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"Very early in my life
It was too late."
- Marguerite Duras, The Lover
Aemond perched on his chair at one end of the council table, directly opposite where Aegon would sit if he were not presently half scorched and laying abed.
The entire small council was present, sitting in stony silence while awaiting news of Aegon’s condition. Ser Criston, so newly appointed the Hand, was noticeably absent. Aemond’s good eye danced patiently between the council members and the King’s vacant seat.
Suddenly, Alicent stormed into the room. The planes of her face drawn, her permanent frown pulled even lower into deep angles that puckered her lips.
One council member stood upon her entrance and broke the tense silence, “Does the King yet live?”
Alicent stopped near the empty king’s chair, pausing to place a hand atop the back. She did not pull it out for herself to sit upon, but her face trembled with her reply.
“For now.”
His mother fixed on him a cold, steady stare.
Aemond’s legs tensed beneath the table. So, Ser Criston had been busy upon their return. Already running to Alicent. Well, Aemond was not overly concerned with their retribution. They needed him. If Aegon did not survive, he was one of two remaining male heirs who could claim the throne and Daeron had not been raised at court in preparation for wearing the crown. Aemond was safe for now.
And, truly, his actions had been for the good of the realm. Surely his mother saw that.
Otto Hightower walked briskly into the room. “For now, I suggest the small council adjourn so that we may all pray for the King’s swift recovery.”
Aemond raised his eyebrow at his grandsire.
When the room was clear, Otto turned the full force of his focus on Aemond.
“Boy!” He hit his hand against the table so hard, a goblet fell and broke against the floor, “I see your willfulness and your machinations, they do not go unnoticed!"
The corners of Aemond’s lips turned up. “Do you, grandsire?”
Otto glared, pointing a finger at Aemond’s chest. “Upon Aegon’s death, for he most assuredly will die, you will wed your sister and produce more heirs.”
Aemond frowned. It should not have surprised him that Otto’s primary focus might be that of securing his own blood to the throne, but Aemond did not think it the most pressing matter of the day. He’d given no thought to the succession beyond his own immediate securing of the crown. And though he had no objection to Helaena as a wife, gentle soul that she was, his thoughts jumped to Jaehaera’s sixth finger and the too long sleeves and frills attempted to conceal it with. Alicent was always using wet mud to form bricks.
“No,” Aemond stood up to his full height, “Let Helaena finally have peace. Away from the public eye. I will not have her as my queen.”
His mother looked almost relieved, looking quickly to her father for his reaction.
After a brief staring contest, Otto blew hot air out through his teeth. “As you may soon be the only competent heir we have, I will not fight you on this.”
“I’ve always been the only competent heir you had.”
Otto glared fiercely across the table at Aemond, “But only a Hightower will do. None of the other houses can be trusted.”
“Hmm,” Aemond’s lip curled at Otto’s belligerence, “We did already promise my hand to a daughter of Lord Baratheon’s. I have no attachment to the union, but I question the wisdom of insulting a much-needed ally when we are still at war with my sister.”
“Let me worry about wisdom, boy.” Otto scoffed, “I will not have one of Borros Baratheon’s whelps bearing the future heir.”
Alicent heaved a weary sigh, hands falling to her waist whilst her round eyes looked to the ceiling for deliverance.
Aemond’s lips quirked at his grandsire, “But the daughter was perfectly acceptable before?”
“To wife a mere second son?” Otto glared at his grandson, “Yes.”
A familiar flare of shame burned down Aemond’s spine. Once again he was reminded that his worth to those who lorded over this family was based merely on what he could do for them in any given moment. Any sense of worth was ephemeral as his usefulness came and went. He stared hard into the unfeeling eyes of Otto Hightower.
Hatred flashed through his mind just then and he envisioned drawing his sword. He could see in his mind’s eye cutting down this man who had never done a damn thing for him. But Aemond was not one to be ruled by his emotions. He swallowed away the hate, tamping it far down. For now.
His fists were still clenched at his side, however, and Alicent’s eyes darted fearfully from them to her father.
Aemond would not play by their rules. Yes, it was his own will and machinations that had brought him thus far. Only he could claim ownership over his rise. Scholar of the Tower. Master of the Sword. Rider of Vhagar. And now, on the precipice of being King.
He smirked. “Move your pawns about as you see fit, grandsire. I care not which whore I bed,” he glanced cruelly at his mother, “A king in waiting has far more important matters to attend.”
He glared at Otto one last time before turning towards the door and exiting the council chamber. He strode briskly through the corridors, willing the shame that lingered in his spine to ebb away with each stomp of his boots. He could feel a malaise oncoming if he wasn’t careful and it couldn’t be soothed the way he’d like. It wouldn’t be prudent to visit the brothel just now. Only a visit to Vhagar would do.
As he strode through the entry hall, a page entered through the great door, “My prince! A raven has just arrived, an orange scroll edge!”
This meant urgent news to be taken straight to the crown.
“The King is indisposed. Resting from our glorious victory,” Aemond murmured, holding out his hand.
The page hesitated, “Should not then the Queen or the Hand – “
Aemond cut him off, “Hand it over.”
“Yes, your grace, only it is sensitive information and I fear punishment if…”
He ripped it from his fingers before he could finish, unraveling the scroll.
His eye flew across it, widening. Sensitive indeed.
Could he be so fortunate as to intercept this message by happenstance? No, the Gods smiled on a bold second son it seemed.
He faced the page, standing to his full height and looking down his nose, “I shall see that the King receives the information he needs. Tell no one of this, or he shall have your head.”
The boy blanched before bowing his head and scurrying away.
Well, Rhaenyra certainly played fast and loose with her spawn. If she dared believe her whelps couldn’t be reached in the Vale, she was sorely mistaken. All to his advantage then. A smile broke upon his face, as true delight crept up through his chest.
He was about to secure not only his House’s claim to the throne, but his line’s successive access to dragons as well. For his sister had left not only her youngest children vulnerable, but something else far more valuable… dragon eggs. Grinning, he continued on to the dragonpit at a much faster pace.
The Vale was not as she remembered.
The beauty was achingly familiar. Deep green valleys, sparkling blue streams, a bright morning fog which floated over all before rising to the heavens after breakfast.
And yet it did not feel the same.
Rhaena was safe in a tower while her sister fought in battle. How was her ability, her strength and value, measured so vastly differently than Baela’s? All because she lacked a dragon? Surely not. Their characters varied greatly, Rhaena knew, but did that make her spineless?
After arriving in the Vale, Rhaena had taken to her tasks dutifully. The children were to be educated and trained, as Rhaenyra had directed. She coordinated with Lady Jeyne Arryn upon their arrival to secure the best maesters in all subjects. Quickly a daily routine was established which they all plunged headfirst into. The better to ignore what they were away from.
Joffrey received daily tutelage in the histories, languages, and the sword. The little ones had lessons in letters and numbers, as well as flora and fauna identification. Rhaena made sure their lessons were brief, as this was all their youthful patience could presently tolerate. Rhaena did encourage learning into their play as often as possible, but it made her most happy to see their carefree smiles at ease with joyous play.
Her own studies she did not wish to halt, and so despite her near constant watch over the children, the dragons, and the eggs, she made herself very familiar with Lady Jeyne’s extensive library. In fact, she had brought so very many books into the nursery from which to read while the younglings played, that Lady Jeyne felt the need to install full bookshelves along two of the four walls. Rhaena thanked her profusely, apologizing bashfully for the stacks of books littering every table of the children’s nursery.
“It is no trouble, I assure you,” Lady Jeyne smiled, a thin older booklet catching her eye, “Oh! Ancient Rituals of the Blood Rider? You must be quite proficient in High Valyrian, my dear. I wager that book hasn’t been opened in half a century.”
A small smile curved Rhaena’s lips, “I did encounter a unique smell amidst the pages, my lady.”
“Indeed?” She turned a steady eye on Rhaena, “I know you are safekeeping those eggs, but have you not considered bonding with a more mature dragon? In these times, especially, it would be of great advantage to have a battle tested beast.”
Rhaena hesitated before nodding softly.
She had in fact given great thought to claiming a mature dragon. Ever since that brute Aemond had claimed her mother’s dragon, she’d been forced to consider claiming another. She often wondered what if Aemond had not the opportunity to claim Vhagar? If her mother hadn’t died, which dragon would he have presented himself to instead? Surely whichever he considered to be the most powerful and dangerous. Rhaena was not sure which of the riderless dragons could be boasted of thusly, and she had feared broaching the topic with her father.
Over the years, Daemon had made it quite clear there were riderless dragons to claim. Why, not long ago her father made a show of announcing which were freely roaming. Although he spoke to the room, somehow his eyes pierced hers, and she knew his words were meant to spur her. Many a night she lay awake, tempting herself to steal away to their roaming grounds.
But she was afraid. Those great dragons, she knew they would find her unworthy. Just as Silverwing and Vermithor had. Just as her father, grandmere, and everyone else did. If she presented herself before them it would mean almost certain death. For how could she meet their expectations? She, who no mortal thought worthy or capable. She saw it in the glint of her father’s eyes on the rare occasion he acknowledged her. She saw it in Corlys’ flat expression when her grandmere hinted Rhaena should now be the rightful heir to Driftmark. Her grandsire hadn’t met her eye that night and quickly changed the subject.
Even grandmere Rhaenys, a dependable champion to her bloodline, did not favor Rhaena. It was Baela she had taken underwing, who she looked on with pride. Baela was all fire and boldness to Rhaena’s quiet timidity. Not traits favored by House Targaryen.
Rhaena thought finally her stepmother saw her. Recognized value in her beyond a meek, dragonless rider. She had hoped Rhaenyra recognized her resolve and quiet strength of character. Rhaenyra once told her Targaryens favored those of action. Boldness and brash outbursts were rewarded, while quiet fortitude was not. But, her stepmother explained, Rhaenyra’s own mother taught her the importance of strength of mind and how a steadfast character held the threads of family, house and realm together far more than any violent acts of boldness. An even keel kept the ship afloat.
This stepmother who held her close, taught her, and dressed Rhaena in her own clothes. Surely, she saw the true her and embraced it?
But no. After all it was her stepmother who sent her away. Rhaena was of no further value in the rage of war and battle. She agreed the younglings were most precious and deserving of safe refuge and stewardship, but the truth is… Rhaena easily could have escorted them to the Vale, into the safe embrace of Lady Jeyne, and then returned to Dragonstone to help with the rest of the family. But none of them wanted that. No one fought for her to stay. Not even Baela.
“Rae!” Little Aegon wobbled on his feet towards Rhaena, showing her the wooden dragon he whooshed through the air. She laughed and joined him to play. Since she had no dragon of her own, she might as well pretend with the younglings.
Soon, she left them to their nursemaids and went to check on Joffrey in the training court. She leaned against a wall, watching him parry his wooden sword at the straw dummy. He smiled when their eyes met and she waved, glad to see him taking to his instruction so well.
Above the training court, in the far distance beyond the castle walls, a dark winged creature flew nearer.
Aemond landed Vhagar high in the adjacent mountains, upon a cliff overlooking Arryn castle.
He’d never been to this particular keep but determined it would be best to wait for total darkness to avoid detection. The design was admirable. It was quite strategically built atop steep cliffs with deep valleys below. In the day light, he could discern a robust number of guards and footmen stationed along the walls and at the gate. He’d loathe to lead an army against it from the ground.
When the blackness of night finally descended a dense fog had formed around the keep, making it surprisingly easy for Vhagar to fly into the valley below unnoticed. They landed at the edge of an open field where several deer had been grazing. They scattered in alarm as Vhagar descended and she was quick to chomp down on a doe.
After bidding Vhagar stay hidden near the forest, Aemond tossed the hood of his cloak up and headed for the base of the keep. There were often concealed passages at the bases of such a castle and he intended to break in thusly.
He moved swiftly and when he arrived at the stone base to the keep, he crept along the perimeter carefully searching. Aemond had walked along one whole side without any success when he turned the cornerstone and came to an abrupt stop.
In the distance, a figure holding a single yellow lantern moved along a trail through the forest. They were walking towards the keep. If he could avoid being spotted and follow who was likely a servant or messenger of some sort, they would lead him to the point of entry. Aemond started moving quietly towards the lantern, wary of being detected. He ducked low through the brush and drew closer towards the light.
As he got nearer, he began to discern more of the figure. The soft yellow light of the lantern reflected off long braids of silver white. With a jolt, he realized this could only be Rhaena. Lady Rhaena who by all accounts was soft spoken and the only calm, rational member of her family. Almost no combat training.
How fortuitous that he should find her alone in the forest. Aemond smiled, for this was becoming almost too easy. He would simply subdue her and force her to lead him to her charges. He sunk into the shadows and followed behind as she swiftly walked back towards the keep.
Tyraxes and Stormcloud had been oddly ill at ease that day.
Normally she visited their cozy glen only once a day in the afternoon, but during her visit today it had been clear something was wrong. Stormcloud kept looking up to the mountain tops, releasing a low hissing wail. Tyraxes continued taking to the air, flying in small circles less than twenty feet above ground before landing again. They snapped moodily at each other during their dinner. Rhaena tried her best to soothe them, but after scanning the sky and mountains, found nothing to explain their agitation.
Long after dark, after all the children had been put to sleep, Rhaena was compelled to check on them once more. To make sure everything was ok.
It was not. Tyraxes and Stormcloud had completely hidden themselves and gone silent. For the longest time she couldn’t find them at all, but eventually realized they had dug burrows in an earthy slope near a giant oak. Little dens with ferns overhanging their openings. Both dragons were mute and would not come out to greet her.
They were frightened, but of what? Rhaena couldn’t decipher and her nerves were set on edge. Once again she surveyed the skies and mountain tops, but not much could be seen beyond the dense fog. She left the dragons in their dens and decided she would alert Lady Jeyne at once. Rhaena trusted the instinct of a dragon. And it was better to be vigilant, just in case.
Through the woods, her trepidation began to grow. A heavy weight of awareness settled on her chest, like from that of being watched. She glanced hesitantly at the dense growth of forest, regretting her choice to come out here alone. As she neared the keep, she heard a branch behind her snap. Heart leaping in her chest, Rhaena whirled around, holding the lantern aloft.
“H-Hello?” She called out.
Slowly, long dark limbs formed before eyes. Emerging from the shadows like a phantom, the tall figure of Aemond Targaryen appeared, his trademark smirk curling across his lips. Rhaena gasped as an icy wave of horror washed over her.
She almost fell backwards, a scream tearing up her throat. With a swiftness she did not anticipate, Aemond closed in on her and clamped one hand over her mouth. He snatched her wrist in a firm grip, twisting it roughly behind her back. The angle wrenched her shoulder in a burning pull causing Rhaena to yelp painfully against his hand.
“Cousin.” Aemond spoke in a cold drawl over her shoulder.
The hard seams of his leathers bit through the fabric of her cloak as she attempted to shove him back.
“Your gentle struggles are quite amusing,” Aemond laughed low, his eye dancing down at her.
Rhaena remembered his particular brand of condescending arrogance with rising anger. She recalled how he insulted Jace and Luke at that last family supper at the Red Keep, before King Viserys met his death. How he’d glanced across the table at her with pursed lips and bright vengeful eyes. He possessed a callous entitlement to carry out his own selfish will, coupled with the discipline and boldness needed to carry it out. Gods, how she hated him.
“We lack for time,” Aemond whispered, settling a dagger near her throat, “If you scream, I will kill you and take my sweet time slicing apart your younger brothers.”
Her eyes widened fearfully. Aemond had proven over and over again how cold-blooded he could be and his threats were not empty. She nodded reluctantly in acquiescence.
Slowly, he removed his hand from her mouth. When she showed no signs of screaming, he nodded. “Now, show me to the dragon eggs.”
Rhaena froze, thoughts racing as she attempted to gauge his sincerity. “You’ve come all this way… solely for the eggs?”
He tsked, “And perhaps to slit the throats of two or three rivals to the throne.”
“You bastard,” Rhaena stomped down with all her might, digging her heel into his boot.
Aemond hissed, kicking her leg away, “My parentage is quite legitimate, thank you. Unlike your ill-fated betrothed.”
With a cry, she twisted and dropped her weight, forcing his hold loose enough that she could turn around and face him. She swung her hand back and slapped him hard across the cheek, the vigor of it smacking his head to the side and the sound loud in the quiet of the night.
He went stock-still. With surprise or fury, she wasn’t sure, but Rhaena swallowed. His cheek burned red where she'd hit him.
After flexing his jaw, Aemond snarled and shoved her roughly against the stone wall of the keep. When he had her restrained once more, he sneered down his nose at her.
“You really haven’t changed much after all these years, have you? Still haven’t claimed a dragon, still can’t stop me from doing what I want.”
Rhaena’s lips twisted in anger, “You haven’t changed much either! Still taking what isn’t yours, still so jealous and bitter you’re only the second son.”
His eye widened and twitched. This was not the retreating maiden he’d received reports of, not the gentle ladylike manners he’d been expecting. But, really, he should have known better. No daughter of Daemon Targaryen would act a wilting rose.
He looked down on her rageful face, her eyes brightly focused on him and an angry pink coloring her cheeks. And, to his surprise, a feeling of pleasure spread up his chest.
Finally, he thought. Finally proof of her dragon’s blood. Proof that a rider lived in her bones, the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Laena Velaryon. It shone through fiercely just then. Her eyes held fury and blood. He felt as though she might open her mouth to unleash a mighty plume of flame, consuming him whole.
Something deep within him, some buried part of his blood and soul, thrummed with satisfaction. His pulse raced and his lips parted from the powerful feeling coursing over him. His eyes darted from her bright glare, to her lips, down to her chest where the neck of her dress had slipped in her struggles. He could not recall being this conquered by feeling since he presented himself to Vhagar.
Aemond wanted her.
He wanted to dip his head and lick a line straight up her neck. He wanted to bite into her shoulder hard enough to break skin. He wanted to pull her skirts up and bury himself deep within her. His breathing grew quick and ragged upon the thought, heat pooling low in his ribs. Dazedly, he blinked.
Never before had he felt such intense desire. He’d been aroused before of course, but never had he fallen victim to it this quickly or intensely. It disturbed him.
He glanced away from her, away from her lips. He tried to reason through the onslaught of heedless thoughts. Surely, this was some result of their shared dragons blood calling out to each other and nothing else.
But it was difficult to reason with this ache coiling hot and quick in his gut. He felt the stirring below and knew if he didn’t back away from her soon, she would as well. He swallowed raggedly, calling on his willpower.
As he stared upon her, collecting himself, several things shifted and locked into place within his mind.
He needed a wife. Otto and Alicent had demanded as much from him before his departure from King’s Landing. There could be no more suitable wife than Lady Rhaena, presently glaring up at him with furrowed brow. She was the granddaughter of Lady Rhaenys, the queen who never was, and daughter of the Rogue Prince. Any heir Aemond produced with her would be the clear and undisputed successor to the throne.
He decided in that moment he would bring her back to King’s Landing and take her to wife. With resolve, he abruptly released Rhaena and stepped back before she became any the wiser to his state.
“New plan,” he hovered as she pushed herself from the wall, “Come with me.”
Rhaena eyed him warily and found the courage to lift her chin in defiance, “No.”
“No?” Aemond brought the dagger up to her throat once more, “Do as I say or I will drain every last drop of blood from Rhaenyra’s bastards and force you to watch.”
Rhaena glowered at him, but realized she had no recourse here. Clearly, she couldn’t fight him off. The only play she maybe had was to scream and hope the echo would reach the soldiers posted along the high wall. Putting the keep on alert would keep the younglings safe at least, but surely he’d kill her and still have plenty of time to escape on Vhagar.
After a moment of her silently glaring, he wrapped a tight hand around her arm and began pulling her into the woods. Luckily, in the opposite direction from the glen Tyraxes and Stormcloud occupied.
They trudged awkwardly through the trees, her trying to keep pace with him but still reluctant to fully cooperate. She’d dropped her lantern back by the keep and now could barely see. Aemond was forcing them through the darkest, densest parts of the forest and she kept tripping.
When she nearly fell head first over a log, he used his hold on her arm to haul her back up tightly to his side. Rhaena winced away, but he paused.
Something in her skirts had knocked pointedly against the side of his leg. It couldn’t be a weapon, he reasoned, surely she would have pulled it on him by now.
“What is this?” He reached down and tapped at the object through the layers of skirt fabric.
“It’s just a book, you brute,” Rhaena glared.
Aemond’s fingers dug sharply into her arm, “Show me.”
With gritted teeth, she reached down into her pocket and pulled out the same leather-bound book to have captured Lady Jeyne’s attention earlier.
He immediately snatched it out of her hand and she scowled.
His eye flashed over the title, “Interesting. Not many books exist on such a subject.”
Aemond shot her an assessing look, before slipping the book into his own cloak. “As I am a dragon rider and you are dragon-less, I shall have far greater use for this.”
Her cheeks reddened at the reminder that she had yet to become a rider. A reminder she especially resented receiving from the man who'd usurped her chances with her late mother's dragon.
Furious and outraged to have her book taken of all things, she spat at him. In the heat of the moment she’d aimed at his face, but it fell flatly against his chest.
He looked down his front wryly, “I thought my cousin was a lady, but instead I find it's a heathen I’ve captured. Am I to suffer endlessly by your hand this evening?”
Rhaena gaped at him, lightly scandalized. He would deign to suggest she was causing him suffrage while he manhandled her about the Vale?
Aemond looked over at her, eye dancing with bemusement. Her lips dropped into a frown and she glared sullenly as he broke into a smirk, pulling her along once more.
Rhaena’s irritation reached new heights in the face of his smugness. She scowled openly at him.
“Where are you taking me?”
“Where do you think, cousin?” He pulled her close and spoke in her ear, “Wouldn’t you like to be back in the eye of the storm?”
She raised her eyebrows. “You’re taking me to King’s Landing?”
He didn’t respond but continued pulling her along.
“But, why?”
He remained quiet. Only quickening his pace as she struggled to keep up.
Surely, she was going to die. This was Aemond. Who had killed sweet Luke, as well as her strong grandmere, and countless others. Maybe he was planning to set her afire in the middle of the King's Landing courtyard as an act of vengeance against her stepmother and father.
Eventually they met the edge of the dark forest and walked out into an open field. Aemond led them into the clearing towards a large sloping rock on the other side. The fog still blocked most of the moon and starlight, but it was much brighter in the field than it had been in the wood.
As her eyes adjusted to the light, it quickly became clear it was not a rock at all, but Vhagar. Her eyes widened, for Rhaena hadn't seen Vhagar since before the night Aemond had claimed her. Her mother's dragon was even larger and more magnificent and frightening than she remembered.
They drew near and Aemond pushed Rhaena towards Vhagar, who raised her head and sniffed.
Rhaena met Vhagar’s large heavy stare and her mind flashed to her mother. The last time Rhaena had been this close, she'd been held and hugged before Laena mounted Vhagar’s back with a grin and flew off joyously into the sun. Rhaena stared into Vhagar’s eyes and choked.
Aemond paused briefly to observe this exchange, but then wrenched her arm and the memory of her mother quickly faded. He began pulling her over to the ropes of the riding harness, shoving her roughly against them. “Climb.”
Rhaena looked doubtfully up the steep wall of Vhagar’s ribs, stepping backwards into Aemond's chest. She twisted around, shaking her head.
“I said climb. We have far to go if we are going to make it back to King’s Landing before dawn.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” She hissed, “Why take me! To what end? If you’re planning to publicly execute me to draw my father out, I promise you it won’t work.”
This gave Aemond pause. He was planning no such thing of course, but it was curious she thought Daemon cared so little for her. None of his spies had reported as such.
He raised his eyebrow, “Your father would not care if you were executed?”
“I did not say that.”
He leaned over her, “Because you don’t have a dragon?”
She gritted her teeth, gaze flitting away towards the dark woods.
“You may only be a dragonless second daughter,” he loomed closer, dipping his face low to hers, “But I’m a mere second son and look what I’ve become. We can be more if we choose to be.”
“What you’ve become?” She swung her gaze back up to him, her temper grating at his arrogance. Luke, grandmere… Rhaena narrowed her eyes.
“You are nothing but a kinslayer!”
Aemond’s eye narrowed and he pushed roughly into her, his weight crushing her against the side of Vhagar, hands tightening around her wrists and stilling her movements.
“Kinslayer, hm?” Aemond snarled, “And I intend to kill yet more kin. Would you like to be next? Or,” he inclined his head towards the castle, “… perhaps my dear nephews instead?”
“No!” Rhaena cried out, longing to strike him again but unable to wrench an arm free.
“Then be still and mind your tongue,” he spoke lowly in her ear.
Rhaena’s anger flared but she willed herself to stillness, her arms falling limp in his hold. Her ragged breathing pushed her chest against his and she glared up at him with all the hatred she could muster.
Aemond stared down at her angry face, lips tight. “Our great house must unite once more.”
What? Rhaena eyed him in bewilderment.
“As I see it," his fingers dug into her wrists, "there are three heads that must be appeased, or at the very least given proper incentive to stay their hand. Then perhaps we can all return to some semblance of peace.”
She frowned at him warily, “What do you plan, Aemond?”
“Guess, gentle cousin,” Aemond smirked, “A strategic person can acknowledge that both Dragonstone and Driftmark must be appeased in order to secure the Targaryen crown.”
He yanked both her arms forward in one iron grip. His other hand moved up towards her face and she jerked her head back, wincing when the back of her head hit the thick unyielding hide of Vhagar.
Aemond gripped her chin, “Rhaenyra is the most legitimate threat, Daemon the most volatile, and Corlys could incapacitate commerce throughout the realm should he so choose. Now,” his voice grew softer, as if trying to calm and threaten her all at once, “What say you might stay the hand of all three?”
Rhaena stared up at him in surprise, immediately comprehending his implication but disagreeing with his conclusion.
Was this his great plan? If so, it was almost a relief. For Rhaena knew it wasn’t feasible. Her father, stepmother, and grandsire had made it perfectly clear how little consequence Rhaena bore in the great scheme of things. Holding her hostage would have no effect on the outcome of the war.
Feeling relieved with this knowledge, she relaxed against his hold and released a deep exhale.
Aemond’s eyebrow arched down at her in confusion.
“If… if I come willingly,” Rhaena swallowed, “Do you swear an oath to let the younglings live?”
Aemond watched her carefully, eye glittering, “Hmm.” He pursed his lips, “No, I won’t swear to anything so vague.”
Rhaena frowned.
“But,” his gaze was steady on hers, “I will swear an oath not to harm them whilst they remain in the Vale.”
She stared hard at him, contemplating his words.
“A generous offer,” Aemond smirked, “Considering I’m under no obligation to make one.”
Rhaena bit her lip and his eye tracked the movement.
“Swear you won’t send anyone else to steal them away or to harm them. Swear on… on your father’s grave.”
“I’ll do you one better, cousin," he wet his lips, "I swear it on Vhagar.”
Oh. Rhaena’s brow rose. That was certainly better than swearing it on Viserys. She doubted Aemond cared for anything more than he did Vhagar.
She turned towards Vhagar’s head, hoping to meet her eye once more, but the dragon had settled back down in the grasses and all Rhaena could see was the back of her neck.
Rhaena swallowed a cold wash of air.
“On your oath,” she closed her eyes briefly and sucked in another deep breath before meeting his eye, “I agree to come willingly with you to King’s Landing.”
Aemond grinned.
Vhagar was magnificent.
She tore through the air at a steady pace, her wings slicing through the clouds and beating against the bright stars of the night.
All dragons were a blessing to the world, it was true, but Vhagar was a queen among them. Her expansive wingspan, her ancient fire and power. The old giant was a shrine to the earthly mountains she soared over.
It was highly unfortunate, however, that Rhaena’s first time riding upon Vhagar was with Aemond Targaryen.
He’d forced her into the front of the saddle and tucked himself in close behind her, wrapping his arms around to hold the reins. She bristled at his nearness, how his chest pressed against her back and his legs tightly enveloped her own, but there was no way to avoid it in the saddle.
When they first ascended, Rhaena was too awed to speak and instead gave her full attention to the dragon’s flight. She thanked the Gods Aemond had enough sense to stay silent.
The air was an icy chill whipping against her face and through her braids. However, a heat permeated through Vhagar, as well as Aemond if she dared to admit, which kept her warm. At some point along the flight, her head nodded off and she found herself slipping into sleep.
Some time later, she awoke with a jolt to the sudden sense of falling. Rhaena startled, gripping the front of the saddle but found she was still safely atop Vhagar. The dragon had merely cleared the highest mountains and was descending lower over the foothills. In the distance, she saw the sea.
As Rhaena’s nerves settled, she realized with alarm that Aemond had wound an arm tightly across her stomach.
“Let go,” she pushed against him.
Aemond’s fingers dug into her waist, “And let you fall, cousin? Never.”
Frowning, she made a fist and brought it down hard on his forearm with all her might. Sadly, all this accomplished was punching his arm further into her belly, making her gasp for air and pushing an oof out her throat.
Aemond burst with laughter.
Rhaena had never in her life heard him laugh so freely, except for maybe the time after he’d roughly kicked Jace across the floor at that dinner. She blushed, giving up her struggle to move his arm and instead glaring at the dark water of the approaching sea.
His laughter subsided into a grin and he wiped at the corner of his eye, “You are in dire need of training if you’ll have any hope of surviving King’s Landing.”
Steadying her breath, she shot a confused glance at him over her shoulder. Did his plan to hold her hostage take into consideration her survival? That… surprised her.
Now that they were further from the Vale and her brothers’ safety was more or less secure, Rhaena let herself relax infinitesimally.
She could rest easy knowing she had brought no harm to her family this night. She had been a dutiful daughter and sister. She’d allowed herself to become a captive of the enemy, but as she held no power or position, it really mattered not.
Aemond wasn’t the mastermind he liked to think. He’d taken her hostage but would gain nothing for it. Happy to turnabout his gleeful mood, she glanced at him smugly.
“What?” he raised an eyebrow.
She smiled over her shoulder at him. “You are as daft as you are bloodthirsty.”
His good eyebrow arched with interest, a smirk still curling around his lips, “Do pray tell, gentle cousin.”
“Do I appear of great value to the Queen? Shipped away to play nursemaid? My father ignores me. My grandsire refuses to consider me heir to Driftmark.”
Aemond pursed his lips, considering her words.
“You may hold me hostage to your heart’s content, but they shall not be moved nor stilled.”
He now stared at her with a furrowed brow, his good eye darting over her face in quiet assessment. Slowly, his lips ticked up.
“Ah, but you see cousin, I don’t intend to merely hold you hostage.”
Rhaena narrowed her eyes in confusion.
His eye gleamed and his arm tightened across her waist. “I intend to take you to wife.”
An icy wave of dread seeped through her. He could not be serious. She watched him in growing horror, waiting for him to laugh or croon, for he must be jesting. But his expression did not faulter.
“No.” Reeling, Rhaena shook her head jerkily, numbly processing this confusing information.
Aemond delighted in her distress, murmuring in her ear. “Never fear cousin, I promise to always ignore you,” he smirked, “Unless I’m very drunk.”
Rhaena recoiled, remembering poor Helaena’s sad toast at the supper six years ago. How could he lark about such a thing?
A steely determination rose up her spine. She refused to marry Aemond. She hated him with every fiber of her being. Rhaena would not accept this fate.
With as little movement as possible, she glanced all around her. The section of harness directly in front of her had two secures within her reach. His dagger was sheathed at his waist, but it was beneath the arm which held the reins.
She looked below them. Vhagar had surpassed the mainland and was now flying low over the sea, nearing an archipelago of small islands off the coast. Dragons could not land in water, so perhaps if she timed it just right…
Rhaena formulated a plan hesitantly, knowing Aemond would not be easily outmaneuvered.
“At a loss for words?” His arm flexed along her stomach. “You have plenty of time to grow accustomed to your new betrothal before we arrive at King’s Landing.”
Rhaena swallowed, grasping at something to say, “Are they expecting us?”
Aemond fell silent.
“No?” Thinning her lips, she glanced over her shoulder at him, moving her hand quietly toward the ties. “You didn’t receive approval for this did you? For betrothing yourself to me.”
For the first time in hours, he was not smirking or taunting her. His expression grew stern but he said nothing.
Rhaena shook her head. “They’ll never allow it. Your grandsire, in particular. His hatred for my father is well known.”
He looked away from her, gritting his jaw.
“They’ll likely have me killed when you’re away at battle with Vhagar.” Rhaena cleared her throat, hoping to sound pragmatic, “Aren’t you the primary force of their war campaign?”
Her logic must be sound, because Aemond provided no rebuttal. His arm slackened and from the corner of her eye he appeared to be glaring out across the water.
One of the islands was near and Vhagar banked to her side. It was now or never. Rhaena reached for the ties she’d loosened, pulling them clean apart. With the front harness ties undone and Vhagar banking hard to her right, the harness shifted and sunk to one side.
Then Rhaena threw her head back hard into Aemond, praying the hit landed squarely to his nose. She heard a sharp grunt and didn’t dare look back to check, but she no longer felt him behind her.
Without hesitating, she threw herself off the side of Vhagar and headfirst into the sea.
Rhaena plunged into ice cold waters.
The initial submersion was a deathly shock, but she kicked her legs and arms until her head broke above the surface. Gasping against the waves, Rhaena strained to look above her for Aemond but all she could make out was Vhagar flying low some distance away.
Trembling, she turned in the water until she could make out the island. Blessedly, it didn’t appear too far. She began swimming with all her might towards the beach.
As she swam, the surface of her skin prickled with numbness. Her heavy cloak was bogged down with water and pulling tightly across her neck, so she was forced to unclasp it and relinquish it to the sea.
After swimming what felt like an hour, it was with great relief that her feet finally touched sand and she was able to stand. Completely drenched and exhausted, she pulled herself from the sea and collapsed in a wet heap against the shore.
Rhaena allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. She looked back out across the water for Vhagar, but saw nothing.
Rhaena sighed.
It wasn’t like Aemond to give up easily, but she was free of him for now at least. Perhaps she’d hit him hard enough that he fell unconscious into the sea and drowned? She could only wish for such a blessing.
Oh. If that were the case, perhaps… perhaps Vhagar would be free to claim. Rhaena’s heart skipped a beat. She sat up on the beach in contemplation, pulling her wet boots off and setting them aside.
What could she do now? The island was too small for a settlement, no one seemed to be here. She had no way of calling for help. Obviously, she could not start a fire and bring attention to her location in case Aemond was still near.
She needed shelter until daybreak. With shaky arms, Rhaena pushed herself up from the sand.
The black and scarlet dress hung heavily from her shoulders, dripping water. With one more hesitant glance at the sea and skies, she tugged the ties of her dress loose and stepped out of it. It was a sopping mess and she set it carefully over the side of a boulder to dry. She also pulled her stockings off, which were torn and covered in sand and seaweed.
Her shift, slip, and small clothes were also soaked through from her unexpected swim, but she didn’t dare remove them until she’d found a private place to shelter for the night.
Rhaena looked up and down the beach, assessing the sharp stone cliff and outcroppings. A hundred feet or so along the shore, there was an odd shadow at the toe of the cliff which she prayed be a cave.
She walked over the sand towards it, the occasional rock or shell biting into the soles of her feet. A cold wind blew her braids as she drew near the outcropping and reached the shadow. She tentatively reached her hand out but was met with solid rock. The shadow concealed nothing but more wall of cliff.
Suddenly, she heard an angry roar from down the beach and quickly threw herself into the rocky shadow just as Aemond turned a corner and came into view.
He looked slightly deranged.
Blood streamed down the lower half of his face, his teeth were bared, and his good eye was wide with rage. He stalked down the beach with an intense focus, pale hair whipping as he turned his head in search of her.
He didn’t know with certainty that she’d made it ashore, Rhaena thought. A flare of hope rushed through her. Perhaps he would think she’d drowned and then he would leave. Rhaena tucked herself deeper against the shadows of the outcropping, hoping he didn’t see her.
But his movements came to an abrupt halt, right next to a large rock. The boulder she’d laid her dress upon.
Rhaena swore. Of course, he’d found her clothes.
Aemond spat at the ground, breathing hard. He yelled, “Oh cousin! Sweet, gentle Rhaena! I know you’re here…”
He would kill her now. She was sure of it.
Rhaena felt terror at the sight of him stalking ragefully down the beach towards her, but also exhaustion. In the back of her mind an alarm bell was going off but she was too tired to heed it. She spotted a sharply edged cobble near her feet and picked it up. There was no use hiding, he’d find her soon. She would meet the danger head on.
Rhaena raised her chin and stepped out from the shadow. Aemond came to a sudden stop as she revealed herself, eyeing her ferally.
“You swim well, cousin.” He glanced at the rock in her hand.
“Does that surprise you? Did you forget Corlys Velaryon is my grandsire?” Rhaena sneered, stepping forward.
“I did. He often fails to acknowledge you exist,” He snarled, the blood on his chin cracking, “I may be a kinslayer but you, Lady Rhaena, are an oathbreaker!” He shouted from across the beach. “Shall I fly back to the Vale now and claim your brother’s heads?”
“The terms were false!” she yelled, “You hadn’t revealed your true plans, you wretched snake.”
Aemond glowered. “I admit I had you marked as the intelligent sister, not the foolhardy one.”
“Foolhardy?” Her eyebrows shot up, “What did you expect? That I would happily agree to wed you?”
His lips twisted bitterly.
Suddenly, he ran at her. Rhaena stepped backwards and as he neared, raised her rock up and threw it at his head. Unfortunately, he ducked and it only grazed his shoulder.
He grabbed her arms and shoved her against the cliff. The stone hit sharply against her spine and she yelped.
Aemond glared down at her. “If you ever throw yourself off Vhagar again, I’ll – ”
“You’ll what! Kill me?” Rhaena glowered.
He narrowed his eyes. “I’ll kill your siblings, starting with your sister.”
“You couldn’t kill Baela.” Her jaw clenched.
He laughed darkly, “You think your sister more formidable in a dragon fight than your grandmother?”
Rhaena stared violently up at him. A frenzy of wrath worked its way up through her body.
With every ounce of strength she had remaining, she pushed away from the cliff, enough to shift them both clumsily forward just an inch or two. It forced Aemond, eye widening in surprise, to step backward and rebalance himself. Using the tiny bit of space that created, she grabbed his shoulders and drove the point of her knee as hard as she could into his manhood.
Aemond let out a high-pitched grunt, his hands flailing in the air where they had risen to grasp her arms again. Rhaena at once shoved him away and he fell backwards onto the firm sand and rocks. She turned and ran as fast as she could, his pained gasping ringing in her ears.
Rhaena ran back down the beach thoughtlessly. She had barely made it to the boulder when Aemond crashed against her back, sending her sprawling on the cold, wet sand. He landed his weight fully atop her and she cried out when his knee dug into her back. Breathing harshly against her neck, his fingers dug into her braids and wrenched her head. His other hand grabbed her forearm and shoved it roughly into the sand.
“You have never once bested me,” Aemond snarled, “Do you think I will allow it now?”
Rhaena cried out against his painful hold, trying to pull free but he was too much to throw off. Her free hand scrambled for purchase against the beach and she managed to scrape a handful of sand into her palm. With a violent twist, she was able to pull her free arm loose and curve it under herself enough to toss the sand over her shoulder and directly into his good eye.
He growled furiously, smacking her hand away and blindly throwing himself down until he blanketed his weight over every inch of her body. Her head and her every limb were crushed into the sand.
His left arm dove under her side, encasing her ribcage and wrapping around her front to grab her other arm in an ironclad grip. She could not move. The solid weight of him crushed her into the cold, damp beach. She was forced to turn her head to the side to avoid eating sand. His ragged breath blew hotly against her ear as the icy wet beach seeped through her shift and slip.
The sharp ring of steel against scabbard rang out and suddenly the point of his dagger met her throat.
Aemond seethed, “Don’t fucking move.”
They lay like that for several minutes, both catching their breath.
It was clear she would not be able to physically overpower and escape him. She would be disposed to his will until a rescuer came or she was presented with a better opportunity to flee.
With no further recourse available to her, Rhaena was out of ideas.
Aemond gathered dry sticks and logs into a pile near the boulder where her clothes lay. Vhagar easily provided a flame and soon a steady fire burned.
A very uneasy silence brew between them. Rhaena settled herself on one side of the fire near the boulder, while he lowered himself upon a rock on the other side.
She busied herself with her drying clothes. The exterior of the dress was partially dry, so she turned it inside out, pulling the sleeves through and setting it carefully back down atop the boulder.
When she settled herself back before the fire, she caught Aemond blatantly staring at her shift.
“Turn your eyes away,” Rhaena flushed red.
He looked down, arching an eyebrow, “Your state of undress isn’t my doing.”
Testily, he reached into his robes and pulled out her book, Ancient Rituals of the Blood Rider.
For over an hour they sat by the fire on the beach, warming themselves and allowing time for her clothes to dry. She tried her best to ignore him, rearranging her boots and stockings, but she occasionally glared over at where he sat. Curiously, he had begun to glare with intensity at the page he was reading.
He glanced over her with a disapproving crease to his brow, “Have you read all of this?”
Rhaena frowned, “No. Give it back and I will.”
He tsked but did not smile. “Some of these passages aren’t meant for the eyes of a maiden.”
Rhaena’s face burned. She may be a maiden in every sense of the word, but she was no shrinking violet.
“I do not read it as a maiden, I read it as a Targaryen.” She glared daggers at him before looking towards the fire.
She felt his stare linger on her, but she did her best to ignore it. Instead watching as the flames danced and the embers sparked.
Eventually, he turned back to the book.
Another hour passed. The horizon began turning a paler shade of blue. At some point Rhaena had drifted to sleep leaning against the boulder and when she startled awake, Aemond was nowhere to be seen.
She stood up, looking along the beach for him. Making another run for it was a brief consideration, but surely he was close by and there was no place for her to run.
Rhaena checked her boots, stockings, and dress. The boots were still quite damp, but her stockings were dry and the dress much better. She began pulling her dress on and securing the stays when Aemond returned.
He stopped about halfway back to the fire and she could feel his gaze boring into her.
Rhaena looked over to him then and startled.
Aemond looked ill.
His eye was red-rimmed, his hair disheveled as if he’d been running his hands through it, and his shirt was missing. All he wore were loose pants and he had a wild look in his eye.
“What happened?” Rhaena breathed.
His face was pallid and splotchy, the hollows under his cheeks more pronounced. He swallowed drily.
The look in his eye as his gaze met hers was peaked.
Then suddenly he spun away from her, calling down the shoreline.
“Vhagar!” Aemond yelled. “Māzigon naejot nyke!”
Soon, the ground began to shake with the mighty dragon’s thundering steps. The sand vibrated in wavy lines along the beach as Vhagar came into view. Rhaena quickly stepped back, out of the dragon’s path. She hadn’t meant to seek refuge behind Aemond, but with the largest dragon of the world fast approaching them, she found herself hovering a few feet behind his back.
“What are you doing?” She hissed at him.
Aemond hesitated but didn’t respond.
“Vhagar,” He paused, glancing jerkily around to consider her. Sweat dripped down his brow now. He looked pale and drawn. Rhaena began to wonder if he’d somehow been poisoned.
He swallowed a lump in his throat, “I’d wager your High Valyrian is quite good.”
Swiftly, as if anticipating that she might bolt away again, he clamped his hand around her arm. He pulled her against him, forcing her to stand by his side and face Vhagar. Rhaena looked into the eyes of the dragon with growing confusion.
Rhaena turned to Aemond with uncertainty, tugging at his grasp.
Aemond held her tight, looking her painstakingly in the eye. Then, with a determined steel, called out to Vhagar.
“Urnēbagon hae mazeman ñuha ābrazȳrys.” Watch as I take my wife.
Rhaena gasped in shock, dropping towards the ground to break free of his hold. But at this point in the night, he was well familiar with her strategies and he easily kept a firm hold of her wrists.
He had just invoked zaldrīzes naejot ābrazȳrys. An ancient Valyrian ritual only possible between two dragon bloods. It was a marriage ceremony.
“Aemond!” Rhaena cried out, “What are you doing?”
It entailed… she choked, remembering reading over this passage in her book just days before. It entailed the bride and groom consummating the union before their dragons.
Rhaena looked on him with growing apprehension.
Aemond held her close, his face set. “I’ve always taken my destiny in my own hands. I realize you’re right. They wouldn’t agree to a marriage between us at King’s Landing. They’d sooner kill you."
"But they are not Targaryens. My mother, grandsire, nor the small council know not the ancient ways. They will fear angering the Gods.”
His eye briefly met hers, then he swallowed thickly and pulled her tight against his chest, “Forgive me.”
He dropped to his knees, felling them both in the sand.
Rhaena gasped, finding herself quickly flat against the ground. He curled one hand behind her head and lowered himself atop her.
“I know you will not believe me,” he swallowed, looking down into her eyes, “But abusing you in this way does not excite me.”
She actually did believe him, for he continued to look deathly ill. Rhaena strained to push away from his sickly expression. She cared not for his distress, she had no sympathy for him. He was the one doing this and it was within his power to stop.
Aemond took hold of both her wrists in one hand above her head, then Rhaena felt him reach for the hem of her dress. She startled when the sudden cold air hit her bare legs.
“If you do this, I will never forgive you. Never.” She choked back tears.
Aemond looked down on her, a muscle in his jaw jumping. As if no longer able to meet her eyes, he suddenly lowered his face into her shoulder. Rhaena felt his hot breath against her neck.
He murmured against her pulse, “I - I’ll do it quickly and force myself on you as little as necessary.”
He spoke as if to be comforting, ironic while he had her pinned beneath him. She renewed her struggle to little effect. His chest was hard and heavy against her.
Aemond’s free arm reached down and grabbed hold of her knee. The scrape of his warm hand against the soft underside of her leg sent a jolt through her and she froze, struggling to breathe.
He pushed her knee up so that he could lower his hips to hers.
Aemond stroked her hair, murmuring, “Sagon gīda. Sagon gīda.”
Rhaena flinched angrily. Was he trying to calm her the way he would a horse? She gnashed her teeth furiously towards his head, but she could not reach anything to sink her bite into.
His hand shifted away from her knee, warm callouses brushing lightly up her thigh. Slowly he lowered his hand between them, fluttering over her small clothes and patting hesitantly at them. Then his palm flattened against the fabric and brushed smoothly over her core.
Rhaena choked on a gasp. He repeated the movement over and over, each time pressing one of his fingers more firmly along her center.
Soon, she felt a flutter of warmth spreading in her. It felt like a betrayal, that her body would respond to his ministrations the same way it might her own hand. Heat pooled low and she felt wetness gathering in her small clothes.
He must have felt it too, because he breathed heavily against her neck and pushed the fabric aside. The warmth of his bare hand was a shock and her legs tightened around him.
His hand slid slowly to graze around her entrance. Gradually, he pushed one finger inside her. Rhaena’s entire body tensed at the intrusion.
His finger moved carefully within her, the heel of his palm rocking against the tight bundle of nerves. His movements sent hot radiating waves pulsing through her. Rhaena struggled to breathe, her arousal built higher and higher.
After several minutes, he withdrew his hand.
“Shijetra nyke.” He murmured into her neck.
“Kesan daor,” Rhaena snapped. Unable to move, she squeezed her eyes shut and twisted her head away.
Aemond lowered his body closer to hers. When she felt him pressing at her entrance, her entire body went rigid. She couldn’t breathe. The weight of him was closing in all around her. She swallowed convulsively.
Slowly, he shifted his hips and began to push in.
Immediately, it hurt. The stretch of it created a dull, pinching burn. Her jaw clenched, her entire body tightening of its own accord, rejecting. His breath stuttered and his hand slipped where he held her wrists. She was able to wrench an arm free and immediately dug her nails into his back.
He slid in further and she gasped at the sharp pain. It was too much. Her fingers clawed at everything around her. The sand, his back, his scalp.
Aemond paused. He was breathing rapidly into her neck, his entire body shaking against hers.
Slowly, deliberately, he moved his hips forward again. It was a slow assault, but the pressure still grew and grew as he pressed himself forward. The pain stretched out until suddenly there was a sharper pinch and Rhaena released a broken whimper.
Almost instantly, Aemond withdrew. He slid out of her carefully, but then quickly pushed himself away, pulling her hem down as he went. As soon as he released her, Rhaena curled away and tucked into herself.
Aemond swiftly backed away from her. His face pale and haggard. He turned towards Vhagar, naked and shaking. “Iksi valzȳrys se ābrazȳrys.”
Rhaena lifted her head and blinked up, seeing Aemond's profile and the way Vhagar watched on. His privates were visible and she could see a bright smattering of blood. Her stomach roiled and the dull ache between her legs intensified.
“Vhagar, ūndegon nyke!” He yelled louder, for Vhagar had not given much in way of a reaction.
Finally, the dragon lifted her head a foot off the beach, eyes on Rhaena.
“Issa sir ñuha ābrazȳrys,” Aemond gestured from Rhaena to himself, “Mazōregon zirȳla. Mīsagon zirȳla.”
Vhagar released a deep, warm exhale through her nose, blowing sand off the beach. She blinked between Aemond and Rhaena, then lowered her head and once more closed her eyes.
“It is done.”
Rhaena turned from him, turned from the dragon, and wept. The ache and exhaustion overtook her and her head sank into the sand.
He wouldn’t meet her eyes, but whispered once more, “Forgive me.”
And then Aemond walked into the sea.
Several hours later, Aemond and Rhaena arrived at King’s Landing in the bright sun.
They’d barely spoken after leaving the island. Rhaena was still in shock from his assault. She’d thought him a scoundrel since childhood, but somehow hadn’t thought him capable of the same depraved acts Aegon was rumored to regularly partake in. Now Rhaena new the truth, that there were no limits to his treachery.
She wouldn’t forgive him. He'd wed her in the old ways without her consent. He’d forced himself on her. He deserved no absolution.
Rhaena refused to look at or speak to him. Which didn’t seem to bother Aemond at all. Beyond keeping a firm grip on her while atop Vhagar, he didn’t attempt to engage her. From the corner of her eye, he’d grown more drawn and pale throughout their flight.
As they walked through the streets of King’s Landing toward the Red Keep, Rhaena winced as pain lanced through her lower abdomen.
Aemond seemed to notice, glancing sideways with pursed lips, but he didn’t say anything. He kept one hand clamped tightly around her arm.
Finally, they made it to the courtyard at the foot of the Red Keep. All was empty and quiet until they neared the great door, then suddenly several figures rushed towards them.
“Rhaena!”
She twisted around to see her sister, father, stepmother and Jace all hurrying towards them.
Aemond’s countenance changed immediately. His drawn and troubled expression quickly shifted to alert and taunting.
Quick as a whip, he pulled her before him and looked on her family with a sneer. His arm wrapped over her waist from behind like an iron band, squeezing her against his chest. His other hand held his sword out, pointed directly at her father. His cheek pressed to hers and he spoke in a soft taunt that echoed against the courtyard stones, clear for all to hear.
“Greetings uncle.”
Daemon at once drew Dark Sister and made to advance, only Rhaenyra’s hand gripping his sleeve forced him to pause.
“You foul, rotten spilled seed of my bastard brother! Release my daughter at once or I will slice you open and hang your innards from every tower spire in the city.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it uncle,” Aemond mocked.
Rhaena tried pushing at his arm, but he was immovable. Aemond seemed oddly pleased to have his uncle’s full attention, however rageful and murderous, and Rhaena glanced at him with concern.
“Aemond!” His mother suddenly ran out of the Red Keep, followed closely by Ser Criston Cole.
Upon their approach, Jacerys and Baela drew closer to Rhaenyra, hands on the hilt of sword and crossbow. Her father took one step forward, edging closer to herself and Aemond.
Her stepmother looked straight to her, ignoring all else, “Rhaena, has he hurt you?”
At this show of concern for her wellbeing, Rhaena felt a sob building low in her chest and her throat trembled with the effort to subdue it. Her stepmother looked on her with such grave concern, but before she could answer, Aemond laughed.
“What do you think, dear sister?” He taunted, his arm curling more tightly around her. His next words were directed straight at Daemon, “I have taken her to wife.”
Her father bellowed, an ungodly sound ricocheting across the Red Keep, “Lies!”
Rhaena winced in fear, unable to stop her limbs from shaking. Daemon attempted to charge once again, but Baela and Jace blocked his advance. At the same time, Ser Criston came to stand in front of herself and Aemond, sword drawn.
“Call the guard!” Criston hollered.
Alicent and Rhaenyra exchanged urgent, horrified glances across the courtyard. Presently, the court was filling with people. The called guard, members of the small council, a handful of clergyman peaking out from the church, and passersby curious about the commotion.
Alicent swallowed deeply. “Aemond, you have not been wed to Lady Rhaena,” she spoke loudly, clear enough for all to hear, “You have only just returned from your travels. Release her.”
Aemond turned to meet his mother’s eye, his lip quirking up, “Not in the church, no.”
Alicent’s face fell. “Oh Aemond, what have you done?”
He turned back to the Blacks, gaze straining on Daemon. “We wed of the old ways, as true dragon bloods are meant to. Zaldrīzes naejot ābrazȳrys.”
Although fluent in the High Valyrian language, her family were not all scholars of the ancient rituals and few understood what Aemond meant. She could tell from the puzzled expression Jace and Baela exchanged. Her father shot a questioningly look at Rhaenyra. She did appear to know the history, for she had gone stone still and her lips parted with alarm.
“Don’t,” Rhaena whispered at Aemond. She sucked in a deep breath, willing him to say no further. If Aemond told them all what he had done, there was no going back.
But she felt his lips stretch wide against her cheek and she knew all hope was lost before he spoke.
“I claimed her maidenhead before Vhagar.”
Rhaena would never forget the sound her father made as all hell broke loose around them. It was not a scream that tore from his throat but more the rageful roar of a true dragon. It took ten guards to keep him at bay as he swung Dark Sister.
Baela screamed for her and Jace barely managed to hold her back. Rhaenyra looked to Rhaena almost as if she would cry.
Alicent frowned, her teary gaze turning to the ground with shame. Ser Criston’s lips ticked down with obvious disapproval, but his countenance remained determined to carry out his duty to protect the prince.
Aemond’s eyes darted around with growing satisfaction. He spotted Otto and Larys, both looking upon the scene from different corners of the crowd. Otto with narrowed, calculating eyes and Larys with a detached sort of interest.
“Rhaena,” her stepmother called out, “Is what he says true?”
Rhaena pushed at Aemond’s arm once again, ineffectively, as he merely tightened it more possessively around her. His breath was hot against her cheek. The half sob she’d been holding back burst brokenly through her lips. She held Rhaenyra’s gaze for several seconds. Then she gave one shallow nod.
The Blacks cried out and there was another flurry of motion.
“Villian!” Baela screamed, Jace gripping her tightly. “Rhaena!”
Daemon had run through two more guards before Rhaenyra managed to still him. She whispered urgently in his ear, no doubt warning him that even if they somehow managed to steal Rhaena away from Aemond, Vhagar would be nipping at their heels because of the ritual. A fight they were not presently prepared for.
Rhaenyra’s tearful eyes left Rhaena’s to look quickly around the growing number of guards, the towers and perches of the Red Keep filling with archers. The Blacks were greatly outnumbered, and without their dragons this was a fool’s fight. Even with their dragons, likely tucked away at the beach, they weren’t about to set fire to the place with Rhaena in it.
Rhaenyra looked back to Rhaena, at Aemond’s sword held aloft before her, and then she mouthed I’m sorry. For it was clear they could not save her in this moment. Rhaena began to softly weep.
Tears fell down Rhaenyra’s face as well as she yelled, “I don’t know what favor you hope to gain through this foul villainy, but we will not forgive the theft of our daughter!” Her face shook with rage as she looked from Aemond, to Rhaena, to Alicent.
Daemon had gone still and quiet. He put Dark Sister away, but the edge of his face tilted forward, angling a predatory stare right over her shoulder at Aemond. He focused on him with a concentrated sort of deadliness.
“You are finished, nephew,” Daemon whispered, “Finished.”
Rhaenyra pulled them all backwards.
Ser Criston held up his sword, glancing at Aemond for direction, "We should attack, take them down before they escape."
"No," Aemond eyed their retreat with a savage smile, "Let them scurry back to their keep with their tails between their legs. They will do us no harm for now."
“Come, my lady wife,” Aemond pulled her backwards, up the steps and into the Red Keep, “We have much to celebrate.”