Rhaenyra Targaryen (107 A.C., Eighth moon)
Kingslanding
She soared through the sky, the wind brushing against her, a sensation that felt as good to her as it did to the wind itself. The air was fresh and clean, a significant improvement from the acrid smell of the Blackwater and the city below. Her destination was the dragon pit, and as she approached, she couldn't help but admire the preparations for Aemon's wedding to Laena and the upcoming tourney to celebrate the birth of the new heir, a son her father had always desired. Over the following moons, lords and knights began to arrive. Some to enter melee, others the tourney, and the other activities her father had planned.
The Tourney of Love and Heirship hurt Rhaenyra on both sides, as she didn't really know what to think about it all. She loved Aemon, and she cared for Laena in a way that still confused her. But it was Visenya, it was love. Yet in the last few moons, she had spoken with Visenya about how they could change it. Could they somehow join the union? She doubted it could happen. Maegor had tried, and the realm slowly turned against him, and children born there were either stillborn or misshapen.
Yet there was a small hope perhaps for one of them. If they married Laenor, it was still interesting that her cousin was attracted to the same sex like his elder sister, although Laena was also attracted to the opposite sex. Still, it spoke volumes that Laenor had suggested, and even trusted Aemon enough with that truth. Still, it made her feel a little uneasy to love in their chambers, but not in the open.
The roar to her right stopped her musing; the bronze coloring, with blue and green highlights, made the she-dragon shine in the morning sun. Yet the sight of the laughing, pretty girl made her heart beat a little quicker.
Soon they arrived at the pit where Visenya and her had left their best friend, Alicent, waiting along with her sworn shield, Ser Steffon Darklyn, and Visenya's Ser Dalmor Stonewood. Her dragon, Syrax, was issued commands by the dragon keepers, all of them donned in her family's black and red colors. The more senior members wore dragons engraved on their greaves, arm guards, and breastplates.
"Dohaeras, Syrax," the older keeper said. It had been seen this man before, and apparently not all his teach had worked, as he saw now a red burn mark across the left side of his face, running down into his neck.
The younger man spoke with authority, "Umbas, Rybas."
She gave the young man a small nod as she slid down from her saddle and caressed her dragon's neck, eliciting a delighted purr.
"Welcome back, Princesses. I trust your ride was pleasant," Ser Steffon asked, a bright smile on his face.
"Try not to look so relieved, Ser," she replied with a grin. He chuckled, saying,
"We are relieved every time that golden, and copper beast brings you back unspoiled; it saves our heads from a spike." Ser Dalmor noted, and she grinned in reply.
"Indeed, Rhaenyra, our well-being, saves their heads. Although they would pretty upon a spike." Visenya added as suck out her tongue at the two knights. Who couldn't hold in their laughter.
"A true compliment princess, that one's head still would look pretty upon a pike." Ser Steffon replied, shaking his head.
"Syrax is growing quickly; soon she will be as big as Caraxes," Alicent remarked as she welcomed her from the carriage. "Almost large enough for two?" she inquired hopefully, hoping to persuade her friend to join her one day. "I'm fine as a spectator, thank you," Alicent replied before moving back into the carriage. "A pity, Alicent, it's wonderful up there. Why don't you? Vhagar is more than large enough," Visenya noted.
"The thought gives me chills in my stomach," Alicent muttered in reply as she stepped inside the carriage. Rhaenyra and Visenya both sighed as they joined their friend. It was long before the Red Keep once more loomed over their heads.
After changing into more courtly attire, she paid a visit to her mother. "Ah, Rhaenyra, Visenya, you both know I don't like you two to go flying while I'm in this condition," her mother expressed. She shook her head. "You don't like us to go flying while you're in any condition," she quipped as she walked toward her mother. Although that wasn't entirely true when her mother was stronger, she often joined her father in the sky. Being the cause of his going up into the sky, because she enjoyed it too much. Sadly, now with the ruling of the realm, her father seldom went sky, and she mostly flew with Visenya, and with Laena when she was still here.
"Your Grace," Alicent said from behind her as she sat down with her mother on the couch. "Good morrow, Alicent," her mother greeted her. "Did you sleep?"
"I slept." Her mother replied quickly. "How long?"
"I don't need mothering, Rhaenyra." Yet, she did need it, especially now when everything was centered around the babe. "Well, here, all these attendants surround you, all focused on the babe. As your daughter, I will take care of you," she insisted, locking eyes with her mother.
Her mother sighed and spoke, "You will lie in this bed soon enough, Rhaenyra." Her mother then looked toward Visenya and Alicent. "As will you two, and Laena most likely after her wedding."
"This discomfort is how we serve the realm," her mother continued. She shook her head and said, "I'd rather serve as a knight and ride to battle and glory." Perhaps she could, given that she could ride a dragon, Visenya and Rhaenys both flew to war.
But her mother laughed, "I know you, Visenya and Laena train with bow, and even small sword, yet we have royal wombs, you, I, and even Lyanna. The childbed is our battlefield, even the Conquerors' wives took the birthing bed. We need to learn to face it with a stiff lip." She could see herself becoming a mother, yet the picture in her head was only with Aemon as the father. She gave her mother a kindly smile.
"Now, go take a bath; you stink of dragon," her mother instructed. She nodded and headed to the small council chamber to serve as her father's cupbearer.
The meeting was already underway when she entered the council room. As she walked briskly toward her father, she heard Lord Corlys Velaryon discussing the menses known as 'The Crab Feeder,' causing havoc in the Stepstones. She knew that anything disrupting the trade lanes concerned The Sea Snake, who was eager to put an end to it as soon as possible. However, her father, reluctant to make any significant moves, had to wait. He was surely hoping that when her uncle arrived, he could sway her father's decision.
"Rhaenyra, you're late," her father scolded, turning toward her as she approached the council table. "The King's cupbearer can't be late. Leaves people wanting for cups."
"I was visiting Mother," she replied before kissing her father on the cheek.
Her father smelled something, sniffed loudly, and frowned at her. "On dragonback?" He asked with half a grin.
"Your Grace," Lord Beesbury spoke up, regaining her father's attention as she made her way to the serving table. To pick up the wine. "At Prince Daemon's urging, the crown has invested significant capital in the retraining and reequipping of his City Watch. I thought you might urge your brother to fill his seat on the council and provide an assessment of his progress as Commander of the Watch."
Her father glanced toward her as she filled Lord Strong's cup.
"Do you think Daemon is distracted by his present tasks?" Her father asked the Master of Coin. "And that his thoughts and energies are occupied?"
Lord Beesbury huffed and shook his head in dismay. "One would hope so, considering the associated costs."
Her father smiled at his advisor as he resumed peeling the shell off the boiled egg. "Then let us all consider your gold well-invested, Lord Beesbury." Her father answered. It was true, and it seemed that making Daemon commander of the city watch did make him less restless.
"I would urge that you not allow this Triarchy much latitude in the Stepstones, Your Grace," Lord Corlys spoke up, breaking the lingering silence from his place at the opposite end of the table of the King's seat. "If those shipping lanes should fall, it will beggar our ports."
"The Crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys," Otto responded on her father's behalf. "And takes it under advisement."
She noticed the tension between the Master of Ships and the hand as the two men stared intently at each other. The staring match broke only for a moment for Lord Corlys to glance at her father before silently retracting with the lowering of his hand.
She was always inspired by her Aemon's future father-in-law, a strong and brave man who would do anything to protect his house. His son Laenor had written her often about his and Aemon's adventures in the North with Lord Rickon. She was jealous on those occasions, wanting to see the world as they did, and Lord Corlys had. Hopefully, his family's arrival for his daughter's wedding could lighten his mood. "Shall we discuss the Heir's Tournament, Your Grace?" Otto questioned her father, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"I would be delighted to. Don't forget, it's also the tournament for my brother's wedding," her father said enthusiastically, biting into his egg and nodding toward Lord Corlys, who gave a small smile. "Will the maesters' nameday prediction hold, Mellos?"
The Grand-Maester spoke up for the first time since her entrance. The man was one of the most unyielding opponents against both her uncles. Daemon was too impatient and rebellious, and for some reason, Aemon's adventures and dealings in the North worried the Grand Maester and the Hand. "You must understand that these things are mere estimations, my King. But we have all been poring over the moon charts, and we feel that our forecast is as accurate as it can be."
"The cost of all celebrations is not negligible. Might we delay until the child is in hand?" questioned Lord Beesbury, still advocating for a delay of all activities.
Lord Strong sighed and shook his head at the question. "Most of the lords and knights are certainly on their way to King's Landing already, and some have even arrived. To turn them back now."
"The celebrations take the better part of a week," King Viserys stated firmly, cutting off the Master of Laws' sentence. "Before the games are over, my son will be born, and my brother will be married. And the whole realm will celebrate."
This statement made her feel unimportant. Everything was being done for a son, the one thing she could never be. As she moved to fill Ser Otto's glass, she couldn't help but feel sadness at every mention of her future replacement. She was the only living child of her parents, but that didn't seem to matter. Although her mother was always there for her, as had been her friends, and before Aemon left, so was he. She was never the heir until there was a son; her uncles were the heirs, with Daemon first, and then Aemon. "We have no way of predicting the sex of the child, Your Grace," Mellos spoke up, drawing her out of her unhappy thoughts.
"Of course," her father responded, almost sarcastically. "No maester is capable of rendering an opinion free of conditions, are they now?" He then began working on another boiled egg. "There is a boy in the Queen's belly. I know it. And my heir will soon put all of this damnable handwringing to rest himself." Her father ended with a smile.
Then a black shadow fell on the council room, and the wind flowed into the room. They all looked toward the balcony. There he was, Aemon, riding the Black Dread. 'Her beloved uncle had arrived, and this day would be a whole lot more interesting. As he flew toward the dragonpit, she saw three other dragons flying overhead. They were Seasmoke, Meleys, Grey Ghost, and Jaefyre.
As she looked toward the dock, four Velaryon ships were entering it, and two other ships of different coloring, with a banner she had seen before. A Weirwood, with a white wolf on the left on a black field, and on the right a black dragon on a white field. Those were Aemon's ships, and she was sure of it.
Viserys Targaryen (107 A.C. Eight Moon)
Kingslanding - Throneroom
He waited patiently for his brother's party to arrive. Evidently, Aemon had requested his belongings to be brought with him before entering the Throneroom, where he would finally reveal what he had been up to for the past five years. As he had looked at Balerion, Meleys, Seasmoke, and Jaefyre, he couldn't believe how much the dragons had grown, and even Balerion looked bigger. They appeared healthier and more muscular, even the Black Dread, and how that was possible. He wondered as he sat on the Throne.
His attention was drawn to the doors of the great hall opening, and Ser Harrold walked in, dressed all in white, adorned with the sigils of his house and his brother's sigil. Ten guardsmen followed him, all wearing similar black chainmail, with different variants of armor plate, lamellar, or scale, and white, black, and red-striped capes. Harrold began his announcement of his brother, "His Prince Aemon Targaryen, Prince of Seadragon Point, Protector of Western Seas, The Northern Prince, Squire to Ser Harrold Westerling, The White Dragon."
His brother entered the hall amidst gasps and whispers. He was heavily armored, with a black scale shirt around his neck and beneath his armor. His armor was black and red, with gold and silver at the rims. Over it, he wore a tabard and a cape with his personal sigil. Two swords hung at his sides and one on his back, which appeared to be a greatsword. The helm he carried in his left arm was beautifully crafted in the likeness of a dragon and a half-wolf, with red rubies for its eyes and its just as horns. Upon closer inspection, he realized that his brother's armor was Valyrian steel.
His own eyes popped out of his head at the sight. How did he do it? He knew his brother had rediscovered the arts lost to the world. Yet that he had discovered the making or reforging of Valyrian steel, he did not know.
Viserys looked down upon his brother as he stopped in front of the throne and addressed him, "Your Grace, brother, my congratulations on the imminent birth of your child, and my thanks for hosting a joint celebration for my wedding as well." Viserys smiled at his brother's words. Dutiful as always.
"May reaffirm my pledge to my liege, King and elder brother." His brother questioned in a voice that reminded him of his father, yet they had a Northern accent. "You may."
Aemon went down on one knee and unsheathed the Valyrian steel greatsword from his back, causing himself and the crowd to gasp. The blade was magnificent, with a milky white color that almost looked silver, and the hilt and pommel were a combination of a dragon and a wolf.
"I, Prince Aemon Targaryen, Lord of Seadragon Point and Seadragon Holt, promise to be faithful to His Grace, King Viserys. I pledge fealty to him and shall defend him and his against all enemies, in good faith and without deceit. I swear this by iron, earth, bronze, and fire, by the Old Gods, the New, and the gods of my ancestors. May they bear witness to this pledge." Aemon proclaimed.
"Brother, I accept your pledge, and you are most welcome. But what sword and armor do you have there? If I'm not mistaken, it's made of Valyrian steel. I knew you were clever, but this even eclipses my imagination. This is what you've also been doing in the North?" he asked, his voice filled with intrigue. Hoping it was true.
"I have been busy, yes. I have long labored in the art of smithing, and by the gods' blessing, I have rediscovered the lost art of our ancestors. I told you before, brother, started recovered arts lost too our peoples." Aemon announced, his voice carrying across the hall. Flowed by the gasping of those gathered, applause flowed after the shock had worn off.
"Your Grace, this can't be true. How can a boy like him rediscover something like that?" Maester Melos stammered, but his brother shot him a glare. "Well, I have rediscovered it. If you don't believe me, I will happily cut you. And don't forget, Maester. I'm still your Prince. You don't speak unless spoken to when I'm speaking with my brother. This isn't the Small Council. Address me as 'boy' again, and you will lose the ability to speak." Aemon said, his voice dripping with scorn, leaving the hall stunned. Pale in shock, Mellos shuddered back a little at Aemon's threat. Yet it was a rightful threat that the grandmeaster had shown disrespect to his brother.
"Ser Harrold, bring in the chests with my gifts for my family," Aemon commanded. "And I suppose the rest of our family is waiting. Let them join us as well, don't you think, brother?" His brother noted with a smile. "Of course, brother.
"Rhaenyra, Visenya, it's good to see you both again, you both grown more beautiful in the few moons apart," he said, taking both their hand in turn, giving. giving it a kiss, which made them both flush.
"Thank you, uncle. You've grown quite handsome as well. I'm happy to have you back," Rhaenyra noted, before his sister embraced their brother. She said something to Aemon, but he didn't hear.
"Lord Hand, Lord Corlys, Lord Lyonel, Lord Lyman, it's good to see you all again, Mellos," he greeted the assembled lords of his small council, and they bowed in turn. He couldn't help but notice the scorn Aemon used when addressing Mellos.
Then, the attention turned back to Ser Harrold, who announced the arrival of Lyanna and Arya. "The Princess Lyanna Targaryen, late wife of Prince Baelon the brave, and her youngest daughter, sister to the King, Princess Arya Targaryen, rider of Grey Ghost."
Viserys smiled as he saw Lyanna and Arya arrive. Lyanna still looked radiant at the age of thirty, and still a fine match for many a man. As I looked at Arya, she was the spitting image of her mother, if only her skin were that pale, marked out as other than northern blood. To be honest, it pained him a little, as he didn't truly know his youngest sister, only by tales of Visenya, and in the letters Lyanna wrote to him and Aemma. He didn't really know how to write to her. Where to begin?
"Welcome, Princess Lyanna, sister," he announced as the two arrived and bowed in curtsy. "Your Grace."
Then Harrold announced the arrival of the Starks. "Benjen Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Lord Paramount of the North, and his lady wife Lysa Stark, with second son Bennard Stark, page of Prince Aemon, and finally their youngest daughter Lyarra Stark." The latter was holding her brother's hand as they walked toward the throne. Although there were more with the Northern party, Harold didn't announce them. He saw sigils of houses: Manderly, Ryswell, Karstark, Umber, Cerywn, and Mormont. The North was never that interested in the South, but ever since the marriage of Lyanna and the rise of Aemon as a prominent figure, the North has been interested in the South. Their presence in the south during tourneys and melees had increased.
"Your Grace, it's an honor to be received. King's Landing is quite a grand place, although the heat and smell I could do without." Benjen Stark was noted as taking a knee. The crowd gave out a chuckle. "Rise, Lord Benjen, and be received as kin after all. If not by marriage anymore, then by blood."
"Thank you, Your Grace," Benjen replied.
Then Harrold announced the arrival of his Velaryon kin.
"The Princess Rhaenys Velaryon, Lady of the Driftmark, and wife of our Master of Ships, Lord Corlys Velaryon, with her children. Prince Aemon's betrothed, Lady Laena Velaryon, rider of Jaefyre, and her brother, Leanor Velaryon, heir to Driftmark, squire of Ser Harrold Westerling and rider of Seasmoke." Behind also walked a couple of other Velaryons. Yet most he escaped his memory.
"Welcome. I welcome you to your wedding, Lady Laena, and to join in the celebrations for the impending birth of my heir," he said, and the group bowed in respect. Following them, twenty guards entered, carrying two chests, eliciting gasps from the hall. A couple of Direwolves walked alongside them.
"Kill those beasts," Lord Otto announced, but Aemon quickly interjected, "I wouldn't do that, Lord Hand, or I'd have you burnt alive by Balerion. This, Your Grace, these are loyal companions of mine, and the Starks, and that is my siblings. You have seen a direwolf yourself, or did you forget our sister wolf? They will only harm anyone who harms my family or us. This one, as I wrote before, is Ghost." His brother said as he ruffled the giant wolf behind his neck.
"Leave it be." He announced that he didn't expect the Direwolves to come running then. Again, although Visenya had her wolf. It mostly lives either in the godswood or is hunted in Kingswood. "Indeed, Otto, it's unexpected, but my sister's wolf has lived for more than two years. Yet in the future, keep them either in the godswood or let them roam in Kingswood."
"As you wish, brother, but before I was interrupted. Let me show you what I have for you," Aemon said as he opened the first chest. "For my brother and King, I have this scepter made of dragonglass and Valyrian steel gilded with gold. May you carry it as a symbol of our house and its power," Aemon said, kneeling and presenting the scepter. It was made of Valyrian steel, with a dragon's head at the top, beautifully crafted in intricate pieces, and its eyes were made of black pearls.
"A wonderful gift, my brother. I am more than welcome to it. A true royal scepter, symbolizing our power indeed," he replied, his voice high with excitement.
"As I know you to be a lover of hunting, I also have a spear with a Valyrian-steel spearhead for you. May your hunting be true with every strike you make," Aemon said as he presented the spear. The top of the spear had gilled a silver-headed dragon.
"As for my cousin, goodsister, and Queen, I present this tiara, gilded in gold and made of Valyrian steel. Please give it to her when you have the chance. I also have this ring, with a falcon and a dragon combined," Aemon added, placing the tiara and the ring beside the spear. "I'm sure Aemma will be most pleased with the gifts, my gracious thanks," he replied, smiling. The gifts were truly remarkable, and he noticed that all the eyes in the room, except those of the Velaryon party, were wide with astonishment.
"I've granted you this ring and necklace for my lovely niece and sister. May I?" Aemon asked, and Rhaenyra nodded, allowing him to place the ring on her finger. The ring was a dragon's head made of Valyrian steel, gilded with silver, and the necklace was also made of Valyrian steel, adorned in black and red. In its center, a dragon's head with the coloring of Syrax for its head.
"Thank you, uncle. These are wonderful gifts. I've always longed to have something from Valyria," his daughter said, her smile brightening his mood.
Then he turned to their sister and gave her a ring with a wolf's head, colored like Skeal to Visenya. The necklace was also Valyrian steel, and the dragon's head had the coloring of Vhagar.
"This is amazing, brother, it takes away the stink a little of you not telling me of your discovery," Visenya murmured. "I would have, but a raven can't always be trusted. To add to the forgiveness, perhaps, if your skill with a blade has improved as well, as you said. Well, perhaps a new blade to arm you might be suited."
Visenya's eyes brightened, and she gave her brother a kiss on the cheek. "A blade sounds interesting, Aemon," Rhaenyra added, smirking.
Viserys shook his head; it had been one thing he allowed. Both of them could learn swordplay and the bow, as long as they learned ladies' duties and performed their other duties as well.
"Is my brother Daemon here as well? I have a gift for him as well," Aemon inquired.
"No, he has been busy with the city watch. He isn't at court much," he replied.
"Ah, well, if my brother has found a passion to occupy him, all the better. I will give it to him when I see him again, perhaps when we three are together, it's meant for the three of us," Aemon noted, yet there was a touch of disappointment in his voice, Viserys didn't help but notice. As he wondered what Aemon had planned for them.
Then Aemon turned toward Lord Corlys. "Ah, future goodfather and Lord of Tides, may I present you with this war axe? I know you have a preference for two-handed axes," Aemon said, and Corlys bowed to his brother as he accepted the axe. "Thank you, my Prince. I'll likely need it in the future," Corlys replied, probably thinking of the troublesome Stepstones.
"I also have these two gifts for the Small Council. For the Lord Commander, I grant this longsword. May it protect the royal family until the end of days. May all future lords' commanders do as you have done," Aemon said, offering a longsword to Ryman Redwyne. How knelt as he accepted the blade. "I shall carry it to honor my prince." The blade was milky white, with a silver-gilded guard, a white handle, and a pommel in the shape of a seven-pointed star. Within the center, a piece of dragonglass.
"As for the rest of the Small Council, I have these Valyrian steel pins. May they symbolize the crown's power. If you agree, Your Grace," Aemon asked. He nodded, and Aemon handed pins to each of his council members, representing their respective offices. They nodded in thanks to his brother. It appeared they would have much to discuss after all this. He was just happy to have his brother back; it had been too long.
Aemma Targaryen Arryn (107 A.C.)
Kingslanding - Aemma's bedchambers.
The chambers were heavy with the scent of rosewater and burning myrrh, of that she would soon take. Sunlight filtered softly through gauze curtains of pale blue silk, casting shifting patterns upon the carved pillars of her bed.
"My queen, it has been far too long," Aemon said as he entered, his voice warm and bright.
Aemma looked up from where she sat propped against embroidered cushions. For a moment, the years between their meetings fell away, and she saw not the tall young man before her, but the boy who had once trailed after her in the gardens. Yet he had grown. Taller, broader in the shoulders, his silver-gold hair falling neatly to his shoulders, his grey eyes sharp and perceptive.
"It has been too long, cousin," she replied, offering her hand for him to kiss. "My daughter and your sister have missed you very much, as have I. Your presence, and Lyanna's, and little Arya's have been sorely missed."
He rose with a small smile. "You look tired. How have you been sleeping? Has my nephew or niece been keeping you awake? Rhaenyra has already said she wants a sister and has even named her Valaena."
Despite herself, Aemma smiled faintly. "Yes, she has told me, after the conqueror's mother. She whispers the name to my belly each night as if the child might hear her and obey." Her hand drifted protectively over the swell beneath her gown. "If only I had her luck with childbearing."
There it was again, the shadow that never quite left her. The memory of blood on sheets. The silent stillness of babes that never cried.
"Aemma," Aemon said gently, stepping closer, lowering himself to sit beside her. "Your worth is not dependent on that. You have already given my brother a beautiful daughter and brought much happiness to this family. Never forget your worth. You are the Queen, and a great beauty besides."
She let out a breath she had not known she was holding. "Thank you. But your brother has seen a dream. His truth." Her gaze drifted toward the window, toward the Red Keep's distant towers. "He says he will have a son who will wear the crown of Aegon. He heard the sound of thundering hooves, splintering shields, and ringing swords. He believes he will place our son upon the Iron Throne as the bells of the Great Sept toll and all the dragons roar as one."
Her fingers tightened in the silk coverlet. "Just look at the tourney. It is so grand. They say it is for your wedding, but we both know what it truly celebrates. Hope. Expectation. Pressure." Her voice faltered. "I cannot bear to lose another child. I told him as much."
The tears came then, quietly at first, then in trembling waves. Aemon did not hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her, careful of her belly, and held her as she wept into his chest.
"I know of the dream," he said softly.
She stilled slightly at that. "He told you?"
Aemon did not answer directly. "Dreams can be powerful, but they are not chains. Do not let a vision steal your peace." He brushed a hand gently over her hair. "You will be a wonderful mother to this child, whether it is Valaena or a boy."
"Baelon," she murmured, a faint smile breaking through her tears. "After your father."
"A strong name," Aemon said warmly. "A name worthy of a prince, perhaps even a king. But even if it is a daughter, do not let the realm's expectations shake you. A ruler does not require a man's anatomy to rule. I have seen enough to know that strength wears many forms."
She huffed a soft laugh at that, wiping at her cheeks.
He pressed a kiss to her brow. "This child will be loved. That is what matters."
Aemma looked at him more closely then. Five and ten, and yet there was a steadiness about him that calmed her more than any maester's assurances.
"Thank you, Aemon, for your words. And thank you for the gift Viserys gave me early. It is a wonderful piece of craftsmanship, a beautiful fusion of a falcon and a dragon. It brings me pride when I wear them."
She gestured toward the small table beside her bed, where the ring and tiara rested in a velvet-lined box. The Arryn falcon twined with the Targaryen dragon in delicate gold and enamel, their wings intertwined as one. It was a symbol of union, of expectation, of legacy.
"You deserve such finery," Aemon said. "It suits you."
Her gaze softened, then grew serious once more. "Aemon, I must ask you something."
He straightened slightly.
"Protect Rhaenyra for me when I am gone."
The words hung between them, heavy and terrible.
"This pregnancy has been hard. Very straining. The last one was worse than any before it. Not all mothers survive the birthing bed. My own mother did not." Her voice shook. "Please promise me you will protect her. Whatever happens."
She knew she should not place such a burden upon him. He was only fourteen. Yet there was something in him, something ancient and resolute, that made her trust him beyond reason.
"I will," he said at once, without hesitation. "You need not even ask. If I have any say in it, you will see your daughter grow into a mother herself. You will see this child grow as well. I send one my scribtors to aid you."
She didn't know what he meant as, as he placed his hand gently upon her belly.
The child kicked.
Both of them stilled. "He or she just kicked, did they not?" Aemon asked, wonder filling his voice.
She nodded, her tears now of a different kind. "Yes."
He smiled softly. "It has been some time since I felt that. I think the last was with Arya." His lips curved. "Do you know her and Nymeria? Those two are quite a pair."
"Nymeria?" Aemma asked curiously.
"Arya's wolf, and named for. The Rhoynish Princess who led her people across the sea. Arya admires warrior women greatly," he said with a chuckle.
Aemma laughed, imagining fierce little Arya commanding her direwolf. "It is a bold name for such a small girl."
"Boldness suits her," Aemon replied. "Lyanna will come to visit you soon. She wished to spend some time with Visenya first."
"I hope she does," Aemma said softly. "Lyanna is one of my closest friends. I would welcome her presence more than she knows."
A quiet moment passed between them, filled only by the distant echo of cheers from the tourney grounds and the steady rhythm of Aemma's breathing.
"Let us hope," Aemon said gently, "that you gift this family with another wonderful child."
"Yes," she murmured automatically. "An heir for the dynasty."
He shook his head slightly, smiling at her. "No. Just a child. Someone to be loved and cherished, like Rhaenyra. Like Visenya, Arya, and little Lyarra."
She looked at him then, truly looked at him, and felt some of the weight lift from her heart.
It was not merely an heir she carried. Not merely a symbol of prophecy or ambition.
It was a life.
A sibling for her beloved daughter. A small hand to clutch her own. A voice that would one day laugh in these halls.
She covered Aemon's hand with hers.
"Stay a little while longer," she said quietly.
And for a time, they sat together in the fading light, speaking not of crowns or dreams, but of children, of names, and of hope.
Hello everyone!
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