𝔗𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐇
VIII. UNIQUE ALLIANCES

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⋆｡˚﹕121  AC ⎯ 𝖣𝖱𝖨𝖥𝖳𝖬𝖠𝖱𝖪

IT WAS A night of remembrance ⎯⎯ one where any joy that soared was muddled with melancholy over the death of her father, Laenor Velaryon. The banquet was an affair of many, with plenty of ale and meat. Seated at the table Aemma with her family, she did not feel like dancing, no matter how much Jacaerys offered in the hope of cheering her spirits.

"Are you alright, sister?" Jacaerys his twin after some time. Aemma found that she could say very little to anyone.

"I am managing, brother," Aemma whispered, refusing to shift her blue-eyed gaze to Aegon, seated to her right. The situation was tense, unbearable almost. Aemma nor her brothers or cousins could forget what happened.

"Are you going finish your potatoes?" Lucerys asked, leaning over the table to look towards Aemma. A slight smile stretched across her lips before she passed her plate over Jacaerys to her younger brother. It felt as if her smiles were only reserved now for the sanity of her brothers and nothing else.

"Why are they still looking at me?" Aegon spoke in a slurried whisper to Aemma. He had already had multiple cups of Westerosi wine. Aemma had succeeded in the simple pleasantries to the sliver-haired boy beside her, especially, when she had noticed the sharpened eyes of Baela and Rhena. That was when she had noticed her unnerving feelings towards Aegon had vanished.
Aemma swallowed, fighting the nauseating feeling that pooled in her stomach. Did she now have to forever defend Aegon? Support his boyish whims and childish pranks? She was hoping that he would not embarrass her tonight.

"We'll have to dance," Aemma confessed suddenly. She did not know why she thought it would fix the matter but it was something. She herself did not want to dance. She felt too sad. But she had put all of that aside. They needed to be together in some way. It would not help that they forget hated each other.

"You are absurd," Aegon spoke, raising his cup to his lips, glancing around the hall.

"Aegon, we must do something."

Aemma stood, smiling loosely as her dress pooled at her feet and just above her satin slippers. It seemed unnatural for her smile so forcefully. She was aware of the eyes that took to her, especially the look of her mother. Aegon had been placed next to Aemma and her mother did not have to feign her surprise. It could be seen in the way her mother looked to her ⎯⎯ the reverence and gentle care that was forever caught in her lavender eyes. Even from afar, Aemma knew that her mother would do all she could to protect her.

"My Prince," Aemma spoke with clarity, her voice loud and unwavering as eyes drew to her. "Shall we dance?"

His blue fazed indigo gaze was sharp, despite his lazy, almost drunk adornment. Aemma willed her face to show her reasoning, her pleading. It was almost as if he refused to believe that this was happening but then something snapped and he smiled loosely, clapping his hands together.

"Of course, my dear!" Aegon spoke, slurridly. He stood, his wooden chair scraping and offered his hand to Aemma ⎯⎯ which she accepted rather too quickly. Aemma did her best to feign her surprise when Aegon's hand found her own, his long fingers slipping between hers as he led her to the dance floor. The beat was steady, rising and falling with a melodious overarching tune. Aegon must've found this ludicrous. Aemma could see the glimmer in his eye as he looked to her and her years of association knew what it meant ⎯⎯ trouble. But there was no denying how much Aemma longed to know his thoughts.

"Shall we, my dear?" Aegon asked, offering his hand with a bow so ridiculous and a smirk. . . Aemma suddenly found it refreshing. How more than not was she restrained and restricted within her duties? Could this be fun?

Aemma laughed as she curtsied attempting to mirror Aegon's estranged bow. It was forever a note that her laugh was a beautiful sound ⎯⎯ joyous and true. The corner of Aegon's plump mouth twisted with a glimmer of a smile.

To many eyes, it was evident that Aegon was a terrible dancer, he did not know the correct steps that Aemma found at ease. After all, it evident how flawless and soundless Aemma was upon her feet. Yet, his attempt to follow Aemma, letting her lead them both through the dance was something that surprised her. The two would laugh at their lameness and incorrect steps, and soon they would be conferring to a makeshift dance of their own Targaryen nature that was entirely incorrect. He held her closely, as if she were lifeline as Aegon was incredibly unsure. It was remarkable how it was the first time Aemma had done something improper that could be frowned upon, or at least from what she could remember. Aemma refused to avert her gaze to her mother or brothers or kin when the dance was over and she was rendered breathless by it.

Instead all she found herself able to do was look to Aegon. Were the two so different? The blood of Old Valyria was embedded within their veins ⎯⎯ both of them were dragon riders. She had never truthfully been so close to him before and neither had she never intertwined her own hand with his long, skinny fingers. He was older, almost half a head taller than Aemma herself.

Her hands grew clammy at thought of letting herself forgive him for choosing her, yet she could not resent him. Aemma had chosen Aegon herself. After all, after this kindness he had shown her ⎯⎯ not embarrassing her in front of her family for her choice. Maybe Aegon was more than a cowardly, idiotic drunk after all? He wasn't the desired choice but he was enough for her. Dragons did not do well in the cold and snow in the North. Firedancer would be still remain at home that way and dragon and rider would not be parted.

"Krimvose, issa jorrāelagon," Aemma whispers, her High Valyrian impeccably perfect and a blush alights her rounded pale cheeks at attempting a term of endearment towards her one day Lord Husband. (Thank you, my love).

Aegon escorts Aemma from the makeshift dance floor and there is a light in his indigo eyes as he looks to those seated at the banquet as they return to their seats. The numerous eyes of kin that were steadily upon them had now faded in the scene of somber celebration and remembrance.

"Ry. . . iksos syrī issa. . . jorrāelagon," he whispers softly, despite struggling with his pronunciation and string the words together ever so slightly. It must've been from the wine but Aemma knew he was not as keen on his studies or Targaryen custom as she was. (All is well, my dear).

When Aemma, found the courage to look to her mother, Rhaenyra was smiling ever so softly and the reflective look in her eyes as her mother turned to Daemon was a look of hope.

"You danced very well, sister," Lucerys comments with an encouraging smile, nibbling at a honey cake.

"As did you Uncle. However, I can't recall that particular dance," Jacaerys comments with a brimming smile, attempting not only formality but an onset notion for peace. (Despite the joke).

Aegon smiled loosely at his nephew's words, raised his cup of wine and took a large, overly loud slurp and when he found that his betrothed was starring at him. Jacaerys and Lucerys stood from their seats, walking over to Baela and Rhena to offer them a dance as the music shifted into another song once again. It left Aemma and Aegon alone. It seemed as if he were confused as Aegon offered the cup with a single raised eyebrow. Aemma shook her head but continued to stare helplessly.

He wasn't ugly in appearance. Aemma noted soundly. Yet, he has an ugly heart.

Aemma watched Aegon take another sip, unsure of what to converse about. It would be silly if her attention took to something else other than Aegon.

"Why do you drink so much?" Aemma asked. "You truely must enjoy it so?"

"Yes, little niece. It's one of life's greatest pleasures," Aegon promised with a grin, brushing his sliver locks back over his shoulders.

"Pleasures?" Aemma repeated trying not to sound so confused about it.

"Come on, my dear. A sip won't hurt. Your father loved wine," Aegon smiled encouragingly.

"Is my mother looking?" Aemma asked hesitantly.

"No," Aegon promised, his eyes darting quickly to the other end of the room where her mother was seated.

"Very well," Aemma concluded. She took Aegon's cup gently, bringing it to her lips. The smell was odd, it smelt of spices she noted and well, wine. When she took a sip, she was confused at the warm feeling in her chest and the bitter and rather dry but pleasant taste. A few seconds passed, then she coughed, spluttering drowned out by the heavenly music. Aegon laughed, slapping her on the back a bit too harshly. She could feel his warm hand through the fabric of her dress.

"May I have another?" Aemma asked, glancing down at the cup she had handed to Aegon.

Aegon smiled gently, indigo eyes meeting blue. "No. Not tonight."

Aemma twisted the rings on her fingers, shifting her gaze towards her lap, suddenly standing and held her hand out to Aegon.

"I am going to go see Firedancer, are you coming?"

THERE WAS SOMETHING unique in this shared alliance between the them both. Aemma could feel it. There had been some shift between them the two, trust in that this betrothal would grant them both trust in the freedom they both wished and longed for.

Aegon was a little weary upon his feet, his boots sinking into the sand and he held upon Aemma's arm for support. It seemed that it was best he was with her than anyone else here at Driftmark. His cup of wine sloshed and spilled with every movement he made, casting Aemma's sleeve with crimson liquor. Although, Aemma said nothing to it, she was glad that Aegon willingly shared her company no matter how much of a choice she had given him.

"Firedancer, doesn't like confinement," Aemma tells her betrothed. "I think she likes the freedom of the cliffs and the fields. The Dragon Pit is so restricting for the dragons is it not?"

"Yes, my dear," Aegon laughs but it seems as if he was only half paying attention.

In the moonlight and wafting salty air, Firedancer clambers for Aemma with sultry calls of joy. The bond between Aemma and her dragon ran deep. Aemma would take Firedancer on any adventure she could they'd fly circles around Kings Landing or when permitted to Driftmark at the word of her father. Firedancer was Aemma's greatest joy and pride. She had claimed the dragon when she was eight, years prior now.

Aemond had attempted once to claim Firedancer moment before Aemma had and failed ⎯⎯ his cloak catching alight and was sadly unable to be mended. The heat from Firedancer's fury had left him with singed eyebrows and patchy sliver hair for a month until it was corrected and cut short to his disgust. The Queen was grateful that her son's life had been spared and did not understand his dire need for a dragon. That was until Aegon and her brothers at times began the endless training yard bluster and relentless teasing.

"Ugh!" Aemond roared. Flinging his cloak over his shoulder that now singed and brought the aroma of smoke into their presence. "I did everything right!"

Aemond removes his cloak and snuffs the smoke with his foots. He is reeling, maddened by his rejection.

"Easy now, my Prince," The Dragonkeeper  warns from a distance, knowing that their position notes that they are unable to intervene between such things.

"Gīda," Aemma whispers, practising, rehearsing, her eyes arising to great stone structure of the Dragonpit itself. "Sagon gīda." (Calm/be calm).

Aemma steps forwards. Her boots hard against its surface, her riding leathers gifted by her mother were new and unworn. Wearing them made Aemma feel unsure if she was worthy. Firedancer was chained to the stone, unable to fly away, alike all the dragons within the pit. The she-dragon was half the size of the largest and oldest living dragon Vhagar with dark scales as black as night and her horns a crown of a tarnished grey sliver.

Aemma found that Aemond was gone, it would not surprise her if he had stormed off. He always had to win when they played. She was now alone and that was why she got along much better with Helena and Jace. Her heart thundered in her chest at the marvelling sight of the she-dragon looming before her. She had not noticed the red gleam upon her wings nor how the dragon made her way closer at the end of her chains.

"Sagon gīda," Aemma commands unmoving, "Nyke jāhor pryjagon lī belma." (Be calm/ I will break those chains.)

Firedancer rumbles from the back of her throat almost as if she were pleased. Aemma founds herself concerned how long had she been without a rider? But more so, did she truely understand the words Aemma spilled from her mouth?

"Kostagon ao shifang issa?" Aemma giggles, delighted. (Can you understand me?)

Firedancer levels her neck, cranning downwards to Aemma's eye-level, yellow eyes unblinking into the young Princess' swirls of lavender and blue. Unsure of what the dragon desires, Aemma holds out her hand from her body, closing her eyes, only to feel the cool, hard surface of Firedancer's scales as the dragon accepts her. Aemma smiles.

Her Grandsire, the King was proud when Aemma claimed Firedancer. Bound by magic, her Grandsire once commented when he saw Aemma and her dragon a-flight. Firedancer brought Aemma great pride and joy in knowing that she was a dragon rider. It brought great comfort knowing she forever had a companion through life and a dear friend.

"Issa Raqiros," Aemma speaks loudly in High Valyrian, her fingers gently snaring Firedancer's snout, the scales dark and hidden with the night. The gleam of her yellow eyes shine brightly. (My friend).

"Go get Sunfyre," Aemma says to Aegon behind her, who had taken another swig from his cup.

"You're about to mount a dragon with no saddle?!" Aegon yells, sobering up. It seemed that he had somewhat of a conscious now. He was no longer slurring his words or babbling nonsense.

"Yes!" Aemma said delighted by the prospect, scratching at Firedancer's neck.

"You're a madwoman!" Aegon yells as Firedancer growls when he grows near.

"Thank you, my Prince! And you're drunk!" Aemma calls back into the night.