The journey back to King's Landing was a long and tiring one I could barely stay awake for. Dusk was rapidly approaching as the sun set, and I was worried Aemond and I would not make it home for dinner. Thankfully, we landed just as the sun disappeared beyond the sea, and we were able to clean up before dinner was served. The meal was tense; I knew the Queen could see the fresh wounds on Aemond and I's hands and lips–though I'm not sure she knew what it meant.

Helaena seemed to understand the meaning behind our wounds and gave me a subtly smile from across the table; I was happy to have her on my side. Aegon also spent most of the dinner staring between his brother and me, how my blue dress matched his blue eye patch. My grand-sire didn't seem to take notice of the tension in the air and was ecstatic about my return home with his son.

After dinner, in a less formal setting, Helaena and I managed to speak with each other while Aemond talked to his brother. "Are those wounds what I think they are?" She whispers, turning my hand over to look where I had cut my hand with dragonglass this morning.

I nod, and we both giggle like young girls. "Helaena! Come!" Aegon beckons her, and I watch as her face turns to one of sadness.

Before Helaena leaves, she whispers something to me, "blue turns red under the moon."

Aegon aggressively grabs his sister-wives hand and drags her away–I look on with a saddened heart as they leave. "Are you ready to leave?" Aemond asks, placing a hand on the small of my back as he watches his siblings go. I can't imagine the pain it brings him too.

"Aemond," the Queen speaks from behind, "may I have a word with Visenya, please?" She asks, hands held together tightly in front of her.

When we returned, I noticed that the Star of the Seven was being placed around the court; now the Queen wears the star around her neck.

Aemond looks at me, and I give him a sharp nod, dismissing him. Once Aemond is out of sight, the Queen aggressively grabs me by my shoulders and looks at me with terror. "Are you with child?" She almost screams in my face.

"Uh, no," I said, perplexed by her harsh and forward words.

Her face shrivels in disgust, "stay away from my son until your husband is man enough to put a babe inside your belly."

I look at her, horrified and confused. The Queen knew of what Aegon had been doing to me; she knew and did nothing to stop him. "How long have you known?" I ask, trying to hold my head high.

She shakes her head and lets out a chuckle, "since the day you had Moon Tea brought to the table," she sneers, "you're just like your mother."

My mind suddenly blurs with anger, "what?"

I know my brothers are bastards, and I might be too, but that doesn't mean a thing when my mother is next in line to the throne. She had raised all three of us to be the best we could be, and now Joffrey and my new brother Aegon will be raised to become great men, just as my brothers Jacerys and Lucerys are.

"Don't make my son for a fool, he will never claim your bastards as his own," she spat in my face before walking away.

In a moment of blind fury, I almost lung and attack the Queen; however, I am rooted in my spot. I am seething by the time I return to Aemond's chambers and find him drinking a cup of wine by the fire. He turns to look at me with a smile that quickly fades when he sees my face, "my dear, are you okay?"

He places his wine down, hurries over to me and takes my arms gently. I take a deep breath and let out a heavy sigh, hanging my head in defeat, "your mother called my mother a whore and named my siblings' bastards."

Aemond's face drops as he strokes my arm, trying to comfort me. "Why don't you as Rhaenyra about who your father is?" He suggests.

I shrug and shake my head, "I feel as if I would not like the answer to that question."

Aemond hums and walks me over to the fireplace, where we both sit, and he hands me a glass of wine. "There is no harming in asking, if you're desperate to know," he said, taking a sip of wine.

I follow his lead but chug back the entire cup, not even a day back, and I can already feel the stress piling up inside me. "Do you think it was a good thing, returning to King's Landing?" I asked, brushing my fingertips against my necklace.

Aemond doesn't respond for a while, and I fear I may have upset him. He then abruptly stands before sitting in front of me and leaning his head back on my legs. I stare at his one blue eye as it studies my face, rapidly darting around before he looks back at the fire.

"No," he hums, "but it is where we are needed for now."

I agree with him, although I wish I didn't. Back on Dragonstone, we were both so lost in each other's presences that we didn't have to keep up appearances–we could be free. But here, in King's Landing, all eyes are on us at all times, and it feels like we are being suffocated under the pressure to maintain an image, one I'm not even sure either of us knows.

We stay by the fireplace in silence. I lightly brush Aemond's hair with my fingers, and he rubs my legs underneath my dress, bringing us the comfort we need after a long day. Soon the hour is late, and I struggle to keep my eyes open; without a word being spoken, Aemond grabs my nightgown and places it on the bed as he undresses himself.

Once we are ready for bed, we climb under the blanket, and Aemond holds me tightly, as he has done every other night before. He lightly strokes my upper arm and sings a lullaby in Valyrian which soon sends me into a peaceful sleep.

–––––

The following morning Aemond resumes his regular training, and I am left to my own devices. I find myself sitting under the weirwood tree in the courtyard well into the midday, struggling to write my letter home. Every time I try and ask my mother who my true father is, it comes out wrong, and I have to start again; by the time Aemond finds me, hundreds of discharged letters surround me.

"My love," Aemond speaks, drawing me from my hectic writing, "are you okay?"

I look up at him and force a smile. Aemond's hair has come loose, and parts of his hair stick to his sweat-covered forehead–even dishevelled, he looked breathtaking. "Come," I tell him, patting the ground in front of me.

I place my writing to the side, and Aemond sits in front of me. I removed the blue ribbon that secured his hair this morning, and his hair falls gracefully around his face. I braid his hair back for him in silence, humming the lullaby he had sung for me last night, and I can feel the tension melt away from his weary body.

After I secure the ribbon at the bottom of his braid, Aemond falls back, and his head rests between my legs, eye closed. The sound of life in the Red Keep continues as we both stay here in this moment, and I watch as Aemond's chest rises and falls slowly.

We reposition ourselves so that Aemond can continue resting while I continue writing. With Aemond almost asleep by my side, I find the words come easily to me, and I finish the letter quicker than expected, staring at the words before me.

Dear mother,

I know I have only left Dragonstone recently, but the question keeps plaguing my mind. I want to know who my birth father is. I know it is no Ser Harwin Strong, as he fathered three of my brothers, and they have dark hair where's I do not. I could not be Laenor Velaryon as we know he had other desires in life, and the nature of my birth does not align with your wedding to him. Perhaps it could be Daemon like the whispers say, but I am unsure. You do not have to tell me the truth, but I would hope to clear up any doubts within my mind.

Love,

Visenya.

"Are you finished writing your letter?" Aemond asks without opening his eye.

"I have, but I am afraid to send it," I speak, running my fingers along the words 'birth father'.

Aemond abruptly sits up and takes both my hands in his. "Worry not, whatever my sister's reply, I am sure she will give you some answers," he said, stoking my hand with his thumb.

–––––

Days have passed without a word from my mother, and I fear the worst. Did she decide she wished not to tell me? Had my letter been intercepted? "Visenya, my love, please stop pacing the room. You are making me stressed," Aemond said from his place on the bed.

I turn sharply to look at him, but his shirt is off, his hands are behind his head, and he wears a lazy grin–I can't be mad at such a good sight. I huff in annoyance. It was the second night with no reply, and I was beginning to lose my mind. Maybe the Targaryen madness was real, and I was experiencing just that.

I don't notice Aemond has moved from his place under the bed until his hands gently wrap around my waist from behind, only my thin nightgown separating our skin. "Come to bed," he whispers in my ear, sending chills all over my body but making my face heat up at the same time, "the hour is late."

I melt into his touch and allow Aemond to lead me to bed, where he tucks me in before getting comfortable himself. I roll over and place one hand on his chest, looking up at him, mostly at his eye patch. "Will you ever take this off before I am asleep?" I ask him, letting my fingers touch my embroidery work.

"One day, but that day is not today," he hums, closing his eye.

I sigh and close my eyes too, allowing Aemond's humming to lure me to sleep and bring ease to my dreams. I have not had a nightmare in some time and hope they never return.

–––––

When the day breaks, I am awoken by knocking at the door. Aemond quickly stands from the bed and pulls his eye patch on before I even have a chance to look at his face. He opens the door a crack and speaks briefly with the person outside; he closes the door and turns around, holding a letter with the Targaryen sigil stamped in the seal.

Aemond quickly walks back to the bed and hands me the letter. I tear away the seal as Aemond sits at my side, waiting for me to finish reading.

To my dearest daughter, Visenya,

I appreciate the letter back home so soon though I did not expect such a loaded question. I am sorry I have taken my time to reply but with the new babe and your three brother's I have found it hard to have time to write back...

My eyes read my mother's words, and I latch on to every single one. The letter is long, and she has a page of updates on how everyone is doing before she addresses my question. Once I get to the real source of her letter, my jaw falls, and my eyes go wide. Aemond notices my reaction and places a hand on mine, trying to comfort me.

"What is it Visenya?" He asked, rubbing my hand to try and ease me.

"My father," my voice flattens, and my sentence drags.

Aemond's brow scrunches in confusion, "did she tell you who he is?"

My thoughts are running rampant at this discovery, and I can feel my heart in my throat. If my mother's words are to be true then I am not who I thought I was and this changes everything here in the Red Keep. I quickly dash from the bed and find a barely burning candle from the night before; I place the edge of the paper in the fire and watch it burst into flames as I throw it in the fireplace. Nobody must know.

"Visenya, who is he?" Aemond asks again, sitting up straight from his place in bed.

I turn to look at him, admiring the view for only a second, "Ser Criston. Ser Criston Cole is my birth father."