My heart is a cathedral.
Windows, ghosts and
lovers sit and sing in the
dark, arched marrow of me

– Segovia Amil

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Visenys was listless, swimming in the vast ocean of her thoughts and trepidation. The bodice of her gown wrapped too tightly around her chest, but she only sat straighter in hopes of fixing it. She didn't need to breathe freely, she told herself. She only needed to be perfect. And what else could she do to be perfect but sit and smile and nod as the ladies of the court gossiped, as the nobleman attempted to charm her and win her affection? Their wooing never worked on her. There was only one man she cared to listen to, and he hadn't spoken to her the entire time she'd been there.

Sometimes she saw a glimpse of his flame-red hair in the crowd or caught his melodic laugh from somewhere in the pavilion. He'd only returned from the hunt a few hours ago. The trackers were still out there in the woods, looking for the famed white hart. From what Visenys had heard, the Hand was obsessed with it being found for Prince Aegon's birthday. She could easily imagine why, and it made her curl her lips in disgust whenever she laid eyes on him.

She wondered if her father knew Otto Hightower was trying to replace Rhaenyra – the girl her father himself suggested to be heir. Most of the lords expected it to happen, from what she'd heard. They spoke so openly in front of her that she had to wonder if they were fools or if she truly seemed so harmless to them. She already had a list of names tucked away safely in her mind.

The man she was currently being led around by was soon to be placed on that list. Lord Bracken's eldest son and heir was the boldest out of all the lords she'd encountered that day. His nose always seemed to be pointed skyward in a 'better-than-all-of-you' manner and every time he opened his mouth it was either to gloat or to complain. He seemed utterly convinced that Visenys was infatuated with him and that she would run off to her father the moment she was dismissed to beg him to become his bride.

She wanted nothing more than to insult him most unforgettably and saunter away from him – preferably towards Brynden, who was by far the biggest rival the Bracken lordling had ever had, just to rub the salt into the wound – but every time she came close to doing that, the same cursed voice that had followed her for three years now pulled her back. You must be perfect.

And so she put on her most pleasing smile and looked up at Amos Bracken with glittering eyes and nodded along to everything he said. There was no getting away from him, it seemed, as he pulled her along with him towards a group of young lords standing by the long table filled with delicious-looking sweets.

Visenys' heart stuttered to a stop when she saw the flame-red hair of Brynden Blackwood. Moments later, it began to beat so rapidly it was a wonder her entire face didn't flush.

Amos stuck his nose even further into the air as he sauntered over to the group. He smirked broadly when the lords bowed before Visenys, proudly showing off that it was him to whom the princess had given her attention. Visenys felt the corners of her mouth tug downwards before she quickly tightened them back into a smile.

"Your Highness, allow me to introduce you," Amos began, purposefully raising his voice to catch the attention of as many onlookers as possible. He gestured to each man as he named them. "Willem Piper, Eddard Whent, Edwyn Frey." He stopped as he gestured towards Brynden, leering at him. "And Brynden Blackwood."

Brynden grinned at her. "We've met," he said, earning another deep frown from Amos. Visenys felt something in her chest tighten pleasantly at the way he gazed at her, cerulean eyes dazzling with firelight dancing in them. "I regret that we haven't gotten the chance to speak these past few years. You've been well, I hope, your Highness?

No, Visenys almost said out loud, biting her tongue at the last second. She'd forgotten how easy it was to be honest with Brynden. Even now, when she hadn't seen him in so very long. The last time she was in his vicinity was when her uncle married Queen Alicent, and back then the wound of her mother leaving was far too fresh for Visenys to care about anything but hiding away in her chambers whenever she could. There hadn't been any words exchanged between them. She didn't even think she'd be able to explain it all if there had been.

It would be much easier to put it into words now. The gaping hole in her heart was ever present, but she'd learned to live with it and she barely recognised its presence anymore. She only knew that it hurt once. More than it did now. And that pain was as far away as her mother was, perhaps even farther than the Stepstones and the war her mother launched herself into.

"I have been well, thank you," she answered instead of pouring her heart out. Remembering the presence of all the other men, she added, "It is most unfortunate that I haven't had the chance to meet all of you respectable lords. Though Dragonstone is most freeing, some things are much too absent."

The lords all smiled, looking pleased with her words. She exhaled slowly through her nose, trying to get herself to relax. Amos laughed heartily and patted her hand which rested upon his arm in such a condescending manner that Visenys almost jerked away from him.

"Half of us expected you to return to us already betrothed!" he said, looking over her entire body. Us, as if every man at court was owed her. What a surprise it was for us that your brother was betrothed to Lady Penrose instead!" Visenys felt sick. It was true that Targaryens married their siblings. Her own grandparents were brother and sister. But she's never imagined herself married to her own brother. Her father or mother never mentioned it. She didn't think they'd even ever thought about such an option.

The image conjured in her mind made her skin crawl. Her entire body screamed at her to get away from the man who dared to even suggest such a thing. There was nothing she could do to escape without seeming rude. Her bodice felt too tight again, but straightening her back didn't seem to help.

"Do you have no manners at all, Amos?" Brynden cut in almost as soon as the vile words left Amos' mouth. "Such talk is unseemly." Brynden's skin was naturally pale, but his knuckles still turned a ghostly white where he gripped his goblet of wine tightly. His face was screwed up in a tight frown.

The other men flicked their gazes between Brynden and Amos cautiously. Such a standoff had to be common practice, especially with the rivalry between their two houses and their personal dislike of one another. But when the lords noticed her relief at Brynden's interruption and the way she leaned away from Amos, they were quick to join his side. Visenys would've scoffed if she wasn't glad for the sudden layer of protection.

Amos sneered at Brynden, tightening his hold on Visenys' arm. His mouth fell open to defend himself, but a weight tugged downwards at Visenys' skirt.

"Vis, I'm hungry," a soft small voice said, and Visenys instantly relaxed. Surely, Amos wouldn't cause a scene in front of a little girl. She used the distraction to untangle herself from Amos, taking a broad step away and turning her back to him directly. Viserra stood at her feet, pouting.

Visenys' shoulders sagged and she took Viserra's hand in her own. "Shouldn't you be with your nursemaid, my sweet?" she asked, glancing in the direction where the nursemaids sat with the youngest children. Aeron was crying about something and held tightly to the nursemaid's chest as she tried to calm him.

"Jeyne is too busy with Aeron." Viserra put into words what Visenys could already see. "And I can't find papa." Visenys swept her gaze over the crowd, hoping to catch a glimpse of her father's silver hair, but the only Targaryen man she saw was her uncle, who was having a tense-looking conversation with Lord Jason Lannister. Something fluttered in her stomach when she realised she finally had an excuse to get away from Amos that wouldn't be seen as unseemly.

"My apologies, my lords," she sighed, "but I must leave you now." All the men nodded, except for Amos who was still scowling in Brynden's direction. Visenys' eyes met the Blackwood heir's for only a moment before she spun on her heels, but even then she saw the daring glint in them. Gods, the azure colour of them was hypnotic. Though she thought his eyes could be any colour, and she would want to gaze into them regardless.

Viserra skipped beside her as they walked towards the table filled with various foods. Twirling a lock of her silver hair between her fingers. She was staring off, humming to herself and letting Visenys lead her through the ever-growing crowd of people. As the hours passed and the air outside grew chillier, the pavilion began to fill up more and more.

"What would you like?" Visenys asked when they reached the table. Viserra blinked, confused for a moment before her face lit up with realisation.

"Oh, I'm not actually hungry," she admitted, and Visenys' brows furrowed mouth falling agape as a dozen questions rammed through her mind. Viserra shrugged. "You looked uncomfortable and I was bored." Visenys couldn't help the laugh that tore through her throat. It was sudden and loud, and she covered her mouth with her hand to keep up at least some facade of elegance.

"You're a devilish girl, aren't you?" she giggled, but then she turned serious. "Thank you. I'm afraid Lord Amos is a rather stifling man." Viserra nodded, glancing back at the circle of men they'd left behind. She scrunched her nose before beaming up at Visenys.

"But your husband is handsome isn't he?" Visenys froze, blinking awkwardly. Husband? The word clambered around in her mind, slamming into walls and flipping through the air. She failed to hold it down, to lock it to something and connect it with reality.

"I'm not married, Serra," she reminded her sister, chest tightening when her round little face crumbled from excitement to distressed confusion. Her eyes flittered from Visenys to the group of men, then back again. She shook her head, the ringlets of her silver hair bouncing. The hand that wasn't holding Visenys' curled tightly around the fabric of her gown.

"But I was at your wedding," she breathed, eyes blown wide as she shook her head repeatedly. When Visenys didn't concede, she continued to speak, babbling things as if to try and convince herself. "You wore a gown of silver and red. You had weirwood leaves sown into your hair." She kept going, saying things with such clarity and detail that it seemed unfathomable to Visenys that they'd never occurred. And yet she knew that they hadn't, even as she stopped to think of her own sanity, thinking maybe she'd been the one that had forgotten or misremembered. She had been out of it lately, utterly out of herself.

"Serra, you must've dreamt it," she tried to explain, to Viserra as much as to herself. Her sister shook her head again but released a long breath.

"Yes, I must've," she acquiesced. Her periwinkle eyes searched the ground beneath them as if the dirt and the hastily strewn-out rugs held the answers. She turned to the table with the food after a while. "I'd like a lemon cake, please." The tone of her voice was soft and disappointed, and Visenys felt her chest tighten again.

She attempted her best smile and nodded. "Of course."

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Day bled into night, hastened by the thick overgrowth of trees above them. Rhaenyra's anger quickly simmered into a dull sadness, and Aemon didn't know what else to do but follow her around the woods and let her lay her heart out before him. All the pent-up feelings locked inside her ever since her father remarried, maybe even before that. They'd lost track of time, something Aemon regretted, but there was little they could do when they couldn't see even three feet in front of them.

They tied their horses to a low-hanging branch while the world was still only a dark grey. Aemon quickly got to work, gathering any dry branches he could find. Insects buzzed around him, crickets somewhere in grass and bushes. Starting the fire was more difficult than he'd anticipated, but eventually, he managed to create enough friction between a thin rope he found in his horse's saddle bag and a sturdy stick to produce a spark. After that it was much simpler, blowing on the spark until it singed the dry kindling and grew into larger flames.

He sat down, pleased with himself. Rhaenyra watched him the whole time, an unreadable look on her face. They remained in a long silence, a globe of warm orange light encasing them and separating them from the inky shadows of the night around them. It was not a comfortable sort of silence. Aemon felt every second of it agonizingly and sensed every stretch of his body that Rhaenyra laid her eyes on. She was waiting for something, or maybe she just didn't know what to say.

They'd spoken for hours before, but not once had the conversation steered away from Rhaenyra's impending betrothal and her frustration at her father's plans. He hadn't realised how little he could say to her now. Not after she'd cried over his engagement to Elinor and demanded to know if he truly wanted it. There was a wall between them now, and he didn't know how to bring it down. He didn't think he could.

"Are you well?" Rhaenyra eventually asked, breaking the continuous whirring of bugs around them with her pleasant voice. Aemon tore his eyes away from the fire. The orange light illuminated Rhaenyra's relaxed face in a godly way. He felt something tighten in his chest.

"Yes," he answered, unsure of what else to say. He scrambled for words, but they dissolved as soon as they formed in his mind. The silence stretched between them again, until Rhaenyra sighed and spoke again.

"And your betrothed?" Aemon's eyes fluttered shut. He should've expected this. Rhaenyra was not one to give up anything easily, and if she truly thought he was unhappy, her determination would increase tenfold. He leaned back, resting his back on the tree trunk behind him. The surface was hard and rigid, digging into his back through his clothing.

"Elinor is as happy as ever." He wondered if sharing more of his relationship with the Penrose girl would do more harm than good, but when Rhaenyra nodded at him to continue, he did so without question. "We walk together through the gardens frequently, and she seems excited to meet my sister again. She and Vis got along well last time she was in King's Landing."

Rhaenyra nodded, a strained smile pulling at her lips. "That is good. They have similar interests, do they not? I've heard Lady Elinor is better at archery than most men in the Red Keep." Aemon chuckled and nodded, remembering the many times Elinor won a challenge placed before her by some arrogant lordling. He loved watching her wipe the cocky grins off their faces, a strange sense of mirth blooming in the pit of his stomach.

"She joined the trackers today. I wouldn't be surprised if she proved better than them at finding prey either." Guilt wiped the grin off his face. "I was supposed to go with her." Instead, he was gallivanting in the woods with his cousin, who by all means seemed to dislike Elinor at best and hate her at worst. Elinor would understand, but Aemon could already see the way her smile would drop and she would say it was alright, even as her brown eyes dulled. She'd walk away, coming up with an excuse to leave his presence, and he would feel like the worst man in the world because he would be the reason for her disappointment.

Teeth dug sharply into his cheek as he bit down on it, the pain a small punishment for himself. He shouldn't have come here, the thought hammered down on him all of a sudden. It was wrong to be here with Rhaenyra, even if she was hurt by whatever her father was planning. He saw the dismay on her face from across the fire, distorted by the wavering hot air and crackling sparks. He suddenly became all too aware of the acrid stench of ash and smoke in the air, of the bark digging into his back and the cold ground beneath him.

When Rhaenyra spoke again, he barely heard it. "Do you want it?" Her voice was weak and unsure, but she was staring directly at him, violet eyes glassy and hands wringing together in her lap. He forced his gaze away, unable to look at her.

What was he supposed to say? Elinor was a wonderful woman and he enjoyed her company every time they spent time together. The betrothal was already bound by contract, and his uncle would never break it, if only because he hated confrontation. It was his father's wish that he marry Elinor. Aemon's feelings on the matter didn't hold any sway, nor did they have any meaning. It was his duty, he repeated in his head for the millionth time in three years. Especially now that his mother wasn't there and his father bore all the weight of the world alone.

Despite all the reasons why he shouldn't, Aemon admitted, "I've never wanted anything less." He hated himself the moment the words left his lips, squeezing his eyes shut and cursing himself inwardly. When he opened his eyes again, a gut-wrenching sort of hope lingered in Rhaenyra's eyes. It made him feel sick.

"Then say something!" she begged him, moving towards him so quickly that he barely registered it until she was kneeling in front of him, grasping at his hands with her own. "If you truly do not want it, tell my father! He will break the betrothal, I know he will!" Aemon doubted that. Viserys was unlikely to listen to his pleas.

"And what would you have me do?" Aemon asked, his voice a bit harsher than it had to be. "If I break the betrothal, I paint myself as an oath-breaker! Lord Penrose served the realm honourably as Master of Laws for years, the least the Crown can do is reward him in some way." Rhaenyra scoffed but didn't move away from him or let go of his hands.

"To serve the realm is his duty!" Aemon wanted to scream, but he gritted his teeth until the initial burst of anger wilted away.

"And it is my duty to wed Lady Elinor and provide an alliance with the Stormlands, as it is your duty to marry a lord worthy enough to be your king consort when you take the crown," Aemon hissed, hoping that Rhaenyra would just listen. Why didn't she understand? She shook her head, eyes turning glassy again. The violet hue of them glistened like amethysts. She was beautiful, heaven-sent, and he didn't know how to deal with the influx of emotion and want she caused.

"And what if I want you as my king consort?" she demanded emphatically. Aemon was struck into silence. It was the first time either of them had spoken the truth out loud. They'd been dancing around it for two years now, maybe even longer. The admission coming out now, three years too late, was nothing more than another layer of pain to add to the previous ones. Aemon's lungs burned. He hadn't even realised he'd started holding his breath.

When Aemon didn't answer, Rhaenyra faltered, her eyelids fluttering as a few stray tears rolled down her cheeks. He wanted to reach out and wipe them away, but his limbs were frozen, numb as stone. Words got stuck in his throat. How was he supposed to respond to that? He had a million reasons as to why he couldn't be her king consort, why he couldn't marry her even if he thought she was the most beautiful thing that had ever graced the earth.

He was a prince, but he had no inheritance to speak of, no wealth in any vault or armies to place between Rhaenyra and her enemies. He didn't even have a gods damned dragon to offer her. He was worthless to her. Could give her nothing. He'd known it for a long time, and once he might've thought the lack of everything was a blessing in disguise, saving him from duty and responsibilities. But duty still came for him eventually, and he realised the inheritance, wealth and armies would've made carrying said duty out a thousand times easier.

And now he knew how his father felt, a third son with nothing to speak of but the skills he spent years garnering, yet still not good enough for anything in anyone's eyes. Subjected to sitting in a room in silence, forever ignored by everyone who should've heeded his advice, his words, his very existence. And he couldn't explain that to Rhaenyra, for she would never understand. How could she? She had always had something waiting for her, a call of destiny that he never felt.

"I'm not enough," he croaked out, shaking his head most minutely so that it was barely visible. His eyes burned as tears threatened to pool in them despite how hard he tried to blink them away. The only thing he could ever give her was an alliance through his marriage to someone else, he knew that. Rhaenyra shook her head, hands cupping his jaw.

"You are enough for me." And before Aemon could even summon a single thought, she kissed him. It was surprisingly chaste, a press of her soft lips to his own, but it was enough to send his whole world tilting. Before he could respond in any way, she was already pulling back. "Was I made heir to the Iron Throne, so that I may further raise the standing of a Lord of Casterly Rock? No, I am the Princess of Dragonstone. I will marry whom I wish."

Aemon stared at her, mouth agape. "I can't, Rhaenyra–" A branch cracked somewhere in the bushes, and the leaves rustled. Both of them were still, staring intently in the direction of the sudden sound. Aemon's heartbeat spiked, grip tightening on Rhaenyra's upper arm as he tried to see what was hiding in the dark.

It was impossible to make out anything except for a few leaves. The fire burned too bright, eliminating any hope of his eyes adjusting to the inky blackness around them. He nudged Rhaenyra away gently, then slowly reached for the scabbard of his sword. The blade scraped against the leather as he pulled it out carefully, not taking his eyes off the spot where the sound came from.

Rhaenyra was frozen on the ground beside him, so still that she looked to not be breathing at all. What could either of them do if there was danger lurking there? A band of bandits, mercenaries, and maybe even an assassin sent to eliminate two Targaryen royals who were foolish enough to venture into the woods alone without any guards. Aemon cursed himself for not waiting for anyone. Ser Criston had ridden after them, but he was too far behind them and they lost him in the mindless gallop.

Then the silence was broken. Something dashed out from the bushes, squealing a battle cry. It moved so fast that it was only a blur and Aemon had no chance to react as it rammed into him. The force sent him flying to the ground, and he felt something sharp break the skin on his side. Something wet and sticky flooded out from between the torn leather, but Aemon had little time to worry about the blood as forced a forearm between himself and the creature that attacked him. It was writhing above him, angry and thirsting after the kill. He barely registered that it was boar – large, heavy and too strong for him – as it jutted its tusks dangerously close to his exposed throat.

He shouted as its hooves came down onto his ribs, and he heard a sickening crack. The boar let out another thunderous squeal. It was different to the initial one, and by the time Aemon noticed it was a cry of pain, the boar was already limp atop him. Its weight pressed down on him, making it hard to inhale and adding more pressure to the aching rib on his left side.

Rhaenyra stood above him. He could barely make her out through the haze of his mind. Blood thrummed in his ears so loudly it sounded like a river's rapids. Rhaenyra's silver hair was coated in blood, the same redness splattered on her leather coat and her face. The look of fury twisting her face was haunting. Aemon's swore was clenched in her hands and raised high above her head as she brought it down upon the dead boar once more, making sure it wouldn't be getting up again. When she was sure the boar was completely still, she dropped the sword to the ground and tried to roll its body off him. It took multiple tries and Aemon's feeble help to do so, but when the weight was finally lifted from him, he was relieved.

"You need a maester!" Rhaenyra cried, clutching his side where blood trickled from the wound. Aemon pushed himself up, gritting his teeth against the sharp aching pain emanating from his ribcage. Breathing was difficult, and the pain came glaringly hot every time he moved. Rhaenyra helped him lean against the tree trunk behind him, and then she was back to worrying about the cut.

It took painfully long to take off his leather vest, flinching every time he moved a bit too rapidly. When they did, they both let out a sigh of relief. The white shirt beneath it was torn and bloody, but the cut from the boar's tusk – at least, that's what Aemon assumed caused it – was shallow and only slightly larger than a scrape. He'd been lucky. He heard of men dying to wild boars, gutted by their tusks.

He pursed his lips. How was he going to get back to camp? The pain was frustrating even with the barest of movements.

"How bad is it?" Rhaenyra asked, wiping away the blood from her forehead. She only succeeded in smearing it more, adding some from her bloodied hands.

"I don't know," he admitted. The pain was getting significantly worse with each minute that passed. Aemon heard of this before, some soldiers didn't even realise they'd been injured until the fight was well over. He doubted there was any way to not feel a broken rib, but he also wished the pain had stayed the same as it had been minutes ago.

Before he could summon another thought, a distant thudding echoed in the woods. Both of them froze again, their eyes wide. It was the sound of hooves. Horse hooves, with how loud and heavy the thudding sounded. It gained in volume quickly. Whoever it was – and for a terrifying second, Aemon feared the worst – was approaching them quickly. The horse galloped into view, just barely visible in the few rays of moonlight. Something silver glinted on top of it. A full suit of armour.

"Ser Criston!" Rhaenyra cried as the knight pulled his mount to a sudden stop. He dismounted and pulled off his helm, taking in the sight in front of him.

"You two are absolute fools! Riding off into the Kingswood alone? Have you any idea what could've happened?" he chastised them, kneeling beside Aemon and looking over his wounds. When he spotted the dead bore, a frustration passed over his face. "Gods, my Prince! You could've been killed!"

Aemon was becoming increasingly aware of that, but at least they were safe now.

A/N

Me coming back after not updating for a month and a half:

I originally made Aemon's character to be a parallel and a foil (at the same time somehow idk) to Viserys, but not he's also the parallel and foil to Aella. They both love someone they're not married/betrothed to and feel severe guilt on acting on those feeling (even if Aemon kinda did it unwillingly here), but they both definitely react to it in completely different ways as you'll see in future chapters.

I know I promised that you'd see Aella this chapter but its been so long since i've written for this book that I just decided to finish Aemon's scene and publish this. There were supposed to be two more scenes in this chapter but I decided to move them over to the next one cause you'd have to wait a million more years to see this if i hadn't.

Writer's block has been kicking my ass recently and with school starting again i'm usually too tired to write when i get home, so i'm sorry for taking so long!

But hey at least I wrote the Visenys pov I promised!