured himself another cup of wine.

“She retired early.”

“Already?”

He drained the cup, avoiding her gaze. “I’ll walk Helaena back to her chambers.”

Alicent nodded absently, already turning to greet another noble.

The corridor beyond the hall was quieter, only the echo of their footsteps. Helaena walked a little ahead, humming something tuneless, her eyes fixed on the floor.

“You didn’t enjoy yourself?” he asked finally.

“Too many voices,” she said. “Too much pretending.”

He gave a low laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

She glanced at him then, something thoughtful in her expression. “You were pretending too.”

“Was I?”

“You couldn’t stop touching her.”

He looked away, embarrassed at being read so easily. “I was being attentive.”

“You love her,” Helaena said simply.

He stopped walking. “What?”

She didn’t answer right away. Her gaze had gone distant again, the way it always did when she was halfway somewhere else.

“I saw it,” she whispered.

“Saw what?”

Helaena blinked slowly, as though waking from a dream she wasn’t sure she wanted to name.

“You and her,” she said at last. “The star-eyed girl.”

His pulse picked up. “What about her?”

Helaena looked up at him, eyes glassy and far away.

“Your love,” she murmured, “it burns. It doesn’t fade it devours. It will be fierce, brother.”

He frowned, taking a half-step toward her. “Fierce?”

“Beautiful,” she said softly, “and terrible.”

Then she turned, fingers trembling as she lifted the latch.

“Don’t ask me to explain it. Just remember what I said.”

The door shut behind her with a quiet click.

Aemond stood in the corridor long after, the torches crackling around him.

Chapter Text

Rain tapped lightly against the windows, soft and steady.
The fire had burned low in the hearth; the room smelled faintly of smoke and lavender.

Aelianna was already awake, sitting by the window with her robe drawn tight, hair falling loose around her face. The sleepless night showed in her eyes.

The door opened without warning.
Rhaenyra stepped inside, dressed simply, her silver hair braided over one shoulder.

“You’re up early,” she said.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Aelianna murmured.

Rhaenyra smiled faintly. “I remember that feeling. The morning before everything changes.”

She came to stand beside her, looking out at the gray sea. “The seamstresses tell me your gown is finished. The pearls arrived from Driftmark this morning. You’ll be breathtaking.”

“That’s the goal, isn’t it?” Aelianna said, a small, nervous laugh slipping out.

Rhaenyra turned, studying her daughter’s face. “Nervous?”

“A little.”

“It’s natural.” She hesitated. “You and Aemond seem… steady enough, despite it all.”

Aelianna looked down at her hands. “We manage.”

Rhaenyra was quiet for a moment, then spoke carefully. “Have you been with him?”

The question hit harder than expected. Aelianna’s cheeks flushed deep red.

“Mother—”

“I only ask because the wedding is tomorrow. I want you to feel prepared, not frightened.”

She shook her head quickly. “No. Nothing’s happened.”

Rhaenyra nodded once, then caught the flicker of uncertainty in her daughter’s expression. “But there’s someone?”

Aelianna hesitated. “There was. Once. Long ago.”

Rhaenyra didn’t press, only waited.

“It was… uneventful,” Aelianna said after a moment, voice barely above a whisper. “Nothing like people make it sound.”

“It rarely is the first time,” Rhaenyra said softly.

Aelianna gave a faint, self-conscious smile. “I know it won’t be like that with him, though.”

Rhaenyra tilted her head. “No?”

Aelianna’s gaze drifted back toward the window, the rain streaking silver over the glass.

“We’re fire and blood,” she said quietly. “It won’t be uneventful.”

The words hung there—simple, certain, and far older than her years.

Rhaenyra reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “Then I suppose you already understand more than I did.”

Aelianna smiled faintly. “I’m not sure I understand anything.”

“That’s how you know it’s real.”

They stood together for a while in the quiet, the sea murmuring below.
Then Rhaenyra squeezed her hand once before turning toward the door.

“I’ll see you at the sept.”

Aelianna nodded, watching the rain as her mother left, her heart steady and uncertain all at once.

Chapter Text

Maids moved carefully around her, the hush of their steps loud in the morning stillness. Silk whispered against silk. Aelianna stood at the center, hands trembling only when she thought no one noticed.

They laced her into the gown first—soft gold that caught every flicker of light. The fabric clung at her waist before spilling into the faint shimmer of pearls and glass beads. When she breathed, it looked as if starlight moved beneath her skin.

Her hair was arranged in loose waves down her back, a thin silver circlet laid gently over it. Chains of crystal and moonstone draped from its sides, and the veil—fine and dusted with glints of light—fell just past her elbows. The maids gasped softly when they stepped back.

“You look like a dream,” one whispered.

Aelianna tried to smile, but her stomach was turning. The mirror showed someone regal, untouchable. She barely recognized her.

“Fetch some water,” one of them said. “She’s pale.”

“I’m fine,” Aelianna murmured. “Just—nervous.”

They finished with the gloves and the final pin at her shoulder. The moment they stepped away, the silence rushed in too quickly. Her pulse fluttered in her throat.

“Leave me,” she said softly.

The maids curtsied and slipped out, their footsteps fading down the corridor.

She stood alone for a few heartbeats, watching her reflection sway faintly with each breath. Then she pressed a hand to her stomach.

The nausea wasn’t just nerves. It was fear, excitement, disbelief—all tangled until she couldn’t tell them apart.

She turned from the mirror and said quietly to the nearest guard at the door:

“Call Ser Harwin Strong.”

The guard hesitated, uncertain if he’d heard correctly.

“Now,” she added, steadier this time. “And then leave us.”

The man bowed and disappeared down the hall. Aelianna exhaled, closing her eyes. The weight of the dress, the veil, the crown—it all felt heavier now that she had asked for him.

The door creaked open after a few minutes.
Harwin stepped inside, the faint scent of rain still clinging to his cloak. He looked older than she remembered—more lines at the corners of his eyes, more gravity in his stance—but when he saw her, something softened immediately.

“Seven hells,” he breathed, stopping a few paces away. “You look… you look like an angel.”

Aelianna tried to laugh, but it came out small.

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’ve never said anything truer.”

He came closer, careful not to touch the gown. “The realm will talk of you for years after today.”

Her hands twisted in front of her. “How do you know it’s a good idea?”

He frowned slightly. “What?”

“The marriage. All of it.” She looked down at the beading on her skirt, watching it catch the light. “Everyone keeps saying it’s right for the realm. I just—what if it isn’t right for me?”

Harwin was quiet for a long moment, the kind of silence that held more comfort than words.

“You’ve never done a thing halfway,” he said finally. “You want to be more than a princess. A fighter. And you will be. But in a few minutes, when the doors open, you’ll also be the woman every lord in that hall bows to. Demand whatever you wish. That’s how you win, even in silk.”

She smiled faintly, though her throat felt tight.

“You make it sound easy.”

“Nothing worth it ever is.”

He turned as if to leave, but her voice stopped him—smaller now, almost breaking.

“Harwin?”

He faced her again.

“Am I… your daughter?”

He blinked, startled, as though the question had struck something deep and unguarded. For a heartbeat he didn’t move. Then he stepped closer, took her hand carefully so as not to wrinkle the lace, and rubbed his thumb slowly over her knuckles.

“You’ve always been mine,” he said quietly.

Then he released her hand, gave her a look full of pride and sorrow, and left the room without another word.

Aelianna stood there for a long while, staring at the door he’d gone through, her pulse uneven beneath the weight of the veil.

Chapter Text

The bells of Dragonstone rang clear and bright, the sound threading through mist and sea spray until it felt as if the whole island breathed with it.

Aelianna stood at the threshold of the sept, the light falling softly through the high windows. Her veil shimmered faintly; the pearls and tiny crystals stitched into her gown caught each flicker of candlelight so that she seemed to glow. When one of the maids adjusted the train, even the priest paused to stare.

She looked at her reflection in the polished bronze plate the maids had left behind and, for a moment, didn’t recognize the girl staring back. The sight made her chest tighten—her eyes burned before she could stop it.

They thought she was crying from joy.
The attendants smiled, whispering how radiant the princess looked, how lovely it was to see a bride so moved. She didn’t correct them.

The doors opened.

The sound that met her was a hush, then a collective sigh. Every gaze turned toward her as she stepped into the aisle, one slow breath after another.

Her grandsire beamed—an old, proud happiness softening his face. Alicent’s smile was measured but genuine, approval touched with caution. Her mother’s was wide, bright as sunlight. Daemon’s was small but real, a rare glint of contentment in his sharp features.

And then—at the edge of the Kingsguard—Harwin.
He smiled too, faintly, his eyes warm. It was the kind of smile that steadied her feet when they wanted to falter.

But all of them blurred when she saw him.

Aemond waited by the altar, cloaked in black and silver. The torchlight danced off his armor and the sapphire set into his patch, and for a moment she wondered if he’d been carved from the same light that filled the sept.

He was staring at her. Not coldly, not with calculation—just… staring. As though everything he had ever fought for had suddenly taken shape and was walking toward him.

She didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

The crowd disappeared. The music dulled until the only sound she heard was her heartbeat keeping time with the slow rise and fall of his chest.

When she reached him, she barely noticed the words the septon spoke. The world had narrowed to the space between their joined hands, the pulse she could feel through his palm.

“Do you swear before gods and men—”

“I do.”

“And you, Prince Aemond—”

His voice, low and sure: “I do.”

And then it was time.

He lifted the veil carefully, the fabric brushing her cheek as it fell. His fingers trembled, just barely. When their eyes met again, her breath caught.

For a heartbeat, neither moved. Then he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first—hesitant, reverent—but the moment their lips touched, something deep and unspoken broke free. It wasn’t showmanship; it was years of restraint dissolving into warmth. The applause around them was distant thunder.

Aelianna melted into it without meaning to. Her fingers tightened around his, and she felt him exhale against her mouth as if he’d been holding his breath his whole life.

When they finally parted, the crowd erupted—cheers, laughter, the clang of goblets. She barely heard any of it.

He was still looking at her the same way he had before the kiss, like he’d finally found something he’d been searching for far too long.

For the first time all day, she smiled—not because the realm expected it, but because she couldn’t help herself.

The hall had been transformed.
Banners of red and gold hung from the high beams, and the air was thick with music and the scent of roasted fruit and spiced wine. The light from a thousand candles gleamed off her gown each time she moved; even the pearls on her sleeves seemed to flicker with life.

Aelianna moved slowly through the crowd, accepting congratulations with practiced grace, though her pulse was still uneven from the ceremony. Everywhere she turned, someone smiled, bowed, or toasted her name. For once, she didn’t shrink from it.

A shout of laughter rose from near the tables, familiar and bright.
When she turned, she saw them—her brothers, Jacaerys and Lucerys, with little Joffrey perched on Jace’s hip, all three grinning like they’d gotten away with mischief.

“Sister!” Jace called, weaving through the guests until they reached her.

Lucerys was carrying something folded carefully in his arms. He handed it to her, his expression proud but shy.
It was a cloak—deep crimson velvet trimmed with golden thread, the sigil of the dragon embroidered at its center. The stitching shimmered faintly under the torchlight.

“We wanted you to have it,” Jace said. “To keep you warm, even when you’re far from home.”

Aelianna’s throat tightened. She brushed her fingers over the embroidery and smiled.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “All of you—thank you.”

She leaned down and kissed each of their cheeks in turn, starting with Jace, then Luke, then little Joffrey, who giggled and clutched her veil.

“You look beautiful too,” Luke said softly.

“You really do,” Jace added. “The realm’s luckier than it knows.”

“I’ll miss you,” Joffrey murmured, his voice small.

Aelianna knelt a little, pressing her forehead to his. “You’ll visit me soon. I promise.”

They left her with the cloak draped over her arms, the weight of it comforting and familiar.

⸻

As she turned back toward the dais, she noticed Alicent and King Viserys approaching through the crowd. Viserys looked weary but content, the faintest spark of joy lighting his face. Alicent’s smile was soft and formal, the sort that might have once been difficult for her but came easily tonight.

“My dear,” the king said as he reached her, his voice fragile but warm. “You’ve made the day brighter just by standing in it.”

Aelianna dipped her head. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

Before she could rise, she felt it—the familiar warmth at her back, the quiet claim that came without a word.
Aemond had appeared beside her, his hand finding her waist as naturally as if it had always belonged there.

He bowed his head slightly to his mother and grandsire.

“Father. Mother.”

Viserys’s smile deepened. “A fine match, this. The prince and princess of a new age.”

Alicent inclined her head. “May the gods grant you patience—and joy.”

Aemond’s fingers pressed a little more firmly against her side. She glanced up, and he met her gaze, calm and unreadable, though the faintest shadow of a smile curved his lips.

“Thank you,” he said. “We intend to honor them.”

Viserys lifted his goblet. “To Prince Aemond and Princess Aelianna—fire and blood, joined as one.”

The hall echoed with cheers and raised cups. Aelianna smiled because there was nothing else she could do, the sound of it washing over her like the sea.

When the noise dimmed, Aemond leaned close enough that only she could hear.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

She laughed softly, finally exhaling. “Maybe just a little.”

He turned his head then, his breath brushing her temple. “Then hold on to me.”

The celebration was still in full bloom.
Laughter rippled across the hall, the clatter of goblets and music twining together in a rhythm that felt almost unreal. Gold light spilled from chandeliers, catching on the silver thread of Aelianna’s gown each time she moved.

The newlyweds had barely sat since the ceremony—pulled from dance to toast, from greeting to greeting. Aelianna’s cheeks ached from smiling, but she didn’t mind. The world seemed to shimmer a little, blurred by exhaustion and wine.

It was then that Rhaenyra appeared beside her, brushing past a line of guests with a smile that was all warmth and tears.

“You look beautiful, my love,” her mother said, voice trembling.

Aelianna laughed softly. “You’ve told me that already.”

“Then I’ll keep saying it. You’re the most beautiful thing in this room.”

Rhaenyra reached out, fingers finding a loose strand of hair that had slipped free from the pins. She tucked it back, her thumb lingering on Aelianna’s cheek.

“I don’t want to cry,” Aelianna whispered.

“Then don’t,” Rhaenyra said, her own eyes already wet. “We’ll pretend this is all joy and none of the rest.”

They both laughed quietly, trying to hold steady.

“You’ve grown into everything I hoped for,” Rhaenyra murmured. “And tomorrow you’ll be gone, and I’ll still come looking for you in the mornings.”

“You’ll see me again soon,” Aelianna said, smiling weakly.

“I know. It’s not the same.”

Aelianna reached for her hand and squeezed it. “I’ll miss you, too.”

They stayed like that a moment, both blinking away the tears that kept threatening.

The laughter behind them grew louder again, and Daemon’s voice carried before he did. He made his way through the crowd, wine goblet in hand, his usual sharp grin softened by something close to pride.

“The bride hiding from her own feast?” he teased lightly.

Aelianna smiled up at him. “Just catching my breath.”

He studied her for a moment, and then, without a word, reached out. His hand settled at the back of her neck—steady, protective. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You’ve done well,” he said quietly. “More than anyone could ask.”

It wasn’t grand or flowery. It didn’t need to be. Coming from him, it was everything.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

Daemon gave a faint nod, eyes glinting. “Don’t lose that fire, girl. You’ll need it.”

He looked to Rhaenyra, exchanged a brief look that said a hundred unsaid things, and melted back into the crowd, already halfway to another drink.

Rhaenyra let out a small laugh. “You’ve even softened him. That’s a miracle in itself.”

Aelianna smiled, blinking fast. “He’s always been good to me.”

“He loves you,” Rhaenyra said. “Even if he’ll never say it plain.”

Aelianna nodded, the music swelling around them again.

Across the room, she caught Aemond’s gaze. He was already watching her, calm and unreadable, his hand resting loosely on the hilt of his sword. But when she smiled at him, he stood straighter, as if he’d been waiting for that alone.

The hall was still roaring with life, but in that moment, it felt quiet—her mother beside her, Daemon’s touch still warm on her skin, and the man she’d just married looking at her like the rest of the world had finally disappeared.

Chapter Text

The feast had finally quieted. One by one, the guests bowed, offered blessings, and drifted away until only echoes of music followed them down the corridors.

Aelianna had said her goodbyes — her brothers, her mother, even Daemon’s lingering nod — until all that was left was the sound of the sea and the faint rustle of her gown.

Aemond waited at the great doors of Dragonstone, the torchlight turning his hair to liquid silver. He didn’t speak as she approached, only offered his hand.

“Ready?” he asked.

“I think so,” she said, though she wasn’t sure.

The air outside was cool and smelled of salt and smoke. They walked together through the courtyard, her steps echoing softly against the stone. Dragonstone loomed around them, both ancient and newly alive.

“It’s beautiful,” she murmured.

“It’s home now,” he said simply.

He led her through high archways and long corridors lit by soft lanterns, past carved dragons coiled along the walls, tapestries she’d never seen before. Every corner seemed to hum with history, yet somehow it all felt freshly built, as if the castle itself had been waiting for them.

When they reached the grand set of double doors at the far end of the passage, she hesitated.

“What’s this room?”

He turned the latch, the faintest smile tugging at his mouth.

“Ours.”

Something caught in her chest at the word. Ours.
Not his, not mine — ours.

He opened the doors and let her step in first.

The room was vast but warm, the fire already lit. The bed was draped in deep crimson, silver-threaded linens gleaming under the flicker of candlelight. A vanity stood by the window, carved of silverwood, its surface scattered with new brushes, crystal vials of perfume, and a single vase of lilies.

“You did all this?” she asked quietly.

“I wanted it ready.”

She ran her fingers over the vanity’s edge, feeling the cool metal under her skin. The room was beautiful in a way that made her chest tighten — not grand for show, but chosen. Thoughtful.

She bent to undo her heels, placing them neatly by the hearth. The pins in her hair came next, one by one, until it fell free down her back. Beneath the makeup and silk, she felt small again — herself again.

Behind her, she heard him moving — the soft rustle of his cloak as he removed it, the clink of a brooch, the quiet exhale of someone who’d been carrying too much weight all day.

For a moment, neither spoke. The air between them thickened, charged with everything they hadn’t said.

“It’s been a long day,” she murmured finally. “I’ll— I think I’ll bathe before resting.”

He only nodded. “Of course.”

She slipped through the side door into the adjoining chamber. The maids had already drawn the bath. She sank into the warm water until her nerves quieted. When she finally emerged, she dried her hair and pulled on one of the gowns they’d packed — pale blue silk, soft and light as air. Her hair, still damp, fell loose around her shoulders.

When she stepped back into the room, he was standing by the fire, head bowed, hands clasped behind his back. He turned at the sound of her approach—and froze.

For a moment, neither moved.

Aelianna stopped near the hearth, unsure what to do with her hands, her breath. The firelight painted her in shades of gold and blue.

Aemond’s jaw tightened. He crossed the space between them slowly, as if afraid to break whatever spell had settled. When he reached her, he lifted a hand—hesitated—and then rested it lightly at her hips.

She looked up at him. He was so close now that she could see the uneven rhythm of his breath, the faint scar that curved toward his temple, the thin line of tension in his throat.

Her hand rose before she’d even thought to stop it, fingers brushing the edge of his eyepatch.

“Don’t,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading.

“Please,” she whispered. “I wish to look upon my husband.”

He went still.

She slipped the patch free. The sapphire caught the light first—cold and brilliant—and then his other eye, pale and human, fixed on her with something between fear and reverence.

For the first time, she saw him completely.

Her breath caught. “You’re so beautiful,” she said softly, the words trembling out of her before she could think better of them.

Something in him faltered, the breath he’d been holding leaving all at once. His hand at her waist tightened, not rough but certain, as if the world had narrowed to this one touch.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in all of the Seven Kingdoms,” he said quietly, almost in disbelief.

Her cheeks flushed, heat rising until she couldn’t tell if it came from him or the fire behind them.

He leaned closer, slowly, giving her every chance to step away. She didn’t.

When his lips finally met hers, it was soft and unhurried—an answer to everything that had been left unsaid between them.

He was warm.
She was warm.

He drew her nearer, arms strong around her, and the room tilted slightly as her feet left the ground. She caught at his shoulders for balance, the laughter that escaped her half-breathless, half-disbelieving.

He lowered her carefully, the silk of her gown whispering against the coverlet, and leaned down once more, his forehead resting against hers.

“Aemond,” she breathed.

“I’m here,” he murmured.

Another kiss—slow, unhurried—until words stopped mattering altogether.

The candles burned low, the fire softened to embers, and somewhere in the hush that followed she realized that the fear was gone.

He moved his lips to her neck, kissing her skin like it provided him with air. Her eyes fluttered close and she bit down on her lip, enjoying every moment of it.

“Aemond..” She whispered.

She could feel her body becoming hotter. He noticed it too and decided he’d get undressed minus his briefs. As their lips returned to one another she felt him up against her. He was rock hard and long.. oh so long.

Only a few minutes in did he finally help her remove her gown, slowly and patiently. He was in no hurry. Her body was perfect in his eyes.

Beautiful, full breasts and pink nipples grown hard from the cold breeze coming from the window. Her skin was so soft he was addicted to feeling it. And how incredible was what she held in between her legs.

Pink, soft, and he was salivating to have it. Aemond licked his lips and looked back at her face.

“You really are the perfect woman, Aelianna.. “

She blushed and tucked her hair behind her ear, knees pink and raising up closer to his chest so he could look at it better.

He took that as an invitation. Aemond lowered himself to the heat radiating off her cunt and brought his warm mouth to it. She gasped in disbelief, her eyes widening as he moved his tongue up and down, as though getting to know her pussy by exploration.

It was a firey ten minutes. His tongue was inside of her, around her clit and keeping her on edge while his fingers did the rest. It was too good to stop but she didn’t want to finish this way.

No, it was her wedding night. She wanted to cum with her husband.

He pulled off his briefs and exposed his long, thick cock to her. It was pale and tip pink, wet and hungry to enter her encouraging pussy.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.” He said as he hovered over her.

She nodded quickly, eyes stuck on his as his hand reached down and looked for her entrance without breaking contact.

Once found, he guided his tip just outside and waited, giving her time to brace herself. Aelianna bit down on her lip as she stared at the beautiful silver haired boy above her.

She was so distracted by his beauty that when he entered her wet, pink pussy, she gasped loudly and clutched the sheets beside her. She blinked several times trying to get herself organized, but Aemond was far too lost in the absolute pleasure of her tight body.

“Oh.. seven hells.. “ He muttered as he did his first thrust, slow and shallow.

It was like she was engulfing him and he couldn’t escape. When she held her legs open wider for him, thats when he couldn’t hold back any longer.

His thrusts were sudden and deep, so deep she could feel him in her stomach. She gasped, whimpered, moaned, all the sounds she could make while he used her hole like it belonged to him alone - and now that they were married, it did.

“Yes Aemond! Yes!” She cried as he dug deep inside of her.

It only made him harder and he kept going, with more enthusiasm more want, more desperate need.

“Fuck.. fuck Aelianna.. you feel so good.”

She could say the same if she could get any words out. All she could do is hold her legs apart and whimper as he pounded her insides.

Sweat formed on his brow as it did on her chest, he was giving everything he had and she was allowing it without protest.

“I-i’m gonna cum, A-aemond.. “ She warned.

He shook his head and grabbed her face, kissing her sloppily.

“Hold it in for me my love… cum with me and I’ll give you a son.”

That statement only made her more turned on and it stung to hold back so much. But still she obeyed.

He continued to thrust deep, his hips colliding with hers and the sounds wet and hard rung throughout the room.

“Oh fuck.. fuck..”Aemond cursed.

She could see it forming in his face. He was so close.

“Please Aemond.. i need it.” She begged.

He groaned, the sound of her silky voice making his cock pulse inside of her.

“I’m going to give you my seed. I’m going to fu-fucking fill you up. Aelianna.”

She nodded quickly, her stomach twisting against her practically leaping out begging to finish.

“Please. I need it. I need your load Aemond.”

That was all he needed. With one final quick thrust, he slammed into her at once, the deepest he had been thus far and out came his hot cum. Rope after rope it filled her stomach and her orgasm came with it.

A mix of both of their juices sat inside her pink pussy that was now red.

Aemond trembled above her, small slow thrusts still going to make sure every last bit filled her up.

Aelianna could hardly breathe. She gasped, tried to catch her breath as the hot load was pouring into her: Sheheld her legs up to her chest and watched from the side how desperately he wanted her to have it all.

When he finally finished he leaned down, parted her trembling legs and kissed her romantically. It was love in that kiss, not lust.

He loved her.