What I Did, I Did for Us | Aemond Targaryen

Four

Today, everything needed to be perfect — Daemon wouldn't allow for anything less, not on his wife's coronation. The prince had been awake since before dawn, ushering the servants about to add the final touches to the celebration.

Already, the castle was bustling with nobles from all over Westeros — attendees gathered to witness the crowning of their new monarch.

Daemon fervently greeted each lord who arrived by coach, offering them the Targaryen hospitality and lavish rooms for their households. The Red Keep was filling up nicely — it hadn't seen this many guests since those early days of Viserys's reign.

"How is she?" he softly inquired.

Alicent smiled. "Nervous, of course. She's been pacing no matter what I do — too worked up to give herself a rest."

The timing couldn't have been more inconvenient — Rhaenyra was due to give birth any day now. She'd grown more uncomfortable recently, believing the babe would soon be upon them.

The dowager queen had spent much of the morning with her friend, helping her to dress and prepare. Only now, when Aemma had arrived, did she allow herself a reprieve away from the room.

"My daughter is with her, you said?"

"Aemma has promised me she'll have her mother out the door with enough time to spare," Alicent assured him.

He exhaled a tense breath. "Let's hope the crown finds its place on her head before any labors begin — I couldn't bear it otherwise."

"She will be fine."

While not on the best of terms just yet, Daemon had warmed significantly to his brother's wife. They could now speak comfortably and without ranker toward one another — a modest improvement.

The rogue prince nodded and sighed, relieved. "Thank you, Alicent."

A hum — she, too, had grown fond of Daemon in the short time they'd been reacquainted. "I must go and check on Helaena and the children," she excused herself.

Daemon rubbed a hand down his face, eager to move forward with the ceremony and see his wife crowned. He hadn't been this impatient since the day he'd married Rhaenyra — a union he'd waited years for.

"Father," Rhaena swept over to him, quietly returning the greetings given by surrounding nobles.

Baela followed in her sister's wake, more stoic but still pleasant as a thin smile graced her lips. The two sisters dawned equally opulent gowns for the ceremony — one the colors of House Targaryen and the other a token blue in favor of their Velaryon heritage.

"My little doves — you look exquisite," Daemon praised fondly. "Your mother would be proud."

The youngest glanced down at her appearance, fingers tracing the lavish red dress. "Thank you, Father."

"We were just discussing the arrangements," Baela mused with a glance around. "You've outdone yourself, Father — it's beyond anything we could've imagined."

"You just wait until it comes time for you to wed," the prince grinned at his daughters. "I intend to marry you off in style."

"Gods be good," Jacaerys appeared, hearing the conversation. "If our weddings are anything like this, the crown will surely go bankrupt before the last of us weds."

Baela smiled at her betrothed — how he'd said our wedding pleased her. The match between them was well-made, full of mutual respect and friendship.

Daemon felt accomplished by the matches he'd found for his daughters — for all his children, save the younger ones.

"And now, there's one more," Rhaena grinned. "I hope Aemond and Aemma find happiness as we all have."