𝔗𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐇 !
IX. A GILDED CAGE

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⋆｡˚﹕122 AC ⎯ 𝖣𝖱𝖠𝖦𝖮𝖭𝖲𝖳𝖮𝖭𝖤 / 𝖳𝖧𝖤 𝖱𝖤𝖣 𝖪𝖤𝖤𝖯

THE CREAKING STRAINS of the infamous Velaryon ship the Sea Snake and the laughter of her brothers and father and voluminous chants to the sea were somehow a whisper in the winds of memory. It was pitiful how much Aemma Velaryon longed for the memories of the past ⎯⎯ to relive the memories of a girl. A year had passed. The respite of Dragonstone did little to evade the pressures upon the pressures weighted upon her shoulders. No matter how much she studied her histories, language or etiquette nothing seemed to resolve that growing fear pitted in her stomach.

It was a fact, clear and true that her dependence upon Aegon was growing. She could not let this division between their families sever more and leave the wishes of her grandsire discontented. She must be perfect, flawless, the epitome of beauty. She had seen little of him after he left Driftmark upon his dragonmount Sunfyre and her newly wed mother and step-father brought their family to Dragonstone.

"Mother," Aemma breathes, her words not above a whisper. "I do not know what I must do to prepare for my duties ⎯⎯ this custom of marriage or betrothal or any of it. I fear I will fail you."

"Oh sweetling," Rhaenyra promises, griping her daughter's hand tightly, her gaze sincere and proud, "I am so pleased by your efforts."

"I shall go see my brother's before I leave," Aemma whispers, ignoring the tears pooling in her eyes. She stands, rising, the chair scraping upon the floor.

Rhaenyra grabs onto her daughter's hand, tugging her to stand before her, seriousness lingering within her iliac eyes. Aemma smiles softly, letting the tears fall down her cheeks. How could she tell her mother that she was afraid? Yet, Aemma could not bring herself to say it. She had chosen this by her own will.

"Oh my darling girl," Rhaenyra softly whispers, standing with struggle to draw her daughter into her arms with a loving embrace. "Any concerns you have, you must send a raven to Dragonstone. I will answer a response most diligently. I am sure your Grandsire will compensate with his wise and dutiful council at any time you need."

"Thank you, mother," Aemma confesses, her words lightening her heart and putting her at ease.

"It is only for a week," Rhaenyra promises. Aemma clings to those words deeply. A week, that is all.

"May I have a word?" Prince Daemon Targaryen, Aemma's step-father lingers at the threshold of Aemma's quarters. Much of the her things were packed for the morrow. There was no protest when Aemma refused to travel by ship but rather by her dragon.

"Very well," Rhaenyra smiles with a heavy breath at the sight of her husband. A hand cradling the swell of a child in her belly she rises from her seat. "I shall fetch your brothers, Aemma."

"Oh, mother. You must rest," Aemma feigns with worry. Rhaenyra hushs her daughter with a light laugh. Daemon does not question the word of his lady wife but his purple eyes hold just as much concern as Aemma.

"What is the matter that you wished to speak upon?" Aemma asks, hesitant.

"I fear I must ask a task of you," Daemon beings, a looming and powerful presence before Aemma. She knew of his warrior like stature and victory upon the Stepstones and his nomads-like nature at times. She knew what the small-folk called him ⎯⎯ the Rouge Prince.

"May I?" Daemon asks, gesturing before the circular table and chairs. Aemma nods, folding her hands neatly upon her lap. The fire within Aemma's chambers burn molten hot, illuminating light and shadow. "You perhaps, Aemma ⎯⎯ have more burden nestled upon your shoulders than Jace in the coming years."

"And what exactly do you mean, father?"

The use of that word: father. It holds heavy upon her tongue, weighted and hellish. The curves of Daemon's lips curl softly. He leans back in the chair, folding his ankles together. At his waist, Dark Sister is nestled in its scabbard at the ready. . . Despite that there was no looming threat.

"You merely have one duty going forwards upon every venture to Kings Landing. You are to protect your mother's claim. And by all means, watch all that transpires around you. Alicent will attempt to manipulate you. The Hand too. But most of all do not fall to the whims of that drunken prince for your mother's sake, you hear?"

"Do wish for me to be some. . . spy?!" Aemma exclaims.

"Yes, my girl," Daemon admits with caution, pressing his lips together in thought. "I did not desire for it to befall upon your shoulders. But alas, it has. . ."

"Does my mother know of your plans?" Aemma asks, shifting golden sliver locks over her shoulder. Her face becomes stern.

"No. Soon after the babe is born she'll be informed," Daemon speaks softly. A hint of fear and torment is suspected within his velvet eyes. After what happened with her Aunt Laena Aemma could not find it in her heart to blame him. She knew that Daemon loved her mother fiercely.

"Oh. I understand," Aemma agrees simply with a sharp nod. She would do what had to be done. It was her duty.

NO ONE CAME to greet Aemma upon her arrival at the Red Keep. The wheelhouse that had escorted her to Kings Landing remained behind, far from her thoughts as she attempted to collect herself. Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest and she could feel her hands grow slick with sweat from her nerves and shake ever so slightly. Aemma had to keep them clasped together at her front.

Alas, that moment wavered. A pool of a green and auburn hair came into light upon both the declaration and opening of the double bronze doors. A shadow glad in sliver and white remained at her side, following behind was her sworn protector ⎯⎯ Ser Criston Cole. Fear ebbed its way into her heart trying not to remember how the Queen had ordered for her sworn protector to take her younger brothers eye.

"Your Grace," Aemma curtsied with a warm smile at the bottom of the stone steps. Alicent's lips remained a thin line, her hands clasped before her as she glanced downwards.

"Princess," Alicent Hightower replied cooly.

She had not expected it to seem so foreign when the Red Keep was her true home. Aemma was an image of her mother in the sultry glow of spring. A flutter of molten silver locks and dressed in the colours of her Targaryen house: red and black. Her blue eyes tempered with the slightest hints of purple in the sunlight, a gaze carrying a wild and untameable temperament. It was the basis of her appearance that always seemed to put much more distaste towards Aemma than her brothers. It was often in a delicate demand ⎯⎯ little remarks here and there but over time enough for the girl to notice. Always when Aemma was alone or not in the presence of her grandsire or mother. That is when the whispers of court grew loud.

The whispers in court of this moment would grow loud now.

"I'm grateful for your welcome," Aemma tried. "Where is Prince Aegon? I hoped that he would greet me upon my arriv⎯⎯"

"⎯⎯Princess," Alicent Hightower began drenched in honey, the mention of Aemma's title spoken sickly sweet. The Queen consort's mud brown eyes searching Aemma company behind her and when they focused upon her they grew falsely gentle. Elinda Massey stood behind Aemma, a few feet back dressed in her best finery. She was her mother's lady in waiting and often attended to Aemma as well at times. Daemon and her mother trusted Elinda Massey fiercely and would only trust her to tend to their eldest daughter. "I am sure you are tired from your travels and wish to retire before supper."

"I do, my Queen. I was only hoping to see my betrothed before I retire. Where is he?"

"The Prince is indisposed," Alicent replied. Aemma shifted to Ser Criston Cole and a small smirk lingered upon her lips ⎯⎯ Aegon wasn't in the Red Keep. He was somewhere else? Sunfyre was at the Dragonpit if she remembered correctly.

"Oh very well. I'll have some respite," Aemma said with a sigh only to speak soft enough for the Queen to hear. "He's probably drinking is he not?"

Alicent's brows furrowed together and she purses her ruby lips together. Aemma's dragonriding boots echoed against the stone as she rose upon the stone steps. She could not bear to wear her satin slippers. Elinda Massey curtsying to the Queen before trailing after her Princess through the steps and halls of the Red Keep.

The chambers Aemma situated herself was the same as she left it. Although, most of her personal items and attachments were at Dragonstone. She peered out the window upon the many bridges and towers of pale stone situated by the Blackwater Rush.

"Princess? Shall I call for hot water and draw your bath?"

"Yes, that would be lovely," Aemma assured turning to face Elinda. "I believe I must smell of dragon." Elinda nodded with a knowing smile and with a curtsy she was gone.

Soon, smouldering hot water would fill the tub, scented with lavender oils. Aemma would wash and lather herself in soap and wash all her worries away ⎯⎯ most of them anyway. There was nothing more soothing than a smoltering hot bath.

"You're here!" Helaena cried. The double doors to Aemma's chambers slowly opened.

"The princess Aemma is readying herself for supper, my princess," Elinda quickly defended, noticing that the princess Aemma had lowered herself to be shielded by the tub and soap bubbles. "Perhaps in a few moments you shall return once her lady is dressed."

"Oh," Helaena realised, her blue eyes widening like saucers, looking to the enraptured orange butterfly sheltered within a little metal cage. It was a gift from her grandsire to his daughter Helaena. "My apologies, sister."

Aemma found herself stilled by that phrase of word, long after Helaena had departed from her chambered and she was dressed sipping tea by her vanity whilst Elinda twisted her hair into a single elegant braid.

"She called me sister," Aemma confided to Elinda in a whisper.

"A fine term of endearment," Elinda offered. "Perhaps, a sign of goodwill of your bond?"

Aemma grew sullen, her fiery eyes softening with thought before she spoke aloud after sometime. "Or that when I turn ten and four I shall wed her eldest brother, my uncle?"

"My princess please worry not," Elinda spoke kindly, tipping more hot water into the tub from her bucket. Aemma liked it so hot that it made her ivory skin flushed and pink. "That is still many morrows away."

Aemma smiled. Although, it didn't reach her eyes. At one and one, how could there be so much pressure on her shoulders? What was she even to report to her step-father? There was so little that could be done when her parents and family were so far away.

"I would like my hair braided please. And I must wear my blue dress with the embroidered sliver."

"Yes, my lady."

"And the necklace mother gave me. I wish to wear it."

"Of course, princess."

"Thank you, Elinda," Aemma said with a grateful smile, sinking into the tub for a final rinse of her sliver tresses.

Aemma grew anxious once she was readied. She had changed dresses multiples times, unable to sooth herself with the right dress and in time she had merely given up. Twisted silver tresses in an elegant braided half up-do, companied by a deep russet gown patterned with intricate embroidery and a Valyrian steel necklace ⎯⎯ a symbol of her heritage.

Aemma found herself the first one situated for supper. Alone and weary whilst glancing at the utensils and plate before her. What was she going to do? Perhaps she could ask to have her supper sent to her chambers?

"Hello, Aemma," Aemond spoke. His words were cold and irritating. Aemma had been so lost within her thoughts that she did not notice the Prince seating himself beside her.

"Good evening," Aemma spoke with a heavy breath. Unease crawled its way through her stomach. Aemma glanced to Aemond beside her, he was taller than she remembered. His silver hair longer and tumbling down his shoulders. He wore black elegant leathers. The sight of the dark patch upon his eye was a sickening reminder, his sharp face hardened.

Silence wavered between them. Aemma turned to the cup bearer.

"Is that wine?" Aemma asked. The cup bearer nodded at the princess. "I shall have a cup, please."

The cup was filled and Aemma took a long sip. Aemond snickered. Aemma rolled her blue eyes, longing for someone else to accompany her other than him. For so long Aemond was a mirror of Aemma. The had a kindred understanding that was until Aemma had claimed her great aunt's dragon and Aemond continued to fail. That was until he decided to risk it all with claiming her aunts Laena's dragon Vhagar and almost killed her. Any sympathy she had for her uncle had diminished a the drop of a fevered heartbeat.

"My Prince, whatever is the issue?"

"Merely matters that are none of your concern, little niece," Aemond replied curtly with a lowly laugh, "⎯⎯ mother," he began curtly. "Father."

Aemma stood from her chair at the sight of her grandsire, Aemond following. The King Viserys, her grandsire achingly made his way into the room with a cane at hand. His clothing vibrant, representing his house colours. He was pale, sickly, slow and sluggish. He seemed even weaker than Aemma remembered. At his side was his lady wife, Queen Alicent Hightower. She supported her lord husband with a hand at his side, helping him be situated at the head of the table.

"My granddaughter!" Viserys bellowed, to his granddaughter seated beside him. His remaining hand gently giving his granddaughters hand a weak gentle squeeze. "How was your journey, my girl?"

"I fared well. I love riding on Firedancer whenever I have a chance. The Queen greeted me upon my arrival and ensured I was comfortable, your grace."

Viserys smiled, pleased sipping a cup of his own wine. "I am glad of it. And Aegon?"

Alicent had eyes upon Aemma awaiting her response. She could feel them. Soon Helaena came too and it was a grateful distraction.

"I have not had a moment with him yet, grandsire. I believe he was occupied with other customs."

"Where is my son?" Viserys questioned after some time when the roasted vegetables and fowl presented upon the table. Aemma could feel the gaze of her grandsire upon her. "My granddaughter should be accompanied by her betrothed."

"Aegon is occupied, my love," Alicent answered sweetly. "He shall accompany his family shortly."
Aemma took another sip of her wine. It both warmed her and soothed her. She needed it. Already, this felt like too much.

At those words, the doors double burst open.
Aegon appeared. He was a little taller than the previous year and his sliver hair was kept short. He looked less boyish than she remembered and less lanky. He was dressed in green and gold and accompanied by his grandsire, the hand ⎯⎯ who held a looming presence of staggering authority.

"Aemma?!" Aegon wavered, his voice loud but as soothing as velvet when he said her name. His eyes casted around the room and he settled. Was he happy to see her? Somehow she was touched by it. Aemma couldn't help but find the idea of his company pleasant. That gnawing agitating feeling simply had fleeted with the wind. Aemma's eyes did not shift from Aegon as he ensured that the cup bearer fill his cup to the brim with wine. She felt as if were some dark unimaginable magic. She could not understand how he had changed her opinion of him.

Could she trust him? No, she couldn't. Could Aemma tolerate him? Find his company amusing and pleasant despite all the whispers? Yes.

Something within her grandsire seemed calmer now. Contented. He merely grew silent. His attention upon those of his family seated at his table, drinking his wine, meat and ale. However, Aegon's demeanour shifted once he was seated by a single glance shared with his grandsire ⎯⎯ the hand.

He swallowed pushing his cup of wine to the side. Aegon took a brief glance at his father before meeting Aemma's eyes.

"Shall I sit beside you, my dear?" Aegon asked from across the table. Aemma grew frazzled by the prospect and her eyes glanced to Aemond beside her. Aemma sat straighter, the wooden chair stiff and hard against her back. "Aemond?! You shall remove yourself from your seat and sit here."

Aemma looked to Aemond beside her. His brow was furrowed and his lips were a thin line and his fevered blue eye casted towards his mother seeking her protection. The Queen consort does not utter a word. Instead she situates herself by conversing with her daughter Helaena who was muttering about the newest addition to her collection ⎯⎯ a butterfly. Aside from that chatter the room is quiet aside from the scraping of chairs.

"Very well, brother," Aemond replied. Aemond stands, his chair pushing back. In those moments his spills his cup, sloshing the red liquid all over Aemma's dress.

Aemma does not make a sound. She does not meet his eye or seek any sort of apology. Instead she lifts the napkin from her lap and dabs away at the fabric solemn and fighting away the tears.
Despite it all, Aegon is there, a shadow at her side. He reaches across the table, his cutlery tumbling onto the ground with a clank.

"Aemond apologise this instant!" Viserys roars, but the stress of the incident leaves him in a coughing fit. The Queen looks to her husband with concern and worry, her brown eyes sharpening at her younger son.

"I'm so sorry, Aemma. It was an accident," Aemond mumbles. Despite his genuine tone his expression doesn't hold true.

"All is well," Aemma declares, rising. Pressing the liquid stained napkin to Aegon's chest who huffs at the impact of her hand.

"I shall return shortly once my dress is changed."

"My princess I shall send your plate for you to dine in your chambers⎯⎯," Alicent Hightower begins, wishing to soothe the minor incident.

"⎯⎯There is no need," the hand comments, placing his napkin upon his plate with a kindly expression. "Supper has ended. Bring an attendant to assist the King to his chambers."

Aemma finds her feet moving and she does not stop even for the anxious calls of concern made by her grandsire, her King.