Desires Be Damned • Aemond Targaryen

Chapter Twelve

Dyaena

Their ship glided gently through the calm waters of Blackwater Bay as they approached Aegon's High Hill. The Red Keep's thick walls and colossal towers sat formidably atop it, the sight of them making Dyaena's knees shake in anticipation and her stomach twist into endless knots as she stood on the deck, watching as the massive structure she once called home grew before her. The sky was mostly clear and sunny, save for a dark cloud that hovered over the castle.

It's been six years... I wonder how much has changed... How much everyone has changed.

Upon docking at a port, their large family was placed into a wheelhouse surrounded by guards to escort them to the Red Keep while their servants and belongings trailed behind. The roads were just as uneven as she remembered, causing her to constantly bump her shoulders between Jace and Luke. Little conversation was to be had between them and the discomfort made her wish for them to reach the castle gate as soon as possible, but the other part of her wanted to jump out, run back to the docks, and sail home. Once more, they had to fight for the sake of maintaining a lie in order to protect themselves, a habit that Dyaena had grown wearisome of long ago.

As she receded into her thoughts, she felt a thin tendril of anxiety unfurl like a leaf in her chest each time she let herself wonder of the uncle she had once greatly cared for. She still felt some fondness towards him--or at least of her memories of him--but her affections had been tarnished the night she had learned he brandished the word "bastard" against her brothers like a sword. It constantly haunted her feelings like a shadow, a mar that remained even after all this time, but it wasn't enough to completely erase them from her heart. Her mind had tried countless times to reason away her endearment--for Alicent had denied their betrothal, and Dyaena knew with a certainty that her mother no longer wanted Aemond, the boy who had done her children harm, to marry her only daughter--but nothing succeeded in making her fully let go of what could no longer be.

Dyaena pondered how much the years could have changed him. Had claiming Vhagar morphed who he once was so drastically that she would barely recognize Aemond upon seeing him again? Would the sad yet sweet boy she once knew be gone with the winds of time? She knew it would be foolish to not consider the possibility that their rift was too great to close; they hadn't exchanged a single letter since Driftmark. While she knew her reasons--the shame she felt from her brothers' actions had caused the fire in her chambers' hearth to swallow many attempts, and eventually she just gave up when nothing she wrote seemed adequate--Aemond surely had his own as well, but she preferred his reasons to be left a mystery than to look upon them in tangible, unambiguous ink. Or perhaps she moreso feared him not gracing her letters with a response at all, though even she could not say for certain.

As the wheelhouse slowed to a halt, the beating in her chest fluttered as her mother and stepfather were announced.

Making sure her hair hadn't strayed too much from its braided confines, she filed out behind Rhaena to find the yard devoid of a warm greeting, or any greeting at all. Instead, as they stood in cold silence while the wind kissed their faces, the doors in front of them opened to reveal a singular man.

"Welcome back, Princess," he said affectionately after a brief bow.

"Lord Caswell," her mother responded.

And so the Hightowers have landed their first blow against us. Unless Mother and stepfather have some trick up their sleeves, Luke maintaining his birthright as heir to Driftmark is as good as gone.

Taking Rhaena's arm after Rhaenyra told them to stay out of trouble while she and Daemon went to visit the bedridden King, the two girls separated from her brothers and walked briskly to Maegor's Holdfast. It was her stepsister's first visit to the Keep and while she wished to see its grounds, Rhaena proclaimed that their travels had exhausted her and she wanted to rest for a bit in her apartments. But while her stepsister had grown tired, exhilaration coursed through Dyaena. A handmaid informed her that she would be staying in her old quarters, making her grateful for some familiarity while they visited her former home, a home that she scarcely recognized at times as they climbed the stone staircases that led to their floor. Clearly the Queen had thought it necessary to dig into the crown's coffers to commission far too many seven pointed stars to replace the Targaryen heraldry.