Chapter Text
It was a perfect day. The sun an invitingly warm as it had beckoned them all out into the green fields of Dragonstone. The ocean was a brilliant blue as even the waves seemed to play in the sunlight. Despite all the grief that the war in the Stepstones had brought and the anxiousness from her grandchildren, Rhaenyra was pleased that they could share this golden moment. All seemed right.
She ran her fingers through the curly brown hair of Laena. A young girl, only four years of age, and already shared a striking resemblance to her grandmother whom she was named after. Rhaenyra smiled brightly as the little girl leaned back into her and raised a small wooden dragon to the sky above. She pretended that it flew through the clouds and across the sun as a second dragon joined, held up by Rhaenyra.
Beside them, Corryn and Dael spoke of their sword training with Viserys and Aegon, enamored with seeing their older uncles after many years. Bread dipped in herbs and spiced oils was shared amongst them as Dael eventually rose to give a thrilling example of his maneuverability. The boy looked much like his father except for the silver hair. He challenged Corryn with a wave of his hand as the two unsheathed their wooden swords. They pestered one another, stepping back and forth, as they duelled. Aegon bet that Corryn would win simply because he was the eldest.
Lucaena watched, sewing her own interpretation of Daybreak as she sat in front of Alyssa. Her handmaiden had plaited and braided her hair many times in the last hour though the young princess had not noticed. Alyssa would gradually undo each braid, moving the hair between her fingers in contemplation. She was usually quiet, handmaidens were supposed to be seen and not heard, but Myranda had noted her extended silence. She questioned her over breakfast and Alyssa had lied, told her that she was only worried for the safety of the king and queen. Myranda admitted the same and attempted to comfort them both with assuring words of victory. Alyssa did not care.
“Come away from the edge, princess!” Myranda called to Helaera for the third time.
The princess did as she was told, shuffling back towards the picnic but remained facing the ocean. Tucked into the sleeve of her dress was a letter from Arwin. Helaera thought it was considerate of him to write and she had smiled when reading it. She understood well what Arwin felt for her, she could not flee from it regardless of where she was in the Red Keep. The ladies of the court would tease her about it, the lords would mention him as her future husband and the boy himself would always be two paces behind her. She heard her father liken him to a pup once. For a while she had thought of him as such but their recent time at the Dragonpit had stirred something in her. Helaera sat down and brought her knees to her chin. She frowned. He was nervous but found strength beside her. In his letter, as well as hoping that she was faring well on Dragonstone, Arwin had also spoken of how Viridinax now obeyed him, and he was grateful for her help. Without even being able to mount their dragons yet, he had invited Helaera to a flight about the Kingswood. As the future queen, she would be expected to have a strong king consort to rule beside her. Arwin was sweet and considerate, but he was yet to display what she considered to be courage. Perhaps that was a bit too much to ask of such a young boy.
Lucaena clapped as Dael disarmed his older brother, much to Aegon’s disappointment. He bowed, claiming himself to be a master swordsman as Corryn rolled his eyes. Viserys held out his palm as Aegon handed him two gold dragons.
“Best of three,” Corryn proposed as he picked up his wooden sword.
“Step away,” Viserys smirked, “I have already made my coin.”
“Or we could make more,” Dael readied himself once more.
Aegon leaned into Viserys, “four gold dragons.”
The two brothers shook hands, sealing the deal, as a battle commenced again. Corryn and Dael danced about each other, the swords clacking with each hit. Their uncles shouted strategies as if they were watching a true tourney. Even Laena had been distracted from her array of wooden toys to watch the fight.
Although Alyssa’s fingers remained threaded in Lucaena’s hair, her attention had turned to Helaera. The princess was far off in thought, mind far beyond the reach of the horizon but body so close to the tumbling waves below. A single push and her debt would be paid but the Black Fingers wanted the heir to themselves. Alyssa had come to accept the terms of her debt but was yet to accept Jarred’s death. She could not comprehend that he would not be on the docks when she returned to King’s Landing, still alive and waiting for her. Her heart ached and nothing could soothe it.
Dael dashed about his older brother, stepping back from each swing as Lucaena cheered him on. Corryn flung himself forward, all of his frustration channeling into the heavy strike of his sword and aimed for his brother’s shoulder. Eyes widening, Dael shifted to the side, the sword passing him by as Corryn stumbled to catch himself. A single swat on the rear and his older brother fell onto his stomach. Aegon grumbled, throwing his hands up at Corryn as he wiped the dirt from his face.
“That will be four gold dragons, good ser,” Viserys teased and snatched the coins from his brother’s fingers.
Dael pulled Corryn from the ground as they exchanged playful shoves.
“Perhaps knighthood awaits you, my young lord,” Myranda spoke with a smile.
“I hope for the Kingsguard,” Dael sat down, panting gently as he reached for a jug of water.
“My father’s Kingsguard is full,” Helaera hummed, still facing the ocean, “but the Queensguard possibly.”
Dael grinned, “it would be an honor.”
Viserys patted his nephews back, most pleased with the few more coins he has.
“Since you won the tourney, Ser Dael, it is only befitting you declare the Queen of Love and Beauty,” Viserys sniggered.
Aegon looked about and quickly plucked a bunch of wildflowers before dumping them into Dael’s lap whose face had already turned red.
“Who is to receive this great honor?” Aegon mused, stroking his chin in false thought.
Laena had already stolen two of the wildflowers, passing them to Rhaenyra as she brushed the petals against her nose. Lucaena straightened her dress, smoothing out the creases as she prepared herself for the bouquet. Flowers were a gift she received often from the young sons of the court, and she expected that in future tourneys to come she would always receive the victor’s laurel. Lucaena would become the cause of misery for all maidens when she was to come of age.
Dael looked at the white and pale blue petals as he breathed in. He stood and marched his way over to Helaera. She looked up at him in slight shock as he held out the bouquet. Lucaena’s mouth fell open as her sister slowly took the flowers and thanked him. Myranda and Rhaenyra exchanged a glance of surprise as the handmaiden would surely have to tell the queen of this. Maenys would be beside herself that she had missed it. Alyssa withheld her tears.
Banners hung from the beachside ruins of Thiefwater. The red dragon of House Targaryen flew alongside the blue dragon of Aemond and Maenys and was joined by the silver seahorse of House Velaryon. The land, ocean and sky all as one beneath the might of Valyrian blood. Meleys and Moondancer circled about the bay as the other dragons remained on the ground, waiting for a command from their riders. Aemond was smiling, looking upon all that had come from their reign, the power he wielded as king. He was proud of all that they had achieved together but when he turned to his wife, Maenys did not share his enthusiasm. Her eyes remained on Aegon’s ship, idly rocking in the bay as if her life had not completely changed overnight with his return. She pulled at the fingers of her riding gloves.
She wished she had not agreed to Aegon’s desires but even if Maenys had spared him she had little doubt that he would remain hidden. He knew that she would come to war eventually and race to Aemond’s side as Maenys had her whole life. Aegon had planned this which was not like the man she once knew. She requested she speak to Aemond first, tell him herself before they were to reunite. Her husband had spoken often of the fateful day that Aegon slipped through his fingers before the Sept. At first, he had believed it to be his own weakness that allowed his brother’s escape, but as Aemond settled into his position as king, he thought it to be fate. That single moment of hesitation allowed him all that he had with Maenys. She wavered to tell him otherwise.
“You are concerned,” Aemond whispered so that the entourage around them could not hear, “and yet we are on the precipice of victory, my love.”
They both watched as a rowboat made its way to shore having come a from a lone Triarchy ship. Maenys swallowed her concern.
“Only exhausted,” she lied, “I am sure I will feel this victory once I have slept well.”
Aemond said nothing more, noticing that she did not look at him and continued to fidget. Maenys had not been herself since he returned from his scouting alongside Rhaenys. Even when he reported the Triarchy’s surrender, she did not celebrate. He glanced down at her stomach, thinking for a moment if their efforts had been successful, but the time was too near to know for sure.
Jace, along with Baela and Rhaenys, took their place beside the king and queen as Daeron and Joffrey stood on the steps beneath them, their hands resting on their swords. The three leaders ascended the ruined stone stairs with their own small group, all that could fit on the rowboat. They passed by proud soldiers though their armor was dirty. They glanced at each other, feeling as though they were marching forth to meet the gods themselves. The King of Westeros appeared like a spectre of judgement with his arms behind his back. Rumors had spread of what lingered beneath the eye patch. Some say it was the eye of a dragon whilst others described a stone made of Daemon’s crystalized blood. The Rogue Prince had been crowned King of the Narrow Sea long ago and now, before them, stood the man who felled him.
The Queen of Westeros, or The Undying as their spies had informed them, was like an image from a history book. Dressed in her scaled armor and Dark Sister hanging from her waist, she appeared like the dragonlords from ancient stories of Old Valyria; tales they preferred to remain dead. King Aemond and his fleet in the Stepstones was weak until she arrived with more dragons. Furthermore, accounts of bolts loosed at Bloodbone never deterred the beast from raining ruin and arrows launched against her directly never killed her. Perhaps she existed in a state beyond death just as her title suggested. Unkillable because she was already dead.
The Triarchy leaders stopped before their Westerosi enemy, still proud in their defeat though countless of their own had been turned to ash. Aemond stared at the three of them, judging their appearance and concluding that they were mongrels. The two men were short and covered head to town in bronze chains and beads. Sigils and symbols pertaining to Tyrosh and Myr were embedded into the metal along with the images of bulls, but their garb was more particular to the culture of their own homes. The woman, half of her face covered in burn scars, wore a sash of fine fabrics across her leather armor. Her lips were stained a dark shade of red from the wines of Lys. Aemond, admittedly, was incredibly disappointed to find no warriors amongst the craven fools. Neither of them had a sword and only the woman of Lys had a dagger on her belt. How they had managed to stir another uprising was beyond him.
“You stand before King Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men and Protector of the Realm,” Daeron announced as the salt wind carried his voice, “and Queen Maenys Targaryen, The Undying.”
Maenys breathed in as the banners of their houses whipped about. The two men hesitated to step forward in response.
“I am Nesysha of Lys,” The woman spoke simply and folded her arms, “and my associates are Malelos of Myr and Garreo of Tyrosh.”
“The Bronze Bulls,” one of the short men added quietly.
Jace cleared his throat to suppress a laugh and swayed from side to side.
“The Leaders of the Triarchy, at least this iteration of it,” Aemond began, “I had hoped we would meet in battle, but I only ever faced your men. You can imagine my disappointment.”
Nesysha huffed, “you brought dragons to sea and yet we rarely saw them. Not until the queen arrived at least.”
Maenys tilted her head in surprise as the woman motioned to her.
“Her husband must be truly craven if he rides the largest dragon in the world and yet would not face our bolts without his wife.”
Malelos and Garreo were shaking in their fine shoes as the king’s face became blank. On the shore beneath them, Vhagar stirred as she sensed Aemond’s humiliation. The maester that had accompanied the entourage, currently standing amongst the war council, would make no mention of the insult levied towards him.
“We have threatened each other enough,” Maenys said firmly, moving closer to Aemond but speaking to Nesysha, “we are here to discuss your surrender.”
“Indeed,” Garreo agreed quickly.
Melelos clicked his fingers, and two slaves lugged a large chest before the king and queen. Daeron attempted to get a glance as the lid was opened. The shimmer of gold reflected on Maneys’ face as she let out a quiet gasp. Soft red fabric was bed to large pearls and necklaces of precious metals. Small glass ornaments of dragons and other creatures were hidden amongst the wealth. Streams of intricate lace, an innocent white color, were rolled up beside the pearls. A crate was set down beside the chest and revealed to contain bottles of the finest pear brandy that Tyrosh could make.
“A tribute,” Aemond hummed.
“And a dozen of our finest ships,” Garreo assured, “for the Lord of the Tides.”
Jace nodded, certainly intrigued by the tribute though he did not wish to govern any ship made at the expense of slaves.
Melelos swallowed, “we lay down our swords and our scorpions to you, the King of Westeros and the Narrow Sea.”
Maenys glanced at Nesysha who refused to look upon the tribute. Instead, she had turned to face the bay and admired the ships. Her face was hard, clearly unhappy with the situation. Jace stepped towards Aemond, whispering to him in Valyrian his thoughts on the surrender. It was simple thankfully, that they were willing to bend the knee. These men were indeed cowards. They had wasted so many lives on this incursion but none of it seemed to matter once their own destruction was invited to the situation. Melelos and Gerreo continued to talk, spoke of treaties, lowered trade taxes, more gems, anything to have Aemond show the slightest consideration for their total surrender. They yapped like little dogs and Nesysha shook her head.
Maenys noticed how the burn on the woman’s face travelled down her neck and she assumed all the way down her body as her right hand was also completely scarred. It was too oddly specific to be an accident.
“Who did it?” Maenys whispered before she could stop herself.
Nesysha frowned and gave the queen a firm glare, thinking the question a mockery of her form, before finding a genuineness in her eyes alongside the faint scar.
“My brother,” she answered bluntly, “you?”
“His brother.”
“Men.”
A smirk was shared between them. As Jace leaned away from Aemond, the king breathed in and rested his hands on the pommel of Blackfyre. The two men seemed to ease.
“But this is simply not enough,” Aemond said frankly, “you have transgressed against me, against my realm, and you have sent countless men to the slaughter by my dragons. Now you wish to absolve yourself of your sins through purchase.”
“Such is war,” Melelos tensed, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead, “what more would you have us do?”
“Do you not understand you fat bastard,” Nesysha hissed, “that this is a matter of honor for the queen’s husband.”
Melelos and Gerreo’s plump cheeks began to tremble as they blabbered, both insulted and anxious. Maenys saw Jace’s eyes widen with surprise as this was clearly not what he informed Aemond to do.
“I will not have another insurgency be inspired amongst the Free Cities and seeing that this is war, as you have so humbly reminded me, I will deal in its simplest price. You bow your head to my sword, or you may leave here free, but your men pay for that freedom,” Aemond offered, his tone cold like marble, “your life or theirs.”
The king had spoken and though the fools had never seen the Iron Throne, they could suddenly feel its looming presence. The slaves huddled together; necks bound with metal collars that cut into their skin. The few members of their much smaller entourage that were free men stared at Melelos and Gerreo, silently pleading for their lives.
“You can have my head,” Nesysha answered flippantly, “I have sent enough men to their graves. It is time I join them.”
The two men hurried away from her as Aemond began to unsheathe Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel glinting in the sunlight.
“Only on one condition.”
The king frowned as the woman pointed at Maenys.
“I was brought into this world by a woman, and I intend to leave by the hands of one too.”
Many eyes turned to the queen as she gulped. She had ruled beside Aemond for twelve years, but never once had she had to personally execute someone. Their reign was peaceful and the petty thieves that plagued their home were hung at Daeron’s discretion. Even still, Dark Sister had not tasted blood for many moons, not since Daemon killed Criston Cole if she could recall correctly. Nesysha clearly expected strength from her, expected that the armour she wore and stories surrounding the queen were real and true as if her being a dragonrider was not proof enough. Aemond saw no reason for the woman to be making demands but when he felt Maenys’ hand on his arm, he obeyed her silent command. Nesysha grinned as she saw the King of Westeros bow his head to his wife.
The woman fell to her knees as Daeron and a soldier came to steady and restrain her. Nesysha hung her head, her wild blonde hair parting to reveal the base of her neck. Maenys’ scuffed boots came into view beneath her as Dark Sister ringed as the sword was pulled from the sheathe. The queen fixed her grip and brought it above her. Again, the Valyrian steel caught the sun and the men of Tyrosh and Myr saw that their associate was about to be smote by holy flame. Aemond’s gaze did not leave Maenys as she found the resolve to finish what she had started. She affirmed to herself in her mind that she was not her father, she was not Daemon, and this was merely how matters had to be dealt with. It was so much easier to kill on the back of a dragon.
Maenys swung down, the sword slicing through Nesysha’s neck cleanly as it had Vaemond’s skull many years ago. Her head rolled onto the ground, blood trailing behind it as her body became limp. Melelos gagged, turning from the sight as Maenys pulled a cloth from her armor and wiped the blood from the blade.
“And what are to be your choices?” Aemond hummed.
“You may have my men,” Gerreo answered rapidly, “my king.”
“And mine too.”
Honourless, Aemond thought, they were completely honourless. Their entourage swore at them, cursed their bloodlines in their many languages as the soldiers restrained them. Melelos shook his head, flushed and sweating as he pulled a small silver box from his pocket. He pinched some of the salt within it and sprinkled into on the back of his hand before inhaling, desiring a clear mind more than anything else. Gerreo did the same, sniffing the salt deeply as he discussed their passage home. Their chains clinked together as they shrunk away from their sins.
Aemond tilted his head down, entirely slighted and disgusted by their behaviour. Even Jace, Baela and Rhaenys were appalled as the men were brought to kneel before the king. Some were weeping. Joffrey watched with a pale face and wished he was back on Dragonstone with his mother. Maenys grumbled to herself as Nesysha’s head remained beside her feet. If the two men were to turn around, they would be met with the sweltering glares of House Targaryen. Hundreds of lives to pay for two.
The banner of the blue dragon flapped in the breeze as Aemond and Maenys exchanged a look, both agreeing with each other but not a word spoken. At last, Blackfyre was free of the sheathe and the men kneeling before Aemond winced. However, the Stranger did not slit their throats as the king strode towards Melelos and Gerreo. The two men, entirely startled like tiny mice, cowered from Blackfyre as the sword sliced through their throats. Their heads and bodies fell backwards, tumbling down the ruins and landed on the shore. Vhagar rumbled at the smell of blood but made no effort to devour the corpses.
“Let them go,” Maenys ordered, and the men were released.
They hesitated, waited for it to be some trick but when they realized they were free, they fled for the rowboat. Jace let out a lengthy breath as everything had truly come to an end. Baela pulled Maenys into a hug, a moment of tenderness that she indulged in. Women do what they must.
“Have Nesysha buried,” Maenys requested quietly to the soldiers.
Aemond returned to the chest that had been offered to him, a tribute fit to make a poor man a king. He knelt down and shifted through the treasure. Beneath the necklaces and pearls, he found a small wooden box, no bigger than his hand. He flicked open the ornate latch and peaked inside. Resting on white silk, three gemstones cut perfectly into the shape of tear drops were nestled together like dragon eggs. The colours sparkled across his face as he smiled, recognizing a sapphire easily. One was a dark blue, the color of midnight, and the other the palest of the hue like the sky at dawn. Resting in between its sisters, the third sapphire was a brilliant purple, colour deep and royal. Aemond tucked the box into a pocket of his armor.
“Share the brandy amongst our fleet,” he motioned to Jace before closing the lid of the chest, “and have this thrown into the ocean.”
As sunset came, the sailors and soldiers became drunk on victory and good drinks. Ships were at last able to light every lamp onboard, the emblems of two great houses on sails at last visible for all to see from the shores of the Stepstones. The waves belonged to House Velaryon once more. Even the dragons partook in the celebration, flocks of sheep presented to them as they finally rested before the long trip back home. Music filled the bay and all drunk enough danced to the melodies. Maenys, though somewhat distracted by the proceedings of the day, could not turn her attention away from Aegon’s ship. The men who celebrated aboard ‘The Golden Whore’ as he had named it, had no idea who their host was. From her room on the flagship, where they currently stood, Aemond could technically see his brother. Maenys toyed with the pendant around her neck, moved the sapphire through her fingers as she knew not how long she had been at the window for. Her husband came to rest his hands on her hips, glimpsing her body through the sheer fabric of the robe, and pulled her to him. Aemond hummed appreciatively as one of her hands rested on his.
“You were beautiful today,” he praised, hoping to steal Maenys’ attention from her thoughts.
She smiled faintly, “am I not every day?”
“A king does not often see his queen deliver justice as you did today. A tapestry shall be made to honor the moment.”
She nodded in distant agreement and stroked his cheek, but she did not turn to him. Aemond kissed her temple, vying for her notice once more.
“Our daughters will be pleased to see us.”
“Especially you.”
“And our endeavour to give them a brother.”
His palm rested against her stomach, hot through the fabric and kissed her neck. Maenys sighed in bliss as he reached for the strings beneath her breasts the tied the robe together. A son blessed by the day of their victory. Aemond was gentle, touches lingering and yet his wife pulled away from him. Slowly, she met his eyes, face curtained by her hair and expression solemn.
“There is something I must speak of.”
Aemond’s lips parted slightly. He waited as she crossed her arms, encouraging herself. She did not expect him to be mad or dismayed by her aiding in Aegon’s escape of King’s Landing. Rather, she knew it would be the fact that she did not and never was going to tell him. The greatest secret she ever kept from him that would have stayed as such if Aegon was had not supported the war effort as he had and was soon to meet with the Stranger. Maenys suddenly felt cold as the fire dimmed in her blood.
She stuttered, “I do not mean to hurt you.”
Aemond was unmoving, not even the gentle rock of the ship was able to shift his form. He loomed like a shadow; light absorbed by his black garments. Maenys needed to tread carefully.
“And in truth, I had never meant to mention it. Not ever.”
He tilted his head, face stern. She should not have left his hold as she already missed his gentle touches.
“What we have built together, achieved together, is more than I have ever imagined possible. More than we both originally planned for,” she paused, “do you remember all those moons ago, when we were young and all we wanted was to be wed? Do you remember our plan if we could not be?”
“We would fly to Volantis,” he answered quickly.
“And live as dragons do.”
She wiped the tears from her eyes and Aemond’s mind was racing.
“I wanted nothing more,” Maenys admitted softly, “I think a part of me still does.”
It was not something Aemond could easily give her, not now. They ruled the entirety of Westeros and yet he was helpless to fulfil her desire. She looked out of the small window once more, her chest falling as she held the pendant.
“Do you regret letting Aegon go?”
He frowned, mouth pressing into a hard line. They listened to the creaking of the wood and muffled music from the bay.
“Do you regret becoming king?”
“How could I? Aegon would not have been able to serve the realm as I have.”
Maenys wiped more tears from her cheeks.
“As we have,” he corrected himself, “fate chose us. Aegon’s Dream chose us. We were destined to rule together. To be husband and wife. You are mine and I am yours.”
Aemond held back his own tears, held back the heartbreak in his voice as he swallowed hard.
“Or do you believe that no longer?”
She shook her head quickly, denying his question as she reached for him. Her hands rested on his cheeks as he desperately held onto her wrists.
“I love you, Aemond,” she assured him, “I want no other. That is not what I-.”
Maenys sighed and traced the scar along his sapphire eye. He shuddered.
“Fate did not make you king. I did.”
His grip loosened on her wrists.
“I could not let Aegon become king, and I knew you had been preparing yourself your whole life as if you were to be. You did all you could to prove yourself so when he was missing, I too searched the streets. When you had lost him at the Sept, I found him and helped him escape.”
She showed her left hand, the palm with the scar across it.
“We made an oath. I would not kill him for all of the misery he had brought unto us if he fled from Westeros and never returned.”
“He is here.”
Maenys opened her mouth to speak but only nodded. The merchant lord, he assumed, the one who always provided extra sheep and wine. The one with the pretty woman on his sails and crates. The one who never offered his ships to fight but was conveniently in the area when ground had been gained. Aemond’s attention was now stolen by the ship across the bay, Aegon’s presumably. Maenys remained silent, waited on bated breath for her husband’s reaction. He did not move, mind entirely swamped by realization. She had made him king, had faith that he was worthy enough to sit the throne, but the thought was dragged and drowned in the depths of his own darkness. It was never meant to be him. It would always have been Aegon. It was always Aegon.
“Aemond,” Maenys cooed gently.
An eruption of supressed feelings coursed through him; thoughts he had tucked away brought new tears to his eye. Aemond was yet to win any victories himself, was truly yet to prove himself to the realm. Maenys had saved him from Daemon during the Serpent’s Storm and now she and Aegon, his dim-witted brother, had saved him from the Triarchy. He was entirely worthless as fate favored the actions of others always.
“I will meet with him,” he said coldly, walking away.
“You do not wish for me to be there?”
He opened the door, raising the shield he had built within himself to Maenys, his queen and wife.
“No.”
Aemond left.