Haven't I Given Enough? (Always The Fool) - Aemond Targaryen

9: The Pink Dread

Harlys was not sure whether she was dizzy from the news of her betrothal, from her lack of food, or from the speed with which she was removed from the noose and whisked away to some unfamiliar quarters inside the Red Keep.

The rooms gave no hint as to who they belonged to, and after a quick search she could not find the hidden exit. She had been a fool not to flee when she had the chance, and now she was doomed. Handmaidens entered the chambers, Corinne being amongst their numbers, but not a single one answered her questions as they forced her towards the bathing room.

The steaming water would have been a comfort, if she was not furiously trying to anticipate Aemond's next move. Not only had he gone and betrothed himself to her, but he had lied to his grandsire and his king brother. Aegon may be weak-willed, but he would not let such a slight go unpunished.

And there was no telling what Otto Hightower might do in retaliation.

Cleaned, dressed, and brought a plate of food, Harlys was left to her own thoughts in the unfamiliar chambers. She forced herself not to eat everything on the plate, lest her empty stomach get sick and throw it up. She had no idea how long it had been since she last ate, but she had seen the starving children gorge themselves until they were ill and did not wish to end up like them.

Darkness had truly fallen over the Keep by the time the chamber doors opened once more. Harlys stood quickly, the corners of her vision speckled with dark spots at the sudden movement. Stumbling, she caught herself, and before she could stand tall once more, Aemond was upon her.

She could not stop the way her breath caught in her throat at the sight of her betrothed, still unable to piece together his motives.

"Why?" She breathed, interrupting Aemond's careful appraising of every cut and bruise visible to him. "Your mother no doubt planned to use your hand in marriage for bargaining tools to ensure the support of the lords of these lands. Why would you betroth yourself to me?"

She had not entertained the thought before, though she had always known its probability. First sons marry for power, second sons marry for alliance.

"There are still moves to be made in this war," He finally spoke, the answer far from illuminating his reasoning. "You are much more useful alive than dead."

"Is that what you told your grandsire when you interrupted his plans to have executed me in front of the court as a display of power?"

"I told him, Harlys," Aemond did not fall for the trap that was her words. "That my marriage to you would unite our House further to Rhaenyra. That maybe she would bend the knee when she learned that the sister of her children's true father supported Aegon's rule."

Another jab at Harwin's honor, at Jace, Luke, and Joffrey's legitimacy. She pursed her lips at his words, not exactly the romantic sentiment a bride wanted to hear from her betrothed.

Her betrothed.

She stepped away from Aemond, the thought finally hitting her in its entirety. She would marry Aemond Targaryen, most likely within the next few days. The one-eyed prince, the infuriating fool, the arrogant antagonizer during her years in the Red Keep.

Her future husband.

She paced for the window, hand pressed against her mouth to stifle the sob from breaking through. The view beyond the Keep's walls seemed so distant, so peaceful. Moonlight illuminated the cresting waves of the ocean, lights from the city's lanterns dotting the skyline. How could that exist in the same world where she was to be wed to Aemond, where she would be forced to set aside her goals in order to preserve her life?