I usually solve
problems by letting
them devour me

– Franz Kafka

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115 AC

After three years, Aemon's stance on his betrothal hardly changed. The anxiety when faced with Lady Elinor was no longer there, and he did feel sick whenever their impending marriage was mentioned but he still despised the idea of marrying her. Lady Elinor was kind, charming, and intelligent, and Aemon found himself enjoying the hours they spent together. She was a friend to him and nothing more.

That did not seem to matter to the world or the court. Because everyone now knew of the betrothal, including Elinor herself. Aemon spent a year harbouring that knowledge all by himself. His father had kept his word, as Aemon expected he would, and Elinor was not told anything, nor was the betrothal solidified by any means. Until Prince Aegon was born – a red-faced squalling son that Viserys craves for so long – and his father came to the capital.

When faced with his father and the question of the betrothal, Aemon found it hard to refuse him. Prince Rhaegon, pale and exhausted, looking more like a wraith than a man, was the very image of duty in that year. He alone took care of Aeron and Viserra, especially now that Aemon's mother was in the Stepstones. And how could Aemon stand in front of his father, look into his eyes which were lined with redness and surrounded by heavy bags, and complain like a child that he did not want it?

He couldn't, and that was the truth. And no matter how much Aemon regretted his answer, there wasn't anything he could do about it now. The court knew, Elinor knew, the King had agreed and a contract was drawn up. And Elinor smiled at him so brightly that first feast they attended together, eyes shining with barely kept excitement. If he backed out now, he would only hurt everyone around him.

But do you want it? Rhaenyra had shouted those words at him when she found out, violet eyes lined with tears that Aemon didn't understand. His answer of duty and tradition hasn't quelled her crying, and he did not know how to comfort her. After that day, she never brought it up again, but her face was one of hard steel in the presence of his betrothed.

"How is your mother, my Prince?" Elinor's soft melodic voice brought him to the present. The air around him was heavy with the overpowering fragrance of blooming flowers and the stifling. No, there hasn't been any sort of news from the Stepstone in almost three months. The anger of his mother's abandonment had long dwindled and only turned to a soft – but ever-present – turmoil. It had come as such a shock when his father's letter arrived at the Red Keep not only a month after his uncle's wedding to his new queen.

Aemon's mother had been suffering for a long time, he knew that. The maester's called it a common melancholy, supposedly an after-effect of childbirth. Many women suffered through it, and clearly, Aemon did not understand it, because he never imagined his mother would mount her dragon in the middle of the night in nothing more than her nightgown and fly off south to where the war was occurring. It had been almost three years, and she hadn't returned, nor did she write as often as she had in the beginning.

She'd left behind a crying babe, a confused toddler and an upset newly flowered daughter without a single thought. The only memory of her ever existing were the constant rumours circling the court. His father rarely returned to court, and the King preferred to ignore any insults or rumours rather than quelling them, and Aemon never knew what to say. So, they lived on.

"I am afraid the only news I've received are the constant reports of lost battles," Aemon told Elinor. "And please, how many times do I have to tell you to call me by my name?" Elinor grinned at him and laughed, the sound like the most wonderful song. The sun glistened off her honey-brown hair, adorned with soft pink ribbons.

"However many times you deem necessary, Aemon," she said, "But I'm afraid there's nothing that draws you from your thoughts more than your title." Aemon grimaced and gave her an apologetic look.

"I apologise." Elinor shook her head and waved her free arm dismissively. She'd never been offended when he stopped paying attention or lost himself in a world far from this one. If anything, she found it endearing, which was something Aemon found peculiar. No one had ever liked it when he lost himself and his attention broke away from them. "I do not want you to think I don't care."

"I believe you find my constant babbling about plants and flowers boring. I don't blame you for not paying attention." She didn't sound hurt, but Aemon still felt annoyed with himself. "It would be like me pretending to find sword fighting interesting."

His brows furrowed. "I thought you enjoyed those kinds of things." Elinor spent more time on horseback than any woman Aemon had ever met before and was far more skilled in archery than most men-at-arms at the Red Keep.

"Archery, horse riding and hunting? Yes, I find those entertaining. Swinging a sharp stick at someone? Not so much." Aemon laughed, and Elinor's smile widened. "I know you have a lot on your mind lately. Your father's finally coming to court is he not?" Aemon nodded. His siblings were supposedly coming as well. The last time he saw Viserra and Aeron was when he left Dragonstone. Visenys came to the celebration of Prince Aegon's birth, but she hadn't been allowed to stay after that no matter how much she wanted to.

"He is. Visenys will hopefully be allowed to stay here now. She despises Dragonstone now that Uncle Daemon isn't there to entertain her." Aemon sighed and looked at a surprisingly bright red bloom close to them. "Besides, she's freshly fourteen and will be expected to find a husband soon. I doubt the court would look kindly on an eligible princess being hidden away."

Not for the first time, the idea of his sister being married off made him sick. Fourteen was a normal age to be betrothed at. It was common, and yet Aemon hated it beyond belief. If he ever had daughters, he would allow them to wait. Just as Lord Penrose had demanded Elinor marry at a later age. When Aemon asked Elinor why her father wanted such a thing, despite betrothing her at fifteen, she shrugged and said the lord's sister died in childbirth at fourteen. And it was easy to understand then because if he were to lose Visenys right now, he would murder whatever lord decided to put a child in her when she was still a child herself.

"I look forward to meeting your sister again! There are not many women here at court who enjoy the same things I do. And frankly, the court could use her lively spirit," Elinor said, leaning slightly away from him when a brightly coloured exotic flower caught her eye. Instinctively, Aemon tightened his hold on her arm so she wouldn't tilt too far and fall over.

"Prince Aegon is not lively enough for you?" Elinor scoffed heartily. Aemon's youngest cousin was indeed a lively boy. He toddled after his mother constantly and squalled in delight whenever he saw Aemon. He still couldn't pronounce words properly, and so instead of saying Aemon's name correctly, he said 'Emon', and it was the most adorable thing he'd ever heard.

"Prince Aegon isn't turning two until tomorrow!" Elinor said, rolling her eyes. "He's lively in a way only a babe can be. And it's not the kind of lively I'm looking for." Aemon supposed she was right, but before he could answer a roar shook the air around him.

A large shadow swept over the garden. The unmistakable beating of a dragon's wings blew wind into their faces, and then another roar came from the hulking mass that was his father's dragon. Morghul circled the Red Keep twice before aiming towards the Dragonpit. All that was left in his wake was a strange silence as if the entire world had held its breath.

Morghul was one of the largest beings alive, second only to Vhagar, who was only about a decade older than he was if the Dragonstone records were correct. Unlike Vhagar, he wasn't battle-hardened, but the lack of strain and injury made him swift and fierce. Aemon had seen Vhagar fly multiple times in his life, especially now that his Cousin Laena claimed her. She was still fast, still strong and enormous, but the age was clearly getting to her.

"He's beautiful," Elinor breathed as she watched Morghul fly over the city. She'd never seen him so up close before. "In a terrifying sort of way." Aemon had to agree. The scales as black as night seemed to swallow up all the light around them – a black void on the sky's blue canvas – and his great curling horns looked like those drawn on demons.

"He does look terrifying," Aemon agreed. "But when he's with my father, he acts more like an overgrown cat." Elinor broke into a long peal of laughter.

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The air in King's Landing was stiflingly hot. That was the first thing Rhaegon noticed when Morghul landed and he was led out of the Dragonpit by a knight of the Kingsguard. The heat was beating down hard on the city as the sun shone at its peak, glaringly bright. The litter was already waiting for him as he climbed down the steps, his two daughters and son sat inside and waiting for him.

When he sat down, Viserra readily clambered onto his lap. He smiled and balanced her on his knee, giving her his ring to play with. Her soft silver hair was tied back with a lilac ribbon, matching her same-coloured dress. Viserra had taken a liking to the colour lately and wore it almost every day.

As a contrast to the soft bubbly girl, Visenys sat pressed to the wall of the litter, arms crossed over her chest as she stared out of the window at the passing streets. She was of a sharper beauty, all hard lines and cold features. Hers was an austere sort of beauty. Instead of a lighter tone of dress, Visenys wore a gown of black and red, silver jewelry around her waist and neck. She ignored Aeron as the three-year-old tried to get her attention, instead pretending she didn't hear him.

He didn't want to force it, but Rhaegon wished she wouldn't do that. He knew that over the two and a half years where Aella wasn't there, she'd grown colder. The absence of Daemon, who up until that point had indulged her in every activity she wanted, including taking her up into the sky on Caraxes, probably helped the matter little. Luckily, Viserra seemed to take an interest in Aeron's babbling and drew his attention away from Visenys.

When they finally reached the Red Keep, Rhaegon was more than happy to get out of the overheated closed space. What he hadn't been expecting was for Viserys to be waiting in the courtyard to welcome him, his very pregnant wife standing beside him. His brother offered him his usual strained smile, and Rhaegon bowed.

"Your Grace," he greeted Viserys, smiling slightly to himself when Aeron tried to mimic him and almost fell over. He was such a sweet boy, so completely dependent on Rhaegon and his nurse. The Queen seemed to find it equally amusing since she smiled down kindly at Aeron. "It is an honour to be invited to Prince Aegon's nameday celebrations."

Viserys nodded and exhaled as if he hadn't been certain how their meeting would go. "I am glad you could come, brother. You have been greatly missed in the Keep." The words were strained, practised, and not at all how they used to converse with one another. But could Rhaegon truly expect anything different? He'd left the capital when Viserys was grieving when he himself was grieving. He wouldn't lie and say he had been kind about it either, and Viserys was aware that his actions were the final push he needed to leave the court truly. He didn't say anything else, instead turning to Visenys who stood to Rhaegon's right. Immediately, his smile faltered. "You have grown quite beautiful, niece."

"Thank you, uncle," Visenys answered, but her face remained as impassive as it had for months now. "It is kind of you to say so." She looked away from him then, staring up at the red stone walls of the Red Keep and its spiralling towers instead. She looked like a painting, not even a single hair out of place from her many braids. Rhaegon couldn't remember when his once wild daughter last looked like the free-willed child she had. All she was now was stone-cold perfection, a perfect copy of Queen Visenya's portrait hung on the walls of Dragonstone.

The change came slowly, then all at once. He barely noticed the sudden appearance of glittering jewellery or the tidy appearance of her hair, then waved a hand at the lack of departure from the fortress. Until one day, there was not a smudge of dirt on his daughter's pale cheek, not a peep from her at supper, where she sat with her back as straight as a pin, and now more begging to see her dragon. Veraxes rarely saw his rider now, despite him being large enough to fly with a rider.

It was then, most likely, that he realised something was terribly wrong. Because Visenys, strong-willed and chaotic Visenys, who was the very embodiment of a storm, shrugged upon hearing the news of her dragon's growth and denied Rhaegon's offer to take to the sky. She went to her septa instead, wringing her hands together nervously as she walked away, and Rhaegon had never felt so disgustingly sick before in his life.

She didn't argue anymore, didn't desire anymore, and she most certainly didn't dream anymore. And Rhaegon tried to understand, but he never did learn what killed his little girl and replaced her with this hollow ghost.

Viserys turned from them then, gesturing for them to follow him and Alicent inside. Rhaegon picked up Aeron, knowing the young boy wouldn't be able to climb the steps by himself yet, and followed after his brother. The Keep was full of life, more so than usual. Servants and nobles alike bustled around her, bowing to the royal family as they passed. There were lords that Rhaegon did not recognise at all. Gods, it had been long since he'd been there. So many people came down for Aegon's nameday, and it was difficult to settle himself back into the fast and volatile flow of court.

He was overwhelmed by the skidding of feet along the floor as servants hurried around corridors, the giggling of noblewomen hiding their smiles behind dazzlingly bright fans, and the clinking of the Kingsguards' armour.

It wasn't until they got to the royal apartments that the halls became calmer, and Rhaegon could finally breathe again. The walls were decorated with the same tapestries and paintings as they had been three years prior, and it gave him the smallest sense of coming home. Dragonstone was his true home, but he'd spent so long wasting away in the Red Keep that he'd grown used to the pain and craved it on most days.

"How is Aemon doing?" Viserys asked over his shoulder when they entered his solar. The room was filled with rays of sunlight as they filtered through the cleverly shaped windows, casting whorls and circles and other patterns onto the floor. The sweet scent of Dornish wine was the first thing he noticed, followed by the more bitter trace of lemon. "I'm afraid I haven't gotten the chance to see him much with all the planning. How is his betrothal to that Penrose girl?"

"He claims it is going well." Rhaegon sat Aeron on a chair, running a hand over his pale hair. "The gods know he's not very descriptive, but I doubt I was any better at his age." Aemon's letters were sparse with talk of his betrothed. Rhaegon had hoped he'd take a bigger liking to the girl, but it seemed Aemon was content with marrying her despite any feelings. She was beautiful and smart by all accounts, and there was little else men his age desired in a woman, so Rhaegon couldn't say he was surprised.

"Oh, how I wish Rhaenyra was so easy to betroth," Viserys sighed, offering Alicent his arm to hold as she lowered herself into an armchair, struggling a bit with her heavy belly. "But she refuses to hear any talk of it and flees the room when I try to introduce her to any possible suitor."

"Believe me, Aemon wasn't happy with his engagement either," Rhaegon admitted, "but it seems he's become closer with Lady Elinor, and is content with the marriage now. You need not worry, it will come to her in time. Besides, Rhaenyra need not marry too hastily. If she is to be queen one day, she will need someone she can trust by her side. Not just some lord who will want her only for her womb."

Viserys exhaled and nodded. "I suppose you're right," he said, eyes flickering over Rhaegon and his children. "Your own daughter is of an age to be betrothed now, is she not?" Visenys visibly stiffened, her chest rising as she inhaled deeply. Rhaegon wanted to reach out to her and tell her it was alright because there was no version of reality where he would give her away to some man at such a young age, but by then Viserys was already speaking again. "Have you put any thought into it, niece?"

"I will wed whomever your Grace bestows upon me," she answered in a voice as hollow as the blackest of caverns. She looked away from Viserys and down at the floor, wringing her hands together in a nervous habit that had become much too frequent.

Rhaegon shook his head. "Visenys will not be wed for a long time," he quickly argued, shutting down any further conversation about this. "Let us talk of something else." Viserys didn't argue, turning the conversation to his young son instead. Rhaegon pretended he didn't see the way VIsenys relaxed upon hearing his words.

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The pavilion was already set up when Aemon and his family arrived at the royal hunt, its deep red and black fabric billowing in the soft breeze. The day was a good one with no clouds to be seen in the sky. Dogs barked at each other as he passed them, fighting over a bone someone had tossed them. It was only a matter of time until they would be taken into the woods in search of game. Aemon hoped he'd be allowed to join the trackers, as he doubted there would be anything going on inside the pavilion save for the usual court gossip.

Still, it couldn't hurt to get out of the blazing sun for at least a little while, so he headed towards the pavilion. His father had already disappeared inside, following after a constantly gloating Viserys as he showed off his son. Viserra and Aeron were taken by the nursemaids inside as well, most likely to play with the young prince and be watched over. The only other person who stayed behind was Visenys. She looked stiff, unmoving, and perhaps a little lost.

"Vis," Aemon called to her, "are you coming?" She nodded hastily but didn't utter a single word. Her silence was a strange one, and it had followed her from the moment she stepped off the ship from Dragonstone. Aemon had been prepared for a boisterous girl who'd drag him around and beg their father to join the trackers as he wanted to, but she instead sat quietly and nodded along to anything anyone ever said. Even her state of dress was a strange one, jarring compared to what she'd worn before. If she did end up wanting to join the trackers, she'd have a hard time doing that with how big her gown's skirt was. A voluminous pile of deep blue fabric. Unable to help himself, Aemon tugged at Visenys' forearm and pulled her to a stop. "Why have you been so quiet?"

"I do not know what you mean, brother." Visenys shook her head, looking away from him. She kept doing that, Aemon noticed. It was so utterly unlike her. He wanted to argue with her, but by then she had already pulled her arm from his hold and was walking towards the pavilion.

Aemon stared after her, biting the inside of his cheek in frustration. Visenys disappeared behind the dark red canvas of the pavilion, giving him one last faraway look over her shoulder. A hand clapped down on Aemon's shoulder, and he jerked at the unexpected touch. He relaxed as soon as he realised it was Brynden who was beside him.

"I have never seen your sister look so prim and proper," Brynden noted, looking at the spot where Visenys had been a few moments prior with a strange look. "What happened with the girl with untamed hair?" He said the second part with a joking lilt, but the question dug deep into Aemon's skin and he gritted his teeth tightly.

"I don't know," he replied a bit too seriously. He exhaled heavily and turned away from the pavilion. He looked over Brynden's body. "You're joining the trackers today, then?" His friend was dressed in riding clothes, a hunting knife at his belt and a crossbow in his hands. A quiver of bolts swung at his side as well. Brynden nodded, tossing the crossbow over in his hands and running his fingers over the polished wood.

"I'd find anything else too boring for my tastes." Brynden laughed, the skin around the edges of his eyes crinkling as his lips spread wide. "You must come as well. I hear your betrothed convinced the trackers to let her come. A marvel, really, you do know how Ser Willem is about women interfering." Aemon did know, remembering the time where the man affronted Visenys when she tried to join into sword practice. The man was skilled at hiding insults with veiled words, but neither Aemon nor Visenys were foolish enough to not see through his words. "Some of the knights say he's taken a liking to Lady Elinor. You might be in for a fight."

Aemon rolled his eyes, but couldn't deny the slight tinge of discomfort at the information. Ser Willem wouldn't be able to do anything even if he was in love with Elinor, but that didn't mean he couldn't try. Aemon doubted Elinor would even look twice in Ser Willem's direction, as the man was too short and stout and loud for her tastes, and that wasn't even taking into account his twisted views on the world.

"Well then, I suppose I better be there." Aemon's lip quirked up. "How insulting do you think I can be before Ser Willem takes too much offense?" Brynden snorted and waved his hand.

"Ser Willem would take the wind blowing in his direction as an affront to him," he said, and he wasn't entirely wrong. Aemon chuckled, sweeping his gaze around the camp. He could see the man in question surrounded by other men who would be joining in on the tracking. His boisterous laugh sounded through the entire camp, so loud that even those on the far edges of it turned to look in his direction. "Gods, your poor cousin is conversing with Jason Lannister. I pity her."

A frown immediately pulled at Aemon's face, and he twisted to look in the same direction as Brynden was. Sure enough, Rhaenyra was standing beside the golden-haired Lord of Casterly Rock, a visibly strained smile on her face. The goblet in her hand was clenched between her fingers so tightly her knuckles turned an icy white. Meanwhile, Jason looked all too pleased with himself, smiling at her in his usual cocky manner.

"Oh princess, have you heard how much gold I have?" Brynden heightened his voice, mimicking Lord Jason's bragging tone of voice. "My bedsheets are gilded, princess. Did you know even my horses wear golden horse shoes? Have you seen the velvet of my doublet today? Imported straight from Essos it is!" The laugh Aemon let out couldn't be masked, but he tried his best to keep it as muffled as possible.

"I do much prefer Lord Jason's brother," he sighed, "that man is much more apt. And he's much more humble too." Brynden hummed in agreement, and the two watched as Rhaenyra excused herself from the conversation with Lord Jason and strode back towards the pavilion with a hard-set jaw.

It took only a minute for Rhaenyra to come running out again, pulling on her riding gloves aggressively.

"Shit," Aemon muttered under his breath as she mounted her horse, galloping off towards the woods. He didn't stop to bid Brynden farewell. It took three long strides to make it to his own mount. Shoving his foot into the stirrup and throwing his leg over the horse's back, he set off after her, leaving only a cloud of dust in his wake.

A/N

Three year time skip woooo

Yeah Aella is in the Stepstones 😃 you'll see how that unfolds in the next chapter

Rhaegon is the definition of exhausted single dad rn who can't handle his own teenage daughter and hates family gatherings (mood)

My baby girl Visenys is all grown up now! I'm thinking about giving her her own pov but i honestly can't decide