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Next time, he would tell her.
He would grab her hand, smile as his thumb rubbed across her knuckles, and tell her just how lovely she was to him. Next time they met, he wouldn’t be cruel. He wouldn’t throw insults at her, wouldn’t tell her that she was their father’s favorite, even though that was the truth. He would be kind, he would be exulting. He would obey his mother and not be cross when their father paid her more mind than him.
Targaryen men were proud, standing tall against anything, but he would surely bend to her. He just had to tell her that.
Her marriage was a farce. Anyone with eyes could see that. Her three sons were not the sons of her husband, but it didn’t matter. He could love them, bastards and all.
“You are a child,” Helaena cautioned, thin fingers moving quickly across her embroidered skirt. “She’d never have you.”
Aemond was perplexed that his sister knew of his love for his half-sister. But then again, Helaena seemed to be aware of everything without ever paying attention.
“Maybe not now,” Aemond replied, watching Rhaenrya cup the cheek of her youngest son. “But someday…” He let the words wave off, wafting into the air, hoping the gods were listening.
-
Next time, he wouldn’t hate her.
His second cousin's funeral was a stately affair, hairs of brown and white mixed by the sea as her tomb was dumped into the waves. Of course, there was no body, her dragon had ensured that. Laenor sniffled, holding the hands of his wife’s bastards as his sister was sung upon, and it took everything in Aemond not to roll his eyes. He watched from afar as the bastard boys comforted their cousins, whispering quiet words to one another, and he envied their ease of kindness.
Today, they all feasted to the memory of Laena. Tomorrow, Laenor would be dead, and Aemond's heart would ache as Rhaenyra took a new husband.
Tomorrow, he will lose an eye. He would blame her bastards, blame her, burying his want to be near her deep within his gut.
Tomorrow, he will gain a dragon.
-
Next time, he would use a kinder tone.
In the years that had gone, she hadn’t changed. Snowy flesh adorned with the dragon's colors, hair white as crystal, still just as beautiful as she had been six years ago. His fingers itched with a need for purchase, his heart hammering as she and her new husband entered the hall.
Their father was dying, and her only wish was to see him. Daemon paid her little mind, it seemed, and it angered Aemond. Tummy swollen, Rhaenyra brought her children to her father, their chubby legs swinging off her hip.
From the corridor, Aemond listened, eyes fluttering at the dip and curve of her voice. He stood up straighter as footsteps echoed on the cobblestone, with Daemon’s never trusting eyes landing on him. His face was stiff, unreadable, and he brushed past Aemond without a second glance. Aemond let out a sigh of relief. Hand on her belly, Rhaenyra exited her fathers chambers, pausing as she spotted her half-brother. His mouth grew dry.
“Brother,” she said softly, nodding.
Aemond blinked, opening his mouth to say something comforting, anything, but the words that came out were anything but. “Looks like you finally have something other than bastards.”
His chin jutted out to the white haired babe on her hip, and Rhaenyra froze. Her mouth twisted in pain, brows knitted, and she moved passed him wordlessly.
“I-I’m glad they’re healthy!” he called after her.
Her echoing footsteps paused but a moment before they continued. He leaned against the wooden door of his father’s chambers, heart hammering within his chest.
-
Next time, he would hold his tongue.
He hadn’t meant to speak. He kept quiet the entirety of the dinner, suppressed rolling his eyes or huffing in indignation at his idiotic brother's antics. Aemond watched in silent amusement as Aegon taunted their cousins, the bastard sons displaying more kingly attributes than the eldest son of the real King, and tried not to stare at her.
But stare at her he did.
She looked beautiful, tummy swollen with her new babe. It’d be born with the hair of its father and skin of its mother no doubt.
He envied them, envied Daemon.
When Rhaenyra raised her glass to his mother, his cheeks ached from keeping his expression stony and not splitting at the seams with pride. He was proud of her, even if he had no right to be. The queen looked just as surprised, and upon shaky legs stood as well, toasting to her stepdaughter, and when both women sat down and the family began to feast, Aemond allowed himself to smile, just for a moment.
The roast was settled in the middle of the table, adorned with honey and fruits. Luke and his betrothed filled their plates, and Aemond watched as the boy looked between the roast, then to him, then back at the roast.
Aemond held his breath, back stiff. Nothing had to happen. He could simply hold his tongue, bite into it until it bled. Keep the peace, for her sake, just for a little longer.
And then the stupid bastard had to smirk.
Aemond's hand slapped the table faster than he could even register. Beside him, Helaena jumped, her pale cheeks hollowed as her mouth dropped open in surprise.
“To the health of my nephews,” Aemond sneered, raising his cup in mock solution. “Jace, Luke, and Joffery. Each of them handsome, wise…strong.”
He could nearly feel the room deplete of joy.
His mother shook her head and spoke his name quickly. “Aemond…”
But he cut her off because he wasn’t finished yet. “Come,” he continued. “Let us drain our cups to these three strong boys.”
He didn’t dare look at Rhaenyra, unsure if he could stomach whatever look it was she was casting at him. Jace moved swiftly, his chest puffed and fury in his eyes. “I dare you to say that again.”
Aemond grinned, ignoring the way his stomach tripped. “Why? It was only a compliment.”
The punch landed harder than he would’ve bargained.
His mother was frantic, grabbing at him with spindle-like fingers, chastising him in a hushed town as Daemon pushed his step-sons back from launching themselves forward. But Aemod focuses on none of it. He only looked at her. Their eyes met, and it felt like he was burning.
He was a dragon, he could survive a blaze. But Rhaenyra's gaze was scorching, burning into his skin, melting his resolve.
She was disappointed in him.
So was he.
-
Next time, he’ll kiss her longer.
The morning of his sister and her family's departure, Aemond rose before the sun and mounted Vhagar, wishing to be in the sky and not on the ground when she left him again. They flew high, scraping the clouds and cutting through mist. The light rain danced across his face, clinging to his lashes and when he directed Vhagar down, he swallowed thickly. Their dragons were still in the courtyard.
He should’ve flown longer.
The sky became an inky pink, signaling the sun's approach and he took the steps two at a time, long hair sticking to his neck. His footsteps were light against the concert floor, and when he rounded the corner and collided with someone, the air was stolen from his lungs.
“Apologies, Princess.” His words were quick as he stepped away from Rhaenyra, hands held up to balance her, cupping her elbows.
She didn’t speak, instead looked down at his hands on her skin. He dropped them immediately. Raising her head, she silently dared him. Dared him to walk away.
He didn’t budge.
“You hate my sons,” she said, eyes peering at him skeptically. “Why?”
Aemond shrugged, looked over her shoulder for signs of anyone. “There isn’t anything in particular for me to like.”
To his surprise, Rhaenyra took a step forward. “They’re half of me. That is why you should like them.”
Aemond swallowed, nodding as he looked over her shoulder again at the empty hallway before looking back at her. When had she come so close?
“Of course, Princess,” he whispered hoarsely. “My…apologies.”
Rhaenyra's brows rose, and she smiled. It felt like a punch to the gut. “An apology from you. How surprising.”
Aemond shrugged, keeping his back straight as he crossed his hands behind his back. “You may find I’m full of surprises.”
She nodded, smiling again as her expression softened. Taking a step closer, Rhaenyra placed a hand on his chest. “As am I.”
Stretching to meet him, the heir to the iron throne placed her lips upon the mouth of the one-eyed prince, fueling his senses with honey and lavender. Aemond stood still as stone, wishing for this moment to loop infinitely.
But like all things, it ended. When Rhaenyra pulled back, she raised a shaky hand to her lips, fingers ghosting over lightly, as if just registering what she had done. Gray eyes looked into his face, full of fear and regret, and it made his stomach twist. He wanted to grab her and kiss her once more, put his hands into her hair and make her see sense, that he would do anything for her, that she deserved better than Daemon, that she deserved the throne.
She spun away quickly, coming back the way she entered and as Aemond stood in the hallway alone. He pressed his hands to his mouth, and smiled.
-
Next time, he’ll leave well enough alone.
The moment Vhgara crushed Arrax and Luke within her jaws, Aemond knew exactly what was to come.
War.
Death.
The end to whatever little Rhaenyra had felt for him.
He hadn’t meant to harm the young prince. It was just a bit of fun, truly. But he thought he could control a very old dragon and reign her in. He was terribly wrong, and now he’d just killed the son of the woman he loved.
Aemond reached Dragonstone quickly, dismounting Vhgara with little fashion and running into the halls. The guards recognized him easily, approaching him with hands meant to stop him.
“Let me pass!” he demanded, desperation loosely hidden in his voice. “I need to see my sister.”
The guards gave little question, but followed as he approached.
Her bump was gone now. He expected a new babe to be near, but saw none. Rhaenyra gave him a quizzical look.
“Hello, traitor,” she hummed as Daemon stood protectively beside her. “How does your brother fair on the throne he stole from me?”
“My Queen, I had no part in it, I swear,” he rasped, lunges contracting. He knelt before her, knees echoing on the marble floor as he fell. He was winded from his ride, from what he had done. “Please, let us talk in private.”
Daemon gave a short laugh, casting him an incredulous glance but Rhaenyra paused. Aemond’s singular eye looked up at her, silently begging, wordlessly hoping.
“Leave us.”
Daemon was about to protest, but she gave him a singular glare, and he rounded up the guards, exiting the room with a loud click of the wooden doors.
“What’s changed your mind?” she asked, moving swiftly to stand in front of the hearth, the reflection for the flames dancing in her eyes.
Aemond stood, walking towards her, her back still facing him. Nerves belittling him, he placed a hand gently on her hip. She glanced down, watched as his fingers splayed over the fabric before twisting her face to look at him. She was so close he could count her lashes.
“Miss me, dear Prince?” she asked.
Aemond chuckled, fear still tearing at his heart. He leaned forward, pressing his mouth to the junction between her neck and shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her skin, kissing gently.
She turned to fully face him, her mouth open in question and he pounced, her face between his hands as he kissed her hard. Their teeth clanked, his tongue slipping easily into her mouth. Rhaenyra jumped in surprise, her hands coming over his own and she whimpered. Aemond swallowed the sound, sorrow nearly choking him as he attempted to commit this moment to memory. Her torso pressed against him, fingers gripping his collar tightly as he dug his thumbs just below her jaw. Their tongues danced like flames, fighting to win dominance and she let him, her resolve soft in his hands and it nearly broke him.
She would never forgive him when she understands what he’s done, but she didn't know yet. He still had time.
Dropping his hands from her face to her waist, Aemond pulled her snug against him, relishing in her softness. She nipped him lightly, straining to be closer. He lifted his chin, inhaling quickly.
“You will hate me,” he muttered, their noses bumping. Rhaenyra opened her eyes, confusion lacing them and began to shake her head in defiance, but he cut her off. “Yes, you will. No matter how much I regret it, it will not matter.” He dipped his head as he kissed her again, his aching heart unable to stop himself. “But I will love you as much as you grow to despise me.”
Chest burning, Aemond dropped his hands from her waist and turned away, his steps feeling heavy. He knew she was watching him, but couldn’t bring himself to look back as he yanked open the doors. Daemon stepped inside, taking in the bewildered look on his wife’s face. Aemond swallowed as he watched his brother-in-law’s expression change, the smallest bit of smugness pulling at the corners of his mouth.
“Best take to the skies, Aemond,” Daemon hummed, crossing his hands behind his back. “The Blacks will come for you soon enough.” He shook his head with a quiet laugh, and Aemond felt his stomach drop.
“Poor little prince,” Daemon sighed, leaning in quietly. “You’ve just started a war.”