rhea royce held the squalling baby close.
her child. not daemon's. never daemon's.
she would be no dragon, that was her promise.
and as long as she lived, she kept that promise.
━━━━━━━━━
⤹ in which the daughter of rhea royce
and daemon targaryen fi...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
a few notes: 1) this is a behemoth of a chapter and i apologize 2) i've made some changes to earlier chapters and now yora does not know that rhea was her mother. she solely believes gerold royce is her father. thank you for coming to my ted talk.
tw: language, violence, death
▫▫▫▫▫
Aemond held tight to Vhagar as she dipped in mid-air, pitching him forward against the saddle before she eventually leveled out. The sun rose higher into the sky as morning became afternoon. He would have to land soon. The hunt his grandsire organized started an hour past high noon and it would be a ride from where he'd have to land Vhagar.
He didn't even want to go on this ridiculous hunt. It was supposed to be a celebration for when he chose his bride, but because his suitors had been in the capital for nearly three weeks now the hunt turned into appeasing the temperamental lords. At first, Aemond was simply unsure who to pick as none of the women were interesting enough for him to justify choosing them. But seeing the lords grow red from irritation at his delay and still attempt to kiss his ass for their daughters' sake became his new favorite pastime.
He thought back to the conversation he had with his mother and grandsire that morning as he readied to set out for the kingswood. They had cornered him in the stables.
"The lords are becoming restless, Aemond. You need to choose a wife." His grandsire had said slowly as if he was speaking to a child.
"But all the women you've summoned here are so beautiful, how am I to choose only one?"
"Aemond," his mother warned. Her eyes flitted between him and her father.
"Oh, Mother, I only jest. Worry not, a choice will be made soon."
"Tomorrow."
He glared at his grandsire. The vein in Otto's forehead grew pronounced and his face turned purple as if he was holding his breath. Probably reigning in the energy to scream at him until the next Dawn Age. Normally, the relationship between the two of them balanced dramatically on the line of ambivalence, like some Braavosi mummer. Aemond never sought out his council, nor did Otto go to him of his own accord. There were times during family dinners when his grandsire would get a chuckle out of him, but then at the flip of a coin, he'd want to use him for target practice.
The longer this betrothal continued, the longer the coin landed out of Otto's favor.
"What?" Aemond asked feeling his composure beginning to crumble.
"Aemond, we have given you over a week. The celebration hunt is this afternoon and you still haven't chosen a wife!" Otto's voice raised. His mother tensed, shrinking away at the sound. "We will have the hunt and then on the morn you will pick a wife from those girls and that will be the end of it. Am I understood?"
The figurative coin landed on tails with a massive boom. An unfortunate sign for Otto Hightower.
Aemond gritted his teeth. "Understood." He looked at his mother, her eyes downcast toward the straw floor of the stable. "May I be excused? Vhagar grows restless."
