Salvation | HOTD

4

Three months had passed since the grand wedding celebration that united Aemond Targaryen with Aalya Lannister. In the quiet chambers of the Red Keep, the tension simmered as Aemond awaited crucial news. Seated in a room adorned with the regal emblems of House Targaryen, he fidgeted restlessly, his thoughts consumed by the impending report from the maester.

The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, mirroring the uncertainty that hung in the air. Aemond, his gaze fixed on the door, waited with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. The fate of the realm, as dictated by the line of succession, hinged on the contents of the maester's message.

As the minutes stretched into an agonizing passage of time, Aemond's mind traversed the corridors of possibilities. The weight of expectation bore heavily on his shoulders, and the silence of the room seemed to magnify the echoes of his own apprehension. The fate of a dynasty, the continuity of the Targaryen bloodline, awaited confirmation or denial in the words yet to be delivered by the maester.

The door creaked open, and the maester entered the room with a solemn expression. Aemond's eyes bore into the old man as he awaited the verdict that would shape the course of House Targaryen. The maester hesitated for a moment, and then, with a measured tone, delivered the news Aemond had dreaded.

"Your Grace," the maester began, "I regret to inform you that Queen Aalya is not pregnant."

Shock gripped Aemond's features, freezing his expression momentarily. The revelation, like a sudden gust extinguishing a flame, left him breathless. The weight of expectation, the dreams of securing a Targaryen heir, crumbled in the wake of this unwelcome truth.

The initial shock gave way to a seething anger that surged within him. Aemond's eyes, once clouded with disbelief, now flared with a fiery intensity. The room, once a haven of regal composure, transformed into a battleground of emotions. The maester, keenly aware of the storm he had unleashed, braced himself for the inevitable tempest that would follow.

Aemond's voice, low and laced with a burning rage, cut through the silence. "How can this be?!" The words, heavy with disappointment and frustration, echoed in the chamber. The flame of Targaryen legacy, momentarily dimmed, threatened to be extinguished by the turbulent emotions that now consumed the once-hopeful king.

Aemond's mind churned with a whirlwind of thoughts, grappling with the harsh reality of the situation. As the initial shock subsided, a bitter resolve settled within him. He paced the room, his frustration mounting with each step. The vision of a Targaryen heir, the continuity of his bloodline, seemed to slip away like elusive shadows.

"She is not fit to bear children," Aemond muttered to himself, the realization hanging heavy in the air. The once-vibrant dreams of a flourishing dynasty now stood at the precipice of a dark abyss. The queen's inability to secure the future of House Targaryen became a glaring flaw that demanded resolution.

Anger transformed into a cold determination as Aemond, his eyes glinting with resolve, contemplated the course of action that lay ahead. The duty to his house and his mother, the legacy of his forebears, whispered the necessity of a difficult decision. Aemond knew that he could not allow the shortcomings of the present to jeopardize the future of his lineage.

In the quietude of the chamber, the decision crystallized. Aemond, with a heart full of hate and a mind burdened by the weight of his lineage, came to the conclusion that the queen, despite her lineage, was not fit to fulfill the crucial role expected of her. The quest for an heir, for the preservation of House Targaryen and House Hightower necessitated a difficult sacrifice.