Love Story

Part 1

See the lights, see the party, the ball gowns

Drum, drum, drum went Aemond's long elegant fingers. He was bored, moody, resentful; forced to attend yet another inane feast.

His father had sat the Iron Throne for 25 years that night. A worthy cause for celebration perhaps, but there was always something. Any excuse would serve it seemed, and any moment now his grandsire would whisper in his ear, prompting him to join the dance. Ser Otto Hightower was awfully concerned with appearances.

Aemond eyed the intoxicated mob before him with undisguised loathing.

He was not popular amongst the courtiers, and well he knew it. Bold, wild and willful, they called him. Hot-tempered and unforgiving.

His lips curled with derision at the thought. As though he cared for their opinions. He was the blood of Old Valyria, a true Targaryen prince, the son of the King, and rider of Vhagar.

And yet here he was, forced to endure another dreary evening in the Red Keep with his father's sycophants. Wonderful.

Then he saw her.

Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!

For I ne'er saw true beauty till this night.

A graceful figure descended the stairs. A young woman in a white dress, with silver hair and a fur stole draped around her shoulders. Newly arrived no doubt -he would have remembered her.

"Visenya of House Targaryen, Lady of Runestone," Ser Harrold Westerling announced.

There was a collective intake of breath then the hissing of whispers. Visenya moved through the Great Hall, waves of dancers parting before her. His uncle rose from his seat and went forth to greet her.

They met in the middle of the room, apparently heedless of the hundreds of eyes upon them. Prince Daemon cupped his daughter's pale cheek in one hand and bent down to kiss her forehead. Quiet words were exchanged; none Aemond could decipher. Then Daemon took her hand and brought her before the King.

So this dazzling creature was his mysterious cousin. Visenya.

She'd never before graced the court with her presence. Upon the death of her mother, the Lady Rhea, Daemon had fled across the narrow sea with his second wife Lady Laena, abandoning his firstborn to be raised by her House Rhoyce relations in Runestone.

All these years she'd been shamefully hidden away in the Vale. What a terrible waste. Aemond found he had a new reason to despise the blacks.

The formal introductions made, Daemon led Visenya away to sit with Rhaenyra and her sons. Aemond rose smoothly and followed.

See you make your way through the crowd and say hello

Little did I know...

Visenya turned her bewitching green eyes upon him. They held him spellbound for a moment. He shook himself free of his trance.

"I'm Aemond."

He'd never had to introduce himself before. One-eyed Targaryen princes were hardly commonplace. If she recognized the name, it didn't show. Aemond was intrigued.

"Pleasure to meet you," she responded. Her voice was sweet, melodic.

Aemond half-smiled and held out his hand, inviting her to dance. He didn't look to his uncle for permission. Neither did she.

She shrugged off her stole and stood, resting her fingers lightly on his.

Her touch sent a thrill through him, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. Her rosy lips parted on a sharp inhale. She'd felt it too... that lightning bolt of energy between them. Aemond closed his fingers around hers.

Feeling the eyes of all his family burning into the back of his head, Aemond led Visenya to the back of the dancers, so they were at least partially obscured from view.

They fell into step with the music, circling around each other, gazes locked.

"How do you like King's Landing, cousin?" he inquired. As he never took the trouble of practicing the art of conversing with strangers, he could think of nothing better to open with.

"Since I've only just arrived, I really couldn't say," she returned airily. Her smile held a hint of wickedness that he recognized in his soul. Twin-spirits. "But it's a promising beginning."

"Do you plan to make an extended visit?"

"I do not know. I am entirely at my father's disposal and will come and go as he pleases. Why? Are you anxious to be rid of me already?"

Aemond hummed. "Quite the contrary I assure you."

He twirled her around. The candlelight caught the beadwork of her swirling skirts making them glimmer, and cast a golden hue over her tresses, a river of honey.

"Are you a dragonrider cousin, like my father?" she asked, and he was pleased to be granted the opportunity to boast.

"I am. I claimed Vhagar when I was a child. Perhaps you've heard of her? She is the largest dragon in the world."

"Impressive," she said, as he hoped she might. "I have certainly read much of Vhagar. Her many exploits under Queen Visenya Targaryen."

"Your namesake?"

"Yes, and father's hero," she added, eyes twinkling with amusement.

Aemond smirked. "How glad he must have been then to have a daughter instead of a son. Did he compel you to make a study of her cousin, or do you read for your own learning?"

"Actually, I read for amusement," she countered. "But I've never enjoyed a novel more than the history of our own ancestors. I suppose that makes me terribly boring."

"Not at all," he assured her. "I feel exactly as you do."

That won him another smile. His heart lurched in response.

"I'm amazed you have time for reading. If I had a dragon, I'd never want to set foot on the ground."

Aemond raised an eyebrow. "You've ridden one before?"

"Father has taken me up on Caraxes with him a few times. I can imagine no greater pleasure in the world."

I can, he thought, looking at this beautiful, history-reading, Targaryen-blooded girl with a passion for dragons. She was a rarer find than the most precious of jewels, rarer even than Valyrian steel. He knew he would never find someone like her again...

My only love sprung from my only hate. Too early seen unknown and known too late.

Prodigious birth of love it is to me that I must love a loathed enemy.