King's Landing, Rhaenys's Hill, in the central plaza of the Dragonpit, upon the hastily erected high platform.
The air was thick and searing with the stench of sulfur.
Tonight, but a scant few would stand witness to a betrothal within the blood of House Targaryen.
Viserys had been settled in a cushioned chair below the platform, its high back draped in white velvet.
A golden mask concealed the rot upon the left side of his face; half a year of convalescence had restored a measure of strength to his body.
At this moment, the King lifted his gaze toward the platform, his eyes filled with solace.
Alicent stood quietly at her husband's side, clad in a white gown, the sleeves and collar embroidered with the sigil of House Hightower in golden thread.
Her hands were folded before her, her gaze resting upon the silver-haired youth and maiden before the altar.
Aegon stood on his mother's other side and let out a careless yawn.
His gold-and-crimson attire was rich and resplendent. His newly wedded wife, Alyn Rogare, held his arm; her silver hair was styled in the fashion of a married woman, and her belly already showed the faint swell of life.
Not far off stood two witnesses.
Grand Maester Orwyle, fifty years of age and bald, the chain of the Citadel hanging heavy about his neck, held in his hands an ancient Valyrian draft of vows, unrolled before him.
At his side, the High Septon wore white robes embroidered with the seven-pointed star, his expression impassive.
This was an ancient custom of House Targaryen; today he had come only to serve as a witness to the betrothal.
The dragonkeepers within the Dragonpit had been temporarily withdrawn. All about stood only the armored guards under Aemond's command, helmed and in mail, keeping solemn watch.
...
Aemond stood upon the platform.
Clad in black and gold, his attire made his frame appear yet more upright. He watched as Helaena approached slowly.
Helaena Targaryen.
Her long silver-blue gown flowed like a river of stars in the still of night, her hair falling like moonlight, a crown of flowers resting upon her head.
She walked somewhat slowly, her body trembling faintly, yet she still lifted her face and offered Aemond a faint smile.
She halted one step before him.
Not far off came a long, tearing shriek—it was Aemond's black dragon, Lothorne, whose dark red-gold slit pupils were also fixed upon the platform.
Grand Maester Orwyle cleared his throat, parchment rustling softly.
In stiff yet precise High Valyrian, he began to speak, his voice echoing through the hollow space: "In the name of the Fourteen Flames, and in witness of the ancient blood of the Freehold of Valyria, we gather here to bear witness to the union of the blood of House Targaryen."
He looked toward Aemond: "Aemond Targaryen, son of King Viserys the First and Queen Alicent, rider of Vhagar and Lothorne."
"Do you willingly swear a blood oath with Princess Helaena, to share flame and blood until the end of days?"
Aemond did not answer at once.
He first extended his hand and gently took Helaena's cold fingers in his own.
Helaena trembled faintly.
Only then did he raise his eyes.
"Yes."
His Valyrian flowed as though it were his mother tongue: "From this day forth, I shall protect you, Helaena."
"In the name of the dragonlords, and by the oath of blood."
Orwyle turned to Helaena: "Helaena Targaryen, daughter of King Viserys the First and Queen Alicent, rider of Dreamfyre."
"Do you willingly swear a blood oath with Aemond, to share flame and blood until the end of days?"
Helaena looked at Aemond's left hand, already raised with the dagger.
"Yes." Her voice was soft, yet clear.
"From this day forth, I shall follow you, Aemond, in the name of the dragonlords, and by the oath of blood."
...
"In the name of the Fourteen Flames," Aemond spoke again in High Valyrian.
"I, Aemond Targaryen, descendant of the Dragonlords, do here proclaim…"
He turned the dagger, setting its edge against the palm of his right hand, and without hesitation drew it across.
Blood welled forth at once.
Helaena drew a quiet breath, yet did not withdraw.
Aemond passed the dagger to her.
The princess received it with both hands and set the tip against her own left palm.
The instant the blade touched her skin, beads of blood seeped out.
"By the blood of Valyria as witness.
"I, Helaena Targaryen, do here answer…"
Aemond extended his bleeding right hand.
Helaena extended her left.
Their palms met, their blood mingling, warm and thick.
Aemond's hand, the knuckles well-defined, bore the calluses left by the sword.
Helaena's hand was soft and small.
Aemond lifted her blood-stained left hand and pressed her palm against his own brow.
Blood ran down from his forehead.
Helaena, too, gently took his hand and pressed it to her own brow.
Facing one another, they spoke the final oath together, their Valyrian echoing heavily through the Dragonpit: "From this day until the end of days.
"What is mine is yours."
"My blood is your blood."
"My fire is your fire."
"My life is your life."
After a brief pause, their voices rose together once more: "Blood and fire are one…"
At that very instant, from the depths of the Dragonpit came the low roars of several great dragons, answering one another like a shared resonance.
Aemond gazed at Helaena.
Helaena lifted her face to look at him.
Then, beneath the gaze of all present, Aemond bent down.
When they parted, Helaena's cheeks were already flushed crimson.
...
The rite was ended.
There was no cheering, no celebration.
Only the lingering crackle of flame within the Dragonpit.
Grand Maester Orwyle exchanged a glance with the septon at his side and quietly withdrew; as witnesses, their duty was done.
Viserys beckoned to them with a small gesture.
Aemond and Helaena descended from the platform and came before their parents, bowing their heads in salute.
A faint smile appeared upon Viserys's face, his words sincere: "May the forebears of House Targaryen bless you."
"As your father, I give you my true blessing."
Alicent also offered her wishes in a low voice.
At one side, Aegon, with Alyn at his arm, likewise smiled and offered his congratulations.
Looking upon Aemond and Helaena before him, Viserys knew there yet remained the rite of dragonriding, and so he gave a nod.
"The rest of us shall return to the Red Keep."
The guards stepped forward and lifted the King's cushioned chair; Alicent followed close behind.
Aegon wrapped an arm about Alyn's waist and muttered, "Tomorrow I'll have Aemond fetch me some good wine from the Reach, so I can celebrate him properly."
Alyn watched the figures of Aemond and Helaena walking away side by side, then turned her gaze to her absent-minded husband, and at last spoke softly: "Aegon, have you ever thought why, for tonight's rite, he invited no bannermen?"
"Not even any from House Hightower were present?"
Aegon shrugged. "A Targaryen betrothal within the blood—outsiders are not invited."
"No." Alyn's blue eyes flickered faintly in the dim light, sweeping over the guards who were withdrawing. "He invited only those he trusts."
Aegon frowned at his wife. "Alyn, what are you imagining now?"
"Aemond is my own brother—my full brother of the same mother."
Alyn fell silent for a moment, then gave a quiet sigh.
"I hope it is so."
Aegon snorted and tightened his arm about her shoulders.
"Come now."
"What does Aemond want?"
"To fight my wars for me?"
"To manage those tiresome affairs of governance in my stead?"
"I would gladly have it."
"Come. Let us return and sleep. You are with child—you must not keep late hours."
He led his wife toward the exit of the Dragonpit, not once looking back.
Alyn followed in silence, yet within her mind she let out a low sigh.
Aemond now held in his grasp all military power in King's Landing; the nobles of the Crownlands were near to becoming his lackeys.
Should he harbor even the slightest ambition in days to come, Aegon and she would be in grave peril.
If Aegon were to meet with misfortune, Aemond would stand next in the line of succession.
She lowered her head and gently laid a hand upon her faintly rounded belly.
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