I beg you,
eat me up
want me down
to the marrow

– Helene Cixous

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

One thing Brynden Blackwood, heir to Raventree Hall, had not been expecting, was a fist straight to the nose this early in the morning. At first, he did not even feel the pain. Only the force knocking his head back. He stumbled a bit but kept upright. Then the pain exploded through the centre of his face, and something hot ran from his nose. Instinctively, his hand shot to his nose.

"What the fuck, Aemon?" The words flew past his mouth before he could think. A collective gasp from the surrounding squires and knights told him he should've probably not said that. In hindsight, he really shouldn't have. Aemon's eyes blazed with anger, his jaw set so tightly he looked as though he were sculpted from stone, rather than made of flesh.

He turned to the other men in the courtyard. "Away, all of you." A beat, and when no one moved, he hissed through clenched teeth. "Do you not hear me? Your prince commands you." With that, the young squires scurried away on hasty feet, while the knights followed more slowly, turning their heads as though they wished to see more of whatever conflict would soon ensue.

Brynden took a couple of steps back, just in case Aemon wished to take another swing at him. Blood was now fully dripping from his nose, though he did not think it was broken. He'd once taken a sword's pommel to the face, heard a vicious crack, and felt a torrent of red metallic liquid running over his mouth and chin. This was not the same, only a few stray streams. Likely from a broken blood vessel rather than a bone.

The courtyard was soon strangely silent, save for the heavy puffs of air Aemon kept heaving from his lung. Brynden glared at him, now that they were alone and no one could truly reprimand him. Aemon was his friend first, and a prince second. That was how it had always been. They were on far more equal ground that way; no snivelling and bowing to the ground from Brynden. It was how he knew that Aemon was truly his friend. And that he was not just some goon he kept around to command.

Aemon walked over to the rack of training swords – dulled blades of steel, not sharp enough to maim but still capable of dealing out a cut or two. Bruises too, if the one on Brynden's side said anything. Amos Bracken's handiwork. Cunt, Brynden cursed him silently. When Aemon spun back towards him, he tossed a blade towards Brynden, another remaining tightly clenched in his fist. He caught it at the last second, clenching his teeth against the sharp tug of force caused to the ligaments of his wrist.

"Defend yourself," Aemon commanded.

"What?" Brynden didn't get a reply before the dark-haired, enraged prince swung at him. He managed to dodge with a loud, embarrassing squawk. "What in the seven hells is this about?" His question was answered by another swing. The singing of two blades connecting reasoned through the courtyard as Brynden parried, dancing away in quick and nimble feet. He racked his brain for all possible reasons for Aemon's anger. For him to punch him square in the face with no warning in front of dozens of noblemen, it had to be something horrid. Perhaps he'd done something earlier that week when they'd both been drunk in a tavern.

"My sister," Aemon spat out, looking ready to attack him yet again. Thankfully the distance between them was too great for another quick swing. "Just asked my father to marry you."

Brynden's brain stuttered to a sudden painful stop. This time, he did not react when Aemon came at him. Pain burst from where his neck met his shoulder. Fucking hell, he bit his tongue. At least Aemon hit him with the flat of his sword. He didn't want him dead, at least. For now, he almost laughed. He collapsed to the ground in a heap, sending sand and dirt into the air.

"Did you think I wouldn't find out?" Aemon shouted, tossing his sword to the ground and resorting himself to his feet and fists instead. The hard leather tip of his boot met Brynden's side. "That you were seducing my sister? She is fifteen!" Brynden curled around his stomach to stop the next kick. He caught Aemon's ankle when it came. Pulling viciously, he sent the prince tumbling to the ground as well.

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Brynden yelled back. He couldn't help himself from throwing a punch back at Aemon. He wouldn't simply lay there and take a beating without at least putting up a fight.

"Oh, I suppose she's just gotten this notion entirely on her own then? My sister is a clever little lynx, but even this she wouldn't have thought up all on her own!" Another kick and hit. Aemon scuffled on top of him, trying to get the upper hand, but Brynden was taller, and he'd spent more time in training recently. With a buck of his hips and shove, he rolled them over. A hard huff was pushed from Aemon's lungs as the full expanse of his back hit the ground hard.

"Do you honestly think I'm capable of that?" Brynden would not lie, he was rather offended. Fool, he scolded himself. He should've known Aemon would catch onto his longing stares soon enough. It was a rather new thing. Brynden had not seen Visenys in almost a year when she returned from Dragonstone, smiling at him pleasantly with her glittering, bejewelled eyes. Even then, he had not had a single unseemly thought about her.

And then it came, entirely unexpectedly, the day of Prince Aegon's second name day celebration. When he'd seen her hung from Amos Bracken's arms, and he'd seethed. He'd never felt such unregulated fury course through his veins before. Visenys – sweet, courageous and bold Visenys, who challenged him to duels she knew she wouldn't win and yet left him in the dust when they raced on horseback – smiling at that snivelling coward? He'd taken genuine pleasure it wiping Amos' self-pleased smile from his face, then.

Had he been too obvious with his feelings since then? Had Visenys noticed him staring too many times? Had Aemon? Or gods forbid, Prince Rhaegon himself? Brynden knew he was not good enough for her, never would he. She was perfection; as wild as the sea during a storm and as bold as brass. And he was nothing, really. An heir to a noble lord, sure, but nothing compared to her.

"I do not know what to think. You are my friend, my best friend, and yet you've taken it upon yourself to do this? Did you think you'd lure her into your bed and sire a silver-haired pup on her to show off at court, proud and gloating?" Brynden snarled, attempting to strike Aemon for his impudence, but the prince caught his wrist before his knuckles could hit their mark.

"How fucking dare you?" He barked, spit flying everywhere from the suddenness of it. "I have not lain a single hand on your sister or made any suggestion! If you believe me comforting her in her time of need romance, then I pity your betrothed indeed!" A laugh spilt from his lips. "And here you are, making baseless accusations, as if you are not set to marry a girl, yet lust after your cousin."

Aemon's eyes widened. With a sudden movement that Brynden couldn't predict, he threw him off his body. Brynden rolled across the ground from the force of it.

"That," Aemon pushed out with the last of his breath, "is not the same. I know my duty and fully intend to carry it out! You are the one sneaking behind my back with my sister."

"I have done nothing untoward with your sister!" Brynden inhaled deeply, pushing himself up so he could sit and look directly into the deep indigo of Aemon's eyes. "I promise you this. We have been friends for how long? Do you actually believe I would try and... what? Seduce your sister? Carry her away to sate some arrogant desire? Do you take me for Amos Bracken?"

This time, Aemon did not snarl or spit or claw. He only rolled his eyes, struggling to sit up and flinching. Maybe Brynden had thrown him to the ground a little too hard. Then again, Aemon did deserve it for his altogether unwarranted attack.

"Your pointless feud with Amos has turned into an obsession." Brynden could not help the tug of his lips as they curled upwards. Aemon might've been right in that regard, but a Blackwood being friendly with a Bracken would be like the sun rising in the west and setting in the east. The entire continent was more likely to crumble into the sea before Brynden would shake hands with that wretched cur.

"It was not I who pranced around Prince Aegon's hunt with Visenys on my arm." Aemon's brows furrowed, but he did not get to ask any questions before Brynden continued. "Did you know he proclaimed to all that he was glad she hadn't been married to you? His arrogance would have made me laugh if Visenys didn't look like she would be ill at the mere mention! It was I who told Amos to hold his tongue, and even when Visenys clearly preferred me to him, I did not even touch her!" He ran a hand through his sweat-slick hair. "The only time we have ever been alone was when I found her weeping in the Godswood after your mother returned, and even then I had not sought her out by myself. I had gone to pray, would you believe! Is that such a grievous sin?"

Aemon's gaze flickered away, the shadow of shame darkening his face like a great cloud covering the sun. With bated breath, Brynden waited for his next move. The man in front of him had always been mature – except for when he somehow fell in love with the heir to the Iron Throne, Brynden laughed to himself – but he was still expecting Aemon to simply throw another punch. But then Aemon sighed, burying his face in his hands.

"No," he croaked out apologetically, and Brynden felt every taunt muscle and ligament in his body relax. Despite the blood running down his face and the bruises already forming beneath his skin, he did not want to fight Aemon. They sat there in silence for an awkward minute.

Only when Brynden gathered up the courage to ask did he speak again, "Visenys asked Prince Rhaegon to marry me?" He was sure the disbelief in his voice was as clear as day, because the rest of Aemon's ire fell away. He nodded, swiping a lock of brown hair, which fell from the leather band tying it back, away.

"She did." More silence. "Do you love her?"

"What?" The word was little more than a gust of air seeping from his lungs, barely articulated.

"Do you love her?"

And really, there was only one word resonating through Brynden's mind. As though he'd shouted into a cavern and heard his voice repelled back a thousand times over. It rolled off his tongue before he could even consider lying.

"Yes." It was a sigh, a breath of life, a realisation that he should've had ages ago. "I do not know when it happened or how it happened, not even why exactly I feel the way that I do, but I love her." Aemon stared at him, blank-faced, for a long, arduous moment.

"It will have to be enough for me, I suppose," he exhaled. And Brynden could not help but laugh.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

No matter how far Rhaegon fled, he could not escape his wife's wrath. Even if he mounted Morghul and flew all the way to the Free Cities, maybe even rather than that to Asshai and the Shadowlands beyond, Aella would still find him. With her eyes burning and her hand fisted in her skirt, she ran after him demanding answers.

An ache began to pulse in Rhaegon's temples, and he swore the pressure building behind his eyes would make his skull burst. He walked through the corridors – where Aella thankfully did not dare to yell too loudly – then made an attempt to flee to his apartments. But his wife did not find those sacred at the moment. Not with whatever rage flared rampantly in her chest, like someone had embedded actual dragon flame into her heart. At least here, they were in private. As private as the Red Keep could get, anyway.

"Rhaegon! Do not run from me!" Aella ground out between her teeth, slamming the door to his apartments shut behind her. Somewhere along the line, a few strands of silver hair fell loose from her braid. It framed her face in a way Rhaegon would describe as beautiful had the situation not been what it was.

"I am not running," he retorted, the ache in his temples increasing tenfold. He fought the urge to simply dismiss her, to let his annoyance lace his words and to scowl at her. It was only a matter of time before vile accusations began to pour from her lips, just as they had done from Daemon's in the Stepstones. Truly, the two of them sang the same tune when it came to him as of late.

The smooth wood of the table he leaned against turned rough with how hard he gripped it, pressing his palms into it until he was sure it would bend beneath the force.

Aella shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "Visenys cannot be married!" The fingers on her left hand twitched towards the ring on her finger. The wedding band she'd been wearing for almost two decades now. "She is far too young for such a thing."

"She is as old as we were," Rhaegon pointed out, though he hated the comparison the moment it rolled off his tongue. "At least she is choosing her own husband. I will not pretend I was your first choice, or that you were mine, either."

Aella's lip curled up. "I don't think you ever set your sights on anyone. You were all too happy to do whatever grandfather asked of you." The viciousness with which it was spoken cut him in a place he'd not known he was vulnerable. Aella twisted the knife further. "You will never understand the pain that a woman feels when she is sold like a prized mare. I was handed to you without a single word to me. No one cared to ask if it was what I wanted."

Even with how much Rhaegon understood – and he truly did, even if Aella did not believe it – he could not help a bitter, humourless laugh. "And you believe they asked me? Daemon found out before me. He told me of our betrothal by thrusting his fist into my nose, did you know?" Aella faltered for only a moment – a terrifyingly short second of pity for him, before it was altogether gone.

"I will not allow for my daughter to end up like I have." Rhaegon pursed his lips, swallowing down the anger, the disappointment, the regret. Was marriage to him so truly awful that she could not think of a single thing that made her happy? It seemed that way to him, for many years now.

"And you think I would allow that? I told her in privacy that she may choose her husband for herself. That is what she did. There was no pressure to marry now. I would never command her to do something she did not want." Aella shook her head, nose scrunching up as she sneered at him.

"You mean you manipulated her into thinking she had a choice when really Viserys whispered his desire into you ear, and you wagged your tail and followed his orders like a good little dog." Rhaegon balked. The wood beneath his hands creaked as he squeezed it harder. His nails dug into the surface. Later, he would find crevices there, little crescent-shaped moons he would look upon and remember the way his lungs burned as he fought back the onslaught of words and insults he craved to fire back at her.

But he did not. He would hate himself even more if he did. And so he bit his tongue, let the anger simmer away, bottled up for later. "It is an insult that you think that of me." Aella showed no remorse. With a shake of his head, he continued, "She did not even consider looking for a husband until you left, did you know?" Aella's jaw tensed. "No, of course not. You were not here. While you were off gallivanting on the other side of the world with my brother and the Velaryons, I was forced to watch as the spirit of my daughter, imbued with so much fire and strength, dwindled into nothing more than a ghost of what it was. Did you think I was the one who forced her into royal regalia and brushed her hair smooth? It was not I who placed those jewels on her throat like a collar!"

It was you. The insinuating silence after his words told Aella that much. Her face twisted further into a sneer. A single tear escaped her eyes, a traitor to her will. With a harsh hand, she wiped it away.

"You left, Aella. You cannot blame it all on me."

Aella inhaled shakily. "She is too young," she repeated, "she does not know what she wants."

"She wants to marry him," Rhaegon corrected. "We have known Brynden since he was a boy of six! If there was anything wrong with him, we would know it. Visenys will have to wed eventually. Why do you want to take away her chance of marrying a man of honour?"

"Because a man can be as honourable as they come, but he will still maim and twist something inside of you." As you maimed me, she said without saying. Rhaegon swallowed down the guilt-laced bile.

He could not think of such things now. Could not wallow in self-pity. Such a luxury was never afforded to him, and it would not be now. Despite that, he could not help but think of what his life could be if he had married someone different. An image of pretty brown curls and eyes passed wistfully through his mind.

No, he cursed himself, he would not – could not – think of Amara Florent now. Or ever. "It is my daughter's wish to marry Brynden Blackwood, and so it shall be." Aella shook her head wildly, the loose strands of hair whipping back and forth. The next words she spoke could not have been intentional.

"She is not your daughter. She is mine!" Rhaegon's mind stuttered to a stop. He knew Aella's words were not meant as an admission to her infidelity, nor did he think she even realised the implications of her words, but they felt like a hand reaching into his chest and ripping out his heart regardless.

I know she is not, he almost yelled back. A hysterical laugh bubbled in his throat, and he wanted to grab Aella by the shoulders and just shake her. He knew, damn it. He fucking knew. The blood circulating through Visenys' veins was not his. Only the gods knew who had fathered her. It could be any lord running around Viserys' court, or perhaps just a mere servant. Either way, Rhaegon suffered the internal humiliation.

He did not even think he was angry about Aella's infidelity as much as he was furious with her for lying to his face about it. She had no qualm about whispering sweet nothings into his ear, telling him that Visenys was his child, their first daughter that would live past that precarious newborn phase.

Suddenly, Rhaegon felt the agonizing need to hold his little Daella in his arms again. To look upon her sweet face and be certain that no one would ever take her from him, because she was his. Just as Viserra was his, and Aemon and Aeron. But can you even be sure about that? The dangerous, desolating thought tore through him suddenly. Why hadn't he ever thought of that before? Why had he been so certain? Of Aemon, there was no doubt. There could be no doubt, he convinced himself. But there had been nothing stopping Aella from Visenys, so who was to say that Viserra was not the child of her lover? Or Aeron as well?

No, he cursed himself. Such a steep and perilous road; he would not walk down it. Would it even truly matter to him? He loved Visenys the same as he did his other children. No one would ever be able to say that Prince Rhaegon Targaryen treated his eldest daughter any differently. Because although he might not have been her father by blood, he was her father in everything else that mattered.

She did not look at anyone else and called them 'papa' when she was younger. Visenys never even looked towards anyone else to lead her in life. No, Rhaegon was her father. Even if Aella wanted to tell herself otherwise.

"Get out," he hissed at her. Aella's face fell like she had not been expecting him to dismiss her.

"What?"

"I said, get out. I do not want you here. Frankly, I do not even need your opinion on the matter." If Aella was so dead set on painting him as the villain in her life, reeling in Daemon into her theatrical play, then so be it. Rhaegon could give her what she'd clearly wanted all along. "You have shown that you do not care for you duty as Visenys' mother, nor for our other children. I do not see why you should have any say in this at all." He shook his head in disbelief and then  breathed a dry laugh. "Visenys did come to me first, did she not? You'd not even have the slightest idea of her wishes. Now get out."

Aella stood in place, her body practically vibrating with anger and indignation. Slack jaw, wide eyes, unsure stance, that was the picture she painted then. Rhaegon lifted one hand, pulling his nails from the small dents in the wood he'd made, and gestured to the door.

"Go. That was not a request." He turned away from her before she could say anything, reaching with shaking hands for the goblet and jug of wine on the table. He allowed the Arbor Gold to pour into the glass. As he let it run down his throat, he heard only Aella's retreating footsteps. And then the slam of the door.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Despite her being back for days now, this morning was the first time Rhaenyra managed to get Aemon alone. The tips of her fingers tingled when her gaze snagged on him, hidden away behind a tall shelf in the Red Keep's library. He sat curled up on a settee, book in his lap and head leaned against his fist.

She hadn't been looking for him, she tried to convince herself. Rhaenyra knew it was a lie. No matter where they both were, no matter the distance between them, her heart still called for him. Sang a song only he could ever hear or understand. He looked almost peaceful like this, with the first morning rays of sunlight circling his ebony hair like a halo. Almost, was the important word. Rhaenyra would be able to read him even if he placed on his most perfect mask. The slope of his shoulder was a bit too shallow for him to be relaxed, and a muscle in his jaw ticked every so often.

With light feet, Rhaenyra ghosted over the floor towards him. His eyes shot to her the moment she came into his periphery. A smile stretched her pink lips, and she plopped herself down on the settee beside him. He wore a deep blue doublet, she noticed. It matched almost perfectly with her plum-coloured gown.

"What are you reading?" she asked softly, conscious of the otherwise silent library. They were the only ones there, from what she could tell, but she would feel almost awkward if she spoke too loudly. Her elbow leaned against the backrest of the settee, and she placed her head into her palm. Like this, she was splayed out like the maidens in pretty paintings. Distantly, she remembered the press of his lips against hers, and she grinned.

"It comes from Aenar the Exile's time. Something about dragons, though the writing is so clumsy that I can't make out half the words." A journal, then. Rhaenyra sighed inwardly. Another book about dragons. His obsession with them was still as palpable as ever before, though at least he did not place himself into the line of fire of unclaimed dragons anymore. What would she have left in this world, if he was rendered to ash and cinders?

Her father was little more than her ruler, disregarding her at every turn. Alicent had turned her back on her, and now that she had children of her own, she did not even look in Rhaenyra's direction. Not as often as before, anyway. The rest of her family, well, Rhaenyra felt like an outsider when stood beside them.

Uncle Rhaegon could smile at her and offer as much help as he possible, but she could not feel as though his mind was constantly on something else. He was so melancholy, at times, even more so than his wife. Daemon had been gone for too many years, and even if she felt something warm blossom in her chest whenever he spoke to her and praised her, it was not the same as the heat that singed her very core when Aemon was near.

No, there were none like the boy sat before her.

Rhaenyra tilted her head. "I heard your parents had quite the screaming match last morn." She took note of Aemon's slight flinch. "Are you well? I know things have not been alright between my uncle and Princess Aella for a long time."

"I'm fine," Aemon replied, unconvincingly. Rhaenyra lifted a brow.

"You know I can tell when you lie."

"I am not lying to you." She stared at him, stern-faced and eyes blazing, until he looked away and sighed. "I do not wish to speak of it." That stung, at least a little bit. Rhaenyra and Aemon had told each other everything since they were children. Every small grievance, every ill feeling. It was rare, practically not even a thing of existence, for him to hide something from her. Aemon let out another sigh, this one tortured and resigned. "What does it matter? You'll find out soon anyway."

Rhaenyra perked up that, leaning towards him ever so slightly. Aemon's face – bruised from Gods knew what – twisted in a grimace.

"Visenys is getting married." She could only stare, grasping at any sort of witty or comforting reply. Indignation flared up inside of her. Not because her cousin's marriage had anything to do with her, no. Because she understood the vile and wretched feelings that were undoubtedly twisting her inside at that moment. The terror of a marriage she did not want, one that was forced upon her. At least you have the choice of your own husband, Rhaenyra reminded herself, only for a voice to come ringing in the back of her mind, still, not the one you'd want.

No, because Gods forbid that Rhaenyra got some recompense for how her life was. As if the pain of losing her mother had not been enough, she now had to watch the man she loved be wed off to someone else. She would keep trying, but deep down she knew it was too late. Her Uncle Rhaegon was too honourable to break his son's betrothal, and Aemon would do anything to have his father's approval.

Rhaenyra did not even think she would be that upset about it, had Aemon's betrothed not been the most unremarkable thing she'd ever seen. She did not sport the golden locks and emerald eyes of the Lannister, the ebony tresses and icy pools of blue of the Baratheons, not even the paleness of the Starks, lords paramount of the largest kingdom in Westeros.

Elinor Penrose was just a girl, as ordinary as they came. Yet another dawdling little lady who knew how to dance and smile prettily. And do archery, and go hunting, and dance in the rain with Aemon as the servants whispered. Truly, Rhaenyra had thought it all over a thousand times, biting back tears she refused to shed.

She hated that Aemon cared for her. Despised it with all her being, felt it digging into her skin like needles all over. But she understood, as much as she wished she hadn't. Ever since returning from her marriage tour, that much more parched and desperate for Aemon's love – real love, not the coy and arrogant fawning the lordlings of the realm offered her – she had watched Elinor all over the court.

Had even spoken to her on one occasion. She was plain but still pretty, and her smile infused her with a beauty that only a few would wave their hand at. Her brown eyes glittered when she spoke of Aemon – and oh, had Rhaenyra not looked the same, once? It had her wanting to weep, to curse every being in the world for causing her such pain.

She no longer had her mother, but did that mean she had to lose Aemon too?

It took her a while to realise she'd drifted away in perilous thought. Aemon's indigo eyes – the same colour as the ocean's surface when the latest violet of dusk reflected off it – pressed into her.

"She is not being forced, if that is what you are wondering," Aemon said, and Rhaenyra wished that was her only worry, "though my mother certainly seems to think so. She accused my father of putting the thought into her head." That certainly sparked a thought.

"Like he put the idea into your head?" That was the wrong thing to say. Rhaenyra realised that the moment she said it. Aemon's face shifted only the tiniest of fractions, but she could read even the smallest changes in him. When he leaned away, she instinctively reached for him, but the harsh glare he threw at her hand was enough for her to stop.

She'd made him angry. The lump in her throat was difficult to swallow as the muscles in his face tensed and hardened to stone.

"My father is not forcing me into my marriage with Elinor," he repeated for what must've been the hundredth time. "When will you let this go already?" Rhaenyra fought hard to suppress a scoff.

"Is it too much to ask for you to not lie to me?" she sighed. "I know you didn't want this marriage. I felt it when I kissed you in the woods that day." When she'd let the white stag go and he'd gotten his ribs broken protecting her from a boar. Gods, he could've died that day, she thought, not for the first time.

"And is it so difficult for you to believe that after all these months, I might've found happiness in the circumstances thrust upon me?" Yes, it was, because Rhaenyra would've preferred him to despise his betrothal, rather than accept it. Mayhaps then, he'd be more accepting of her feelings, and maybe he'd be more willing to do something rash and stupid. Just to be with her.

"Will you deny that you ever felt anything towards me?" The words weren't foreign on her tongue, but they left her as if someone else had spoken them. Her tongue weighed too heavy in her mouth, but it moved on its own accord as everything in her blazed.

"No, and I will not deny that I still feel love for you, but I will not subject Elinor to humiliation by acting on those feelings. Rhaenyra, I will not flee with you to Dragonstone and wed you under the cover of darkness. I would not dishonour my betrothed in such a way." He paused. "And I will not dishonour you by doing anything untoward with you when we are not wed."

Wasn't that a thought? It sparked something in the pit of Rhaenyra's belly; desire which curled around her like a snake, slithering beneath her skin like a dozen rivulets of flame.

"And why not?" she asked, entirely serious, if not a little breathless. She reached her hand out to his thigh, dragging it upwards towards his hip until it was dangerously close to where she wanted him. Where she would have him had they been set to marry, instead of the daughter of a minor lord from the Stormlands. "I am the heir to the Iron Throne, no one would dare question my virtue. And even if they did, what power do they have to do anything about it?"

She was no Saera, thrust into the arms of her older sister to be trained as a septa. Her father would never do that to her, no matter what she did.

"Is that was you think?" Aemon asked, squirming beneath the warmth of her palm. The muscle of his thigh tensed, and he looked unsure all of a sudden.

"That is what I know, my love." She leaned forward, breath fanning across his face. His gaze pressed into her eyes, not breaking away even when she expected him to – whether out of shyness or uncertainty. Good, she thought, that means he wants this. Her lashes fluttered as she looked down at his lips, pink and soft, if not a little dry from the summer heat. "Kiss me, Aemon."

There was a moment of stillness where neither of them moved. The corner of Rhaenyra's mouth quirked upward, certain of her victory in this at least. Aemon's eyes blazed, whirled with desire that matched her own. His lips parted, and Rhaenyra waited with bated breath as he inched ever so closer.

Yes, she thought, come to me.

A palm shoved her away, sending her tumbling backwards with a sudden strength. She gasped, arms flailing to catch herself on the settee. Aemon's feet skidded across the floor as he all but fled from her, fist clenched at his side. Rhaenyra could only watch in disbelief, vexation exploding in her belly like wildfire. The rejection stung, more than she cared to admit. She curled her fingers into her skirts, clenching them so tightly it hurt.

Rot bloomed in her belly, and tears burned her eyes.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

The silver-gold of her son's hair flitted through Aella's fingers like liquid moonlight. Sweet, darling Aeron lay in his bed, tiny body curled beneath his blanket. His chest rose and fell in equal, rhythmic movements. He was so soft, so gentle. Everything she needed at the moment. Aella would have to leave soon, lest she wake Aeron from his light sleep. The nurse had told her he woke at every little sound.

She wanted to stay forever though. This late into the night, everything was silent, and her son's room was comfortable and warm. And she did not have to live through the accusing stares of her daughter and the silent treatment of her husband.

It was not I who placed those jewels around her neck like a collar. The accusation had made Aella burnt inside; a rageful inferno that pushed her to a place she never thought possible. She'd said horrible things. Rhaegon only argued back, never as cruel or spiteful as her. By the gods, how she wished he would be like her. She craved for him to truly argue with her, to fight her and yell at her. Maybe if he struck her, she'd finally be satisfied.

Those thoughts were horrible, vile. Things she should not wish for. And yet she was here, craving punishments for sins Rhaegon had no clue of. She is not your daughter, she is mine. Spiteful and horrid and scornful. The words had been torn from her throat by an unknown force, and she had not been able to stop herself.

Daemon might be her love, but he had never been a father to Visenys. He was an uncle, through and through, the same around her as he was around Rhaenyra. Because you would not let him be closer, some part of her argued. Another scoffed. Perhaps he does not even want to be closer. He had no other children; not even bastards for all she knew. Some part of her could not help but think Daemon did not want children.

They'd get in the way of his way of life, I think. There was no room in the adventurous, bohemian story of the Rogue Prince. She was the perfect piece to fit his tale, though. The rogue who seduced a married woman, only to sire a welp on her.

Aella loved Daemon, she truly did, but she could not help the self-deprecating thoughts that surfaced occasionally. She knew he loved her back, more than anything else. Save for maybe his brothers. But how much could he truly love Rhaegon while he continued to bed her? And Viserys; Daemon had celebrated his son's death. Maybe she was the one thing he loved.

Sweet boy, she sighed inwardly as she pushed a stray lock of silver hair from Aeron's face. No one shall take you from me now. The court had dug its claws into her Aemon and Visenys, and soon enough it would rip into Viserra with blood-thirsty insatiable teeth and talons. But Aeron would be hers, and only hers. She would make sure of that.

The door to the nursery creaked open, and Aella's head shot in the direction of it. She expected a nursemaid to be checking in on her son, or maybe even Rhaegon. Instead, she was met with her youngest daughter, her hand wrapped around a stuffed doll as the other rubbed her tired eyes. A few strands of her hair were knotted from sleep.

"What is it, my darling?" Aella asked in a low whisper, careful to not wake Aeron from his sleep. It was then that she noticed the redness of Viserra's eyes, and the stray tears running down her rosy cheeks. With a frown, she opened up her arms in an offer. Viserra rushed to her without a second thought, clambering onto her lap and pressing her face against her collarbone. Aella's arms instinctively wrapped around Viserra's small form.

"I had a nightmare," she whispered, sniffing as her warm tears smeared themselves against Aella's chest. "I do not like it. Its horrid and scary." Aella grimaced at that, running her fingers through Viserra's hair as she'd done Aeron's, detangling the knots she came across with a gentle touch.

"What was it about?" she asked. Viserra stayed silent for a long time, then sniffed again.

"I think Papa is going to die." The deathly cold grip of an iron hand clenched around Aella's heart. She quickly pulled Viserra away from her chest so she could look into her face. Viserra stared at her, the look in her eyes telling her that she was fully convinced of what she was saying, and that it terrified her beyond belief. And yet there was a certain acceptance there, one which made fear shoot up and down Aella's spine like a chill.

"Why would you say that, Serra?" she gasped. Her daughter shrugged, looking down at her hands. The skin around her nail beds was torn bloody by her very own fingers. Aella had noticed the habit almost as soon as she'd returned from the Stepstones. Were these nightmares that Viserra spoke often of the reason behind it?

"I see him riding Morghul in a storm. It is violent and rough, with lightning tearing the world in half. Sometimes, I think there is another dragon in it as well. But when the storm passes, no dragon comes out. And neither does Papa." One of Viserra's fingers jerked to a loose piece of dry skin by her nail, and Aella was quick to catch it before she started tugging at it.

"Sometimes? You've had this dream more than once?" Aella questioned with a frown.

Viserra nodded. "I have many dreams more than once. It is normal, I think. Aemon says he's dreamed of things more than once." Aella frowned. Aemon dreamt of horses having snake eyes and feathered wings, not his father dying. There was a significant difference between the wild trails of imagination and whatever was haunting her sweet daughter.

"Your father will not die, darling," Aella was quick to assure her. "He is hale and healthy, and Morghul is a large formidable dragon and a skilled flyer. No storm would be able to tear him from the sky, nor would your father even fly into one and risk any danger. You know he is too sensible for that."

After a long silence, Viserra shrugged and nodded. She did not look convinced.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

When morning came, the usual blessed calm was instantly soured for Aemon by a pair of whispering maids. The halls of the royal apartments echoed every word they spoke, even when they tried to conceal their gossiping with their palms against their lips and heads stuck too close together. Aemon might not have heard every word. But he heard enough.

Princess Rhaenyra was seen at a brothel with her rogue of an uncle. Aemon's steps faltered, and he was almost sent plummeting down a flight of steps as his foot missed one of them. The railing cut into his palm when he flailed his hand to it to catch himself. The words of the maids rang in his ears. Over and over again like churchbells; deafening and painful.

He felt as though someone had stuck a blade into his back. Aemon could still feel her warm breath against his lips as she leaned in to kiss him, the weight of her hand on his thigh, awakening an all-engulfing inferno in his belly. Something acidic burned his throat.

Aemon spun on his heel, changing his destination without a second thought. He barely registered the maids as he walked past them again, ignoring their questioning gaze. They thought he'd heard nothing, that he was too far away to pick up on their conversation. Aemon wished he had been. His footsteps sounded too loud in his ear, as though he wore armoured boots and was as tall as a giant, shaking the earth with every thud.

It was not long before he stood before the chambers of Rhaenyra Targaryen, the heir to the Iron Throne. And the girl he knew he loved. The eyes of her sworn protector fell upon him, and then Ser Criston averted his gaze as though the mere sight of Aemon burned his skin. He knew, then. Or he suspected.

"Is the Princess awake, Ser Criston?" Aemon wanted to throttle him, to throw him to the ground and question why on earth he would allow Daemon of all people to steal her away in the night. Was it not enough for his uncle to constantly tear rifts in their family? Did he have to ruin Rhaenyra as well?

Their excursion had taken place only the night before. Hours after Aemon had fled Rhaenyra's company in order to preserve her honour and save himself from the fall of losing himself in her touch and love. That was all for nought, it seemed. The maids already knew, and the sun had barely risen.

"I do not know, my Prince," Criston answered, then turned to the door and knocked on the door. Shortly after, a soft 'come' sounded from behind it, and Criston opened the door and stepped inside. "Prince Aemon is here to see you, your Highness." There was silence for a long time, and Aemon wondered if she would just send him away. Then Criston stepped aside and gestured for him to come in.

The door clicked shut behind the knight, and Aemon found himself standing awkwardly in front of Rhaenyra, who was sitting down with her long hair loose. She was getting dressed, a robe tied around her body. He looked her over for any signs that she had truly been outside the Red Keep. A smudge of dirt or a torn hem. The only thing marring her face were the dark circles beneath her eyes. From a lack of sleep, perhaps, he thought almost bitterly.

"Well?" Rhaenyra voiced, almost playful. "What is it that you need?" Aemon was not in any sort of jesting mood. Something in his chest ached, and it was difficult to speak all the words currently lodged in his throat. They were sharp, like a thousand needles pinpricking the inside of him. Before him, Rhaenyra smiled at him, eyes glittering like a pool of amethysts. As if there was nothing wrong.

"Is it true?" He ground out with some difficulty. Rhaenyra blinked at him, and the playfulness was washed from her as if it had never been there to begin with.

"I am afraid I don't know of what you speak." She sounded offended, almost afraid. That made rage spike through him like lightning.

Aemon inhaled sharply but bit his tongue to stop from shouting and letting all his thoughts flow from him freely. That would only make things worse, he knew. She would look at him with anger and hatred then. Rhaenyra stood from her seat, approaching him carefully, as though he were a wounded animal. Once close enough, she reached for his hands, taking them in her own and rubbing his knuckles with her thumb.

Aemon clenched jaw painfully. "I heard the servants whisper. About what you did last night." Rhaenyra's grimace betrayed her guilt. Her gaze flitted to the door, as though she would go and find the offending maids herself but was stopped before she could make any such decision by Aemon tearing his hands from her grip and laughing bitterly.

"And what is it these gossip mongrels say about me? I'm afraid there is a new rumour every week, so I cannot keep track," Rhaenyra was quick to say, as though that would absolve her of it all. Aemon only shook his head.

"You know what it is they say. That you, the Princess of Dragonstone, made off in the middle of the night to join our uncle in the Street of Silk!" Aemon's voice was raising against his will. But the floodgates were opened, and his heart ached, and he realised he did not care if he hurt her feelings in that moment. She'd already torn a hole in his heart.

"I did join Daemon last night, yes, but we only went to a tavern for some ale and dancing, nothing more! I left him as soon as he wanted to go to any brothels!" Rhaenyra stepped towards him, reaching for his hand again, but Aemon escaped her reach before she could. "Aemon, my love, please. You know me better than that."

At this, Aemon laughed. Loudly, bitterly, without any humour. "Do I? Was it not you but some apparition who tried to seduce me just yesterday? Did I imagine it all?" He bit his tongue as his eyes burned, refusing to shed any tears. "Do you so blatantly flout the feelings you so claim to have for me?"

"You know that I love you, Aemon. I've made that clear enough, I would think!" Rhaenyra scoffed, hands curling into the fabric of her robe, creasing it. "I have asked you time and time again to wed me, to make me yours and devote yourself to me. You are the one who constantly refused, as you did yesterday!"

"You love me. You love me, but you would fuck our uncle the moment I refuse you, is that it?" The words resonated in the room, hanging heavy above them as Rhaenyra gaped at him in silence. "Is that what our marriage would be, Rhaenyra? The moment I anger you or displease you, you will run off to the first rogue who wishes to have his way with you? I would have no power in this, Rhaenyra! You are the heir to the Iron Throne, a dragonrider! What am I but the heir to nothing but my father's own hard-won place in this court? The moment he dies, I am left with nothing. Not even a dragon to call my own."

"You would not need power in our marriage. There would be no danger imposed upon you!" Rhaenyra argued, shaking her head.

"No danger but your very own anger. Do you not see for yourself how little your words mean to me now? You claim to love me, that you only desire me and no one else, but the moment I refuse you – for your own good, for my honour and my betrothed's good name – you run to our uncle of all people!" His voice cracked, turned hoarse by his dry throat.

Rhaenyra frowned, curling her nose. "Daemon did not touch me." She said it in a way that left no room for argument, as if what she said was fact, and Aemon's worries were all for naught. He could only shake his head, blink away any tears.

"I do not believe you," he stated firmly. "And I do not believe in your love for me, either." He left the chambers, ignoring all of Rhaenyra's desperate pleas for him to wait on his way out.

°•~━━✥❖✥━━~•°

Aella stared down at her niece, at the tears running down her reddened cheeks silently, and felt bile rise in her throat. Rhaenyra's fingers curled around the armrests of her chair so tightly her knuckles turned as white as snow. She did not meet Aella's eye, though they both knew why Aella was there.

Aemon had pulled her away from breakfast, had whispered the awful truth right into her ear, his eyes red and so close to weeping. Then he'd asked for help, any help, though he himself did not know what she could offer him.

It is alright, Aemon, she'd said into his hair as she'd embraced him, let him shed his tears into her shoulder and shake in the tight embrace of her arms. For an awfully long, pitiful moment, her son looked just like her. Crying for a love he could not have, for a love that only wounded him and scarred his flesh.

And Aella held him, even though she herself wanted to scream and throw something, to tear the tapestries from the walls and rip at her gown until it was little more than a heap of ribbons. Because how could she ever show her own pain and anger, when her boy needed her comfort? She would deal with Daemon and his betrayal later, she'd told herself, swallowing down the lump which formed in her throat.

Later was now, far away from Aemon and the girl Daemon had bedded sitting before her. No anger swelled inside Aella's chest at the sight of Rhaenyra. She felt only pity for her. It was Daemon she wanted to strike, but even that anger was slowly dissipating, replaced by a mournful, melancholy acceptance. She should've known Daemon would never sit at her feet like a loyal dog. Gods, she'd even expected him to stray to a brothel every now and again.

What she hadn't expected was for him to take his own niece there and violate her for all to see.

"Do not take the moon tea Grandmaester Mellos brings you," Aella told Rhaenyra, folding her arms over her abdomen. They looked so very different, the two of them. Usually, it was Rhaenyra who stood tall and proud. This time, she was hunched over, silently weeping, looking not at all like the glamourous princess she was despite the red and silver of her gown. And Aella stood high above her, back as straight as a pin, hair tied up in the intricate manner of the court fashion, draped in indigo and violet, colours she had worn since her childhood. So, unlike the crimson and black of her house.

Rhaenyra said nothing, only sniffed pathetically and harshly wiped the tears from her cheeks.

"It will only serve as proof of your guilt," Aella continued. Viserys had already called the poor girl into his presence. The Gods knew what had transpired between father and daughter behind closed doors. Aella imagined it was not pretty at all. Viserys is not like your father. She knew Prince Aemon would not have cared. Or maybe he would have, and the true image of her long dead father was merely smudged and altered in her memory. "I will bring you some myself. We will rid you of any... unwanted consequences then."

You will be free, poor girl. Not like I. Aella would get the tea right this time, had done so for many years since Visenys' birth. She did not bear children unless she wanted to. And Rhaenyra would not be ruined now.

Later, Aella sat alone in her chambers, staring from the window, rested on a long sprawling couch. The sun was setting, casting a golden-orange glow over her. Someone knocked on her door.

"Prince Daemon is here to see you, my Lady," a maid informed her, peaking her head in through a crack in the door. Aella's heart immediately began to beat quickly, pounding against her ribs painfully. She nodded at the servant, bading her to let him in.

Daemon looked pathetic when he finally stood in front of her. He was clearly freshly washed, his silver hair still grey with moisture from his bath. Still, there were harsh dark circles beneath his eyes, and he looked so exhausted. His black doublet was unbuttoned, showing the creamy loose shirt beneath.

He stared at her, not speaking a word. There was something soft in his face, but also something utterly prepared. For her to shout at him, no doubt. Aella found she did not have the energy to do so. She only stared back.

Eventually, he walked towards her, stopping only when he was directly in front of her. Then he dropped to his knees. Aella blinked in shock as Daemon's head fell forward, resting in her lap. She gaped at him, hands raised up, as if mere contact with him would set her ablaze.

"I did not bed her," Daemon spoke softly, words muffled by the folds of her skirt. Aella's heart clenched painfully. "I swear it on all that is holy."

"I do not think you hold many things holy, Daemon," she replied before she could think. He shook his head, a hand coming up to grip her waist. Aella wondered if she should just push him off her and send him away. She did not. Her heart could not bear it.

"My love for you is. I would not do this." He shook his head again and groaned. "I did not bed her."

Aella slowly dropped her hands, placing onto his skull and the other his shoulders. She petted his hair, enjoying the pleased sigh he let out at the contact.

"Alright." She cursed herself for just accepting it.

"I must leave tomorrow. Viserys has sent me away." Aella dug her teeth into her tongue. She would be alone again. "I'm sorry."

She swallowed down the nauseating feeling swelling in her belly. "Just come back to me, someday." He nodded, gripping her waist tightly and pressing himself closer.

Rhaenyra's planned betrothal to Laenor Velaryon was announced to the family by mourning, but not before Daemon was gone, carried away on the wings of his Blood Wyrm.

A/N

Surprise Brynden and Rhaenyra pov?

Rhaegon is finally entering his villain era (it's more of a "I'm actually going to be selfish for once" era WHICH HE DESERVES).

I absolutely LOVED writing the difference between Aella and Aemon during the whole Daemon/Nyra brothel situation. Aella easily forgives Daemon and accepts his version of events because she's tired and wants to believe that Daemon loves her to a fault and would never betray her in such a way. Even when she thought it was true, some part of her did not want to believe it. Meanwhile Aemon immediately believes it and does not accept any excuse or explanation from Rhaenyra. He is understandably very angry with her.

He's always had this subconcious voice telling him in the back of his head that he isn't good enough because of his lack of dragon and because he is the son of a third born son (no matter his royal blood), and Rhaenyra just proved that to him (in his eyes) by running off to someone else the moment he rejects her, which he's been doing to preserve her, Elinor's and his own honour.

I also want to make it clear that Rhaenyra DOES love Aemon, she's just too impulsive and hotheaded to take his feelings into account. She's lost so much and suffered so many betrayals in such a short amount of time that to some extent she feels like she's owed something good in her life. For her that is freedom and also Aemon, but her attempting to mix the two does not always work out and Aemon's insecurities don't mix well with that either.

Also not HBO naming a Bracken Aeron (how dare they, I clearly own the name /j)

Spoilers for HOTD s2 if you haven't seen it:

Daemon's delulu hallucination era is gonna be SO FUN to write in fics like JUST KNOW my guy is not getting rest

Only 2 more chapters until act 3!