𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 | 𝐚𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧.

𝐗𝐗. 𝐉𝐔𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓

«They say coronation is the nervous ceremony, consisting of fear, anxiety and hints of proud. I completely disagree. For me, coronation tasted as a win and irritation. A win, because in the end they kneeled before me, and an irritation because common people can be too loud sometimes. I wish they could shut the f—»

— From Drusilla Tyrell's memoirs.

•

Coronation was nothing as Aemond excepted it to be. Somehow, in this imagination always painted this day differently in his mind. But then again, the last few days had been delirious: family gathering at one plays, pacts made, by blood, even, funerals of the Viserys, and, finally, ceremony itself. So, he guesses it is fine that reality seems completely different of what he imagined.

He tries to get used to it as much as it is possible. Gladly, Irellea, here to help.

'My king-g,' she whispers in his ear, fingers playing with front strands of his hair, 'you look so tense!'

Well, he is tense.

He can't sit on this Throne properly, for fuck's sake.

He can't even lean on it, because remembers what his father had become, and it is... Well, a scary perspective. Somehow, he is sure to be absolutely unworthy of this place.

It is Irellea, who easily plops on it, when no one is around, throwing her legs on the throne's handle as if it is not deadly.

When he saw it for the first time, he almost died on the spot. What a careless woman!

'Mhm, I am really intending to return to my throne,' he muses, eyeing Irellea.

She raises her brows.

'You already are, Aemond.'

'Really?' He hums lazily. 'But my throne is being buried between your l—'

A mighty smack echoes in the walls of the hall as Aemond snickers from this reaction.

'I am not allowing you to speak with Aegon anymore.' She hisses, folding arms on her chest, as if Aemond doesn't know how much she likes that.

'My, My, the Shrike Queen is really as cruel as people say,' he teases.

The Shrike Queen is something that people from the Reach started to call Drusilla Tyrell as she became the Queen. Despite this, somehow, cruel meaning, they mostly meant well. In truth, Aemond assumed that it is something Augustus Tyrell spread around as a gift for his sister, well-knowing that Lea would approve.

'Aemond, you—'

Before they manage to get into silly arguments that they learned to accept as their favourite activity—there is really something nice about bickers that have no intention to be ill, and only serving the better mood—the doors of the hall open, letting inside a few of their family members and knights.

Aemond doesn't spot Rhaenyra—her family from now live in the Dragonstone, because apparently Viserys wished so; Aemond has a hard time understanding how somehow trusted Irellea with her words after all what happened, but, well, her goal of maintaining control is achieved, and it is the only thing that matters—so, it must be nothing serious.

'Drusilla, Aemond,' his mother is shining, waving her hand at them enthusiastically. 'Sorry for bothering you, both, but we have an important guest!'

'Don't worry,' his wife hums. 'We are always glad to meet new allies.'

His mother's relationship with Irellea seem strange nowadays. He only spotted them on the next day before the funeral together, Alicent crying on Drusilla's shoulder, and then, everything went back to normal. His mother simply pretends that she is the same clueless girl they knew, though Irellea doesn't act like that anymore. It looks strange, truly, but as far as all his favourite women—mother, sister and Irellea—are happy, he doesn't care about details.