𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐞𝐚 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬 || Aemond Targaryen

Chapter Seven

The night had already begun to drape its velvet cloak over the landscape as we mounted Meleys. The rhythmic beat of her wings against the cool air was a familiar sensation, soothing yet exhilarating. Dragonstone awaited us, its ancient stones a testament to the legacy of our house.

Landing on Dragonstone under the cloak of nightfall, the world around us was quiet, save for the occasional roar of dragons echoing in the distance. We made our way to our chambers, the day's journey weighing heavily on our limbs. 

The dawn greeted us with a sky painted in hues of soft oranges and pinks, signaling the arrival of a day fraught with promise and political intrigue. By morning, Dragonstone was abuzz with the stirrings of the highborn and noble, the air charged with the scent of anticipation. The king had made his arrival under the cover of darkness, mere hours after our own. As the day unfolded, it welcomed travelers who had journeyed across the breadth of Westeros, members of the realm's most prestigious houses converging upon this ancient seat of power. Among the attendees were the Lannisters with their golden pride, the stalwart Baratheons, our own kin from House Velaryon, and representatives from several lesser but no less notable families. Princess Rhaenyra had harbored intentions of inviting both House Blackwood and Bracken, a gesture of unity, perhaps, or curiosity. However, Prince Daemon, ever the pragmatist or perhaps simply wishing to avoid the specter of conflict on such a joyous occasion, had put an end to that notion with a firm hand.

"Introducing Lord Corlys Velaryon Lady Wife, The Princess Rhaenys, and alongside them, their daughter Lady Lyanna Velaryon," Ser Harold Westerling proclaimed with a voice that filled the grand hall. The throne room of Dragonstone had been transformed, for today, into a hall of feasting and celebration, its ancient stones bearing witness to the convergence of power, ambition, and tentative alliances.

Stepping into the hall, the sea of nobility was a riot of colors, each house proudly displaying their sigils and hues. Amidst this kaleidoscope, I found myself somewhat apart, dressed in a gown of blue-green that shimmered more green than blue. The dress I had initially chosen for this day was not ready, forcing me to make this last-minute substitution. I could feel Prince Daemon's disapproval like a tangible thing, his disdain not just for the dress, but perhaps for the hint of green it carried, a color loaded with implications and unspoken tensions. My mother, ever radiant, adorned herself in a dress of red with gold trimming along the neckline, embodying the fiery spirit of our house.

After exchanging pleasantries with Rhaenyra and Daemon, navigating the polite, if somewhat strained, conversations with the young lords and ladies, I slipped away. My feet knew the path, guided by a longing for a reprieve from the weight of expectations and the suffocating air of courtly dances. I sought out the one person in Dragonstone who could always be relied upon for a different kind of insight.

Mushroom.

The court's fool was a figure of intrigue and complexity, far removed from the simpleton many believed him to be. Mushroom, a dwarf whose wit and intelligence far outstripped his stature, was a master of courtly gossip, his insights sharp as a Valyrian blade. To the nobility, he was a harmless jester, a recipient of their unguarded whispers, not realizing the depth of his perception. But I saw him for what he was—an astute observer of the human condition, his humor a veil for his keen understanding of the workings of power and politics.

Our friendship was an unlikely one, built on mutual respect and a shared appetite for the secrets that lay hidden beneath the surface of courtly pleasantries. In a court where Rhaenyra and Alicent could barely stand the sight of each other, Mushroom found himself more aligned with the Princess of Dragonstone. His loyalty, like mine, had shifted with the tides of courtly favor, and with Rhaenyra's departure to Dragonstone, Mushroom had chosen to follow, remaining ever at her side.

Strolling towards Mushroom with a playful curiosity twinkling in my eyes, I inquired, "What tales have you uncovered for me today?" My approach was always light-hearted, seeking the solace of humor amidst the dense atmosphere of court politics.

Mushroom, ever the bearer of whispers, replied with a hint of disappointment, "Alas, today's harvest is meager, my lady. The court is abuzz with nothing but talk of the new heir and his prospects for the throne. I came in search of scandal and intrigue, yet find myself mired in endless debates over succession."

His words drew a soft laugh from me. "You linger in these halls because my cousin's presence commands it, do you not?" I teased, well aware of the true nature of his attendance.

With a mock sigh, Mushroom conceded, "Indeed, my lady, though I find my talents wasted on kitchen gossip. Nevertheless, I sense it's time I return to my duties among the pots and pans." With that, he made a hasty retreat, leaving the grandeur of the throne room behind.

The arrival of the king and queen commanded the attention of all present. As they entered, a collective bow swept through the room like a wave. Viserys and Alicent were the epitome of regal health, though Viserys alone donned the colors of House Hightower. Helena, his daughter, entered with them, her condition visible beneath the folds of her gown. It had been only five moons since her nuptials to Aegon, yet she appeared almost at term, a rapid progression that stirred quiet whispers among the onlookers. The wedding itself had been an affair to remember, marked by the peculiar haste with which servants seemed to flee Aegon's presence.

In the midst of these reflections, Aemond found his way to my side, his presence a welcome comfort. "My beloved, how do you fare on this splendid morning?" His greeting, accompanied by a gentle kiss on the cheek, ignited a warmth in my cheeks, visible to all.

The room looked on, a shared smile blossoming on the faces of our audience. It was clear to see the affection between us, a bond that many hoped would strengthen the ties of Westeros. Our impending marriage was seen as a beacon of hope, a union that promised to blend strength with compassion, power with wisdom. In us, they saw the future of the realm, a future where love and leadership could coexist, heralding a new era for Westeros.

As the feast continued, I found myself inadvertently eavesdropping on a conversation that piqued my interest significantly. Robert Quince and Lord Bartimos Celtigar were deep in discussion, their topic one of great importance and intrigue—the dragons of Dragonstone.

"No one of dragon blood would be foolhardy enough to provoke Meraxes. She is a tempest," Lord Celtigar declared, his voice tinged with a mix of reverence and fear. The very mention of Meraxes stirred an array of reactions among the nobles, a testament to the awe and terror the dragon inspired.

"If we leave her be, Meraxes will grant us the same courtesy," Sir Robert added, his tone suggesting a pragmatic approach to the coexistence with the legendary beast.

Their words struck a chord within me, igniting a flame of realization. It was as if the puzzle pieces had finally clicked into place. The Red Woman's cryptic message echoed in my mind: "The dragon you seek is where fire and blood meet." It dawned on me then, with startling clarity, that I was destined to claim Meraxes as my own.

The thought was both exhilarating and daunting. To bond with a dragon as formidable as Meraxes was an honor that few could dream of, yet it carried with it the weight of immense responsibility. The legends of Meraxes and her rider painted a picture of unparalleled power, a bond forged in the fires of conquest and tempered by the trials of war.

As I mulled over this revelation, the conversations around me faded into the background. My heart raced with a mix of anticipation and resolve. To claim Meraxes would be to embrace my destiny, to step into a legacy that was mine by right of blood and fire.

AN:

So rn viserys isn't sick yet still an absent father - ili