The banquet hall was elaborately decorated. Thick drapery softened the harsh stones of the wall. Candles were spread out on the tables and hung from the chandeliers. It cast the room in a bright and warm glow. For all the world, it was a beautiful evening. Warm and inviting.
But for Aemma Velaryon, it was stifling. It was hard for her to remain seated at the high table facing the crowd of guests. Aegon and Helaena had been placed at the center of the table, King Viserys and Queen Alicent on their right. Aemma and Aemond had been seated on the left. She sat at the corner, grateful that she could be ignored, for the most part. She could not stand to see all the false smiles and receive the ill intended platitudes.
As soon as they had been seated, a group began assembling before them.
"Lord Tyland of House Lannister," a guard announced.
Tyland bowed low, "My king, my queen, princes, and princesses." His gaze lingered on Aemma before turning back to the king. "Allow me to be the first to congratulate House Targaryen in the betrothals of the children. I hope the feast is to your liking." Aemma studied him, the golden lion bared proudly across his chest. He seemed to wait for the king's response with baited breath, so desperately awaiting the gratitude of his king.
Aemma's grandfather nodded, "It is a most joyous occasion. I thank House Lannister for its generosity."
Tyland smiled wide, satisfied. He raised his voice, "To the next generation of House Targaryen. May they remain as fierce as their dragons and lead us to a triumphant tomorrow!"
There was a collective "huzzah" and applause spread throughout the room. Tyland bowed again before letting the next guest greet the nobility.
This started the long chain of greetings and congratulations. Aemma hardly said a word. Aemond did not speak to her and she did not speak to him. Though, there was a strange sort of comfort in knowing he sat by her side. When they were congratulated directly, she watched him compose himself before thanking them respectfully. Aemond was regal and aloof and everything that was expected of him. But as soon as someone offered their condolences for his injury, she watched as he caved in on himself, an angry look flickering across his features.
She had nearly forgotten the black patch across his eye. Not that she could not see it, but it seemed to suit him. It had become a part of him.
Aemma did not realize she had been watching him until his eye met hers. Heat flushed in her cheeks and she looked away. Aemond said nothing. A few minutes passed and he still said nothing. Aemma knew what he thought of her, how he hated her, hated that they had been betrothed, he could not even stand to be around her.
And she hated how much it bothered her. How he could be kind and supportive one minute, offering her a steady hand to hold, then silent and cold the next.
Sudden anger and embarrassment washed over her as the comfort she had reached for disappeared into the air.
But she held her tongue so she would not cry.
She wanted her mother. She wanted to lay in her arms and feel her warm arms lull her to sleep.
After what felt like hours had passed, the flow of guests approaching the table had finally ceased. She heard a quiet voice from the corner to her left.
"Princess Aemma Velaryon." It was Lord Larys, leaning his weight against his wooden cane. Aemma tensed, she clasped her hands in a ball in her lap. "On behalf of House Strong, I would like to, personally, congratulate you on your betrothal."
Out of the corner of her eye, Aemma saw Aemond turn to her. "Thank you," she nodded curtly.
"I know how hard it must be for you to be away from your family." He placed one palm across his heart, "and the loss of your father..." He shook his head, his weathered face shaking back and forth slowly.
"Thank you," she managed to whisper again. She knew what he was doing, what he was implying. He did not specify who her father was. Her hands had begun to shake as she knotted her fingers together.
The monster relished in the death of his brother, Harwin Strong, just as he did the death of Leanor Velaryon. Anything to weaken the Blacks that had posed a threat to his Green Queen.
Larys continued, some cruel part of him enjoying the anxiety he caused the trembling child "You must be proud to represent your House," he paused "...your mother. She would be proud to see you here on this night."
Aemma nodded. Her mother would be disgusted with her. To see the complacency with which Aemma sat amidst the Greens. She had been biting the inside of her cheek so hard she felt the taste of blood in her mouth.
The Lord leaned in ever closer and she breathed in his strange scent. It was a sort of dank smell, old and wet. She struggled to keep herself composed, to keep her nose from wrinkling in disgust.
"I will be seeing you, Princess."
Aemma kept her eyes on her plate as he suddenly disappeared. When he was gone, she loosed a breath.
She felt Aemond's eyes on her again. When she finally turned, she couldn't read the look on his face. The way he stared at her. Would he be considerate and supportive? Or would he be cruel and angry?
"Would you say something?" she said quickly, "Anything?" She tried to keep her voice low but she knew her desperation slipped a high pitch in her tone. She needed him. She needed his help, his composure, his aloofness in the face of such infuriating people with agendas and opinions.
"I have nothing to say to the likes of you." He turned away, refusing to look at her. "Bastard," he muttered under his breath.
Aemma stilled. She knew the king had banned anyone from speaking of this. She knew that with one word to him, Aemond would be punished for tarnishing the family name.
But that would be acknowledging him. And acknowledging the truth.
Aemma felt sick to her stomach. She told herself to carry on as usual. She moved around the food on her plate with her fork. But she could not take one bite without feeling it rise up in her throat.
Perhaps it was the spinning bodies delighting in the cruel twists of fate that led her here. Or perhaps it was Larys and Aemond, the words exchanged weighing her down. Or it was the dress, the dress that felt so wrong. Or the fact that everyone else at court could ignore what color her hair was when it was tucked away. Out of sight, out of mind.
In one swift motion, she pushed her chair back and walked away.
No one cared anyway. If she was out of sight, she too could be out of mind.
When Aemma stepped out of the banquet hall, a cool rush of air washed over her. She felt lighter away from the busyness and the people. In the sudden silence, she listened.
A chorus of quiet laughter came from down the hall. She waited until the laughs got louder. A group of children about her age or younger turned the corner.
For a moment, she thought they were going to run away from her, afraid of everything she was, everything she stood for. But instead, they laughed again, "Come play with us!" one said. She hesitated before joining them.
"My name is Mara," a tall, lanky girl said. Her straw colored hair was pulled back from her pale, plain face in a messy braid that fell in a short stump behind her neck.
"Aemma."
Mara lifted her pointed chin. "I know who you are." She frowned, gesturing to her brown dress and a dirty apron that had been tied several times across her waist. "My mother and I work in the kitchens. You probably should not be seen with us." Her brown eyes gleamed with pride and shame mixed together.
"I do not care for your rank nor mine," Aemma said, "If you can forget mine, then I can forget yours."
A few of the children eyed each other warily. They were all children of servants or low ranking nobles who had been invited to the feast. They turned to Mara for guidance.
She shrugged, "Let us see what the important people get to eat."
And that was that. Within minutes, she was swept up by the other children and ran with them through the empty halls of the castle. Mara guided them down to the kitchens where the servants were frantically preparing and cleaning and serving the guests upstairs.
A little boy, who Aemma discovered was named Gally, the grandson of Eleanora, crawled under the tables and stuck his small, pudgy fingers in between the tables and stole sweet cakes for the rest of the children. She watched with the other kids from a cupboard as one by one, Gally filled the folds of his clothes with enough cakes for each of them. He was making his way to their hiding place when he was spotted.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
Gally broke into a sprint and Aemma and the other kids sprung out from the cupboard, running close behind him. Shouts and laughter filled her ears and for a moment Aemma forgot about her troubles: her uncertainty if Aemond was friend or stranger, Alicent's control and green dresses, all of the nobles ignoring their hatred of her mother and her family.
The children sprinted from the kitchens. She had never been to this part of the castle. She'd been to the kitchens, but she hadn't explored the neighboring rooms, the homes the servants had carved out for themselves in this hateful Keep. Mara led them out of the dark, unfamiliar halls and they ran some more, little footsteps bouncing against the old stone. She felt her pins loosening from her hair and the wild waves fell down around her.
And soon the others grew bolder with the Princess after the time they had spent together:
"What is it like to be a princess?"
She sighed, "It is not as good as it seems."
"But you get to wear pretty dresses and go to parties and eat as much as you want," this came from a little girl, whose eyes lit up at how the candlelight sparkled against the beading of her gown.
Aemma shrugged, not bothering to give them any more answer.
Mara took in the others before speaking, "I bet you get whatever you want."
"I suppose."
"I bet you think you're better than us."
Aemma felt her heart deflating. "I...I..." she didn't know what to say, "I...do not have any friends," was all she could muster.
Mara narrowed her eyes, assessing, "Hmm." She shrugged, "Very well."
Again, Mara, (who Aemma learned was the eldest of the group, eleven years of age, only a year Aemma's senior) decided for them all. The children embraced her and Aemma could feel their kindness healing her lonely heart. She laughed and danced and played much like she used to, before the Red Keep tucked her away. Her short stint of freedom thrummed life into her veins. She could breathe once again. She could simply be a child. One without responsibility and expectations.
She ran with the others until the halls grew familiar once more, they had neared the banquet hall, when a voice suddenly snapped behind her, "Aemma Velaryon!"
The other children suddenly scattered, leaving Aemma alone to face the full rage of Queen Alicent.
"Aemma!" Her features contorted in anger and she grabbed her arm roughly, "That is enough! You are a lady! You must remain at your place. You have a responsibility to represent your House, you must stay at the feast and be present."
"But-"
"I do not want to hear a word." She said through gritted teeth. Her grip on Aemma's arm tightened as she took in the mess she had made of her hair. "Look at you!" Alicent spun her around and pulled out the few pins that had remained in her hair. Her fingers were not gentle and she yanked at the messy strands.
Aemma shrunk at the woman's sheer rage. Shame and disappointment washed over her. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks.
Once Alicent fixed her hair to her satisfaction, she turned her around again.
"Oh," the Queen's face softened ever so slightly. She wiped the tears from Aemma's face. "You have a duty. You can cry afterwards. It is time to go."
Her bejeweled fingers wrapped around Aemma's arm again as she pulled her back towards the banquet hall.
⚔
Aemond hated these things. He had to sit there and watch half-drunk nobles dance and lurch in dizzying circles all the while ignoring the looks and stares.
It was his first feast since losing his eye.
He sat at the front table, his fist clenched around his fork. Aegon was already drowning in his cups and yet Helaena remained ever-present beside him. Her calm presence was like a heavy blanket over him, keeping him from leaving the room altogether.
And then there was Aemma.
He had offered her his arm as they entered the hall. It was in part due to his mother, who expected them to show a semblance of unity in this newfound bond. It was also due to the look of sheer terror that had washed over her face. She had been nervous, terrified, and essentially distraught to be introduced before the gathering beside him and his siblings. But he knew a small part of him needed her arm too, if only for something solid to hold on to.
But as the time passed, he felt a gnawing feeling crawl up inside him. It was an ugly, twisted thing. It turned every gaze to a hateful one, every congratulations to a slight. Everyone pitied him for his injury, and they pitied him for his betrothal to the Strong Princess.
He had watched her throughout the evening. She was quiet, often turning to him for guidance. At one point he could feel her eyes on him, studying him, before she matched her posture to his. But there was something off about her. Those usually bright, purple eyes were dull and her lovely hair was tied up away from her face. She was not the smiling and laughing girl he had been raised beside - before the events of Velaryon funeral a few weeks prior. Aemond knew he was at least partially to blame. He had shunned her when she had needed someone, anyone. But now, with all of the people of the court watching him sit beside her, judging him for his future marriage to her, he couldn't help but hate Aemma.
After some time, Aemond noticed Lord Larys watching her. His small eyes kept shifting, waiting for something. He scurried in as soon as the guests stopped flowing towards the front table. Aemond felt Aemma tense beside him. The Lord muttered some words to her, to which she replied curtly. He wished Larys would stop. He knew that he was insulting her, baiting her, reminding her of her failings. And just as soon as he appeared, having completed whatever it was that he had set out to do, he was gone.
Aemma shuddered before she turned to him.
Those eyes.
Her eyes were pleading, begging him. He could barely hear what she said.
He was surprised, surprised by how she continued to look at him. Like he could help her or save her. Despite his coldness, despite his resentment towards her. After surprise, the look on her face angered him. The words tumbled out of him, "I have nothing to say to the likes of you." He closed his eyes, not even able to see how she looked at him now.
Aemond could only think of one thing to push her away. She couldn't trust him, care about him. Not when he spent so long agonizing over their betrothal and how he was now tied to her, "Bastard."
He felt rather than saw her shrink away from him.
They sat in strained silence for a moment before she stood and walked away from the table. Aemond watched her small figure weave through the crowd, the green gown sparkling in the candlelight. He followed her until she pushed open the large double doors and slipped through, without so much of a glance back to see his eyes on her.
In her absence, Aemond ate the food placed before him mechanically. Savory meats and sugary desserts. But the flavor was lost on him. His exchange with Aemma left a sour taste in his mouth. Why did he always have to let his anger guide him?
"What bothers you, brother?"
Aemond turned to his Helaena, who's shining silver hair came down in perfect waves and haloed her pale skin. How different was she to his betrothed. She who seemed to have already accepted that this life was not ours to control and was not ours to loathe. Her silent smile and all-knowing eyes could calm even the wildest storm that churned within him.
"Nothing," he went back to his plate, letting his bored gaze settle over the guests.
"You worry for her." It wasn't a question, but a statement. A fact that somehow she knew.
Aemond shook his head, refusing to acknowledge it, which would acknowledge some sort of feeling for the girl other than resentment and scorn.
"You cannot resent her for the knots tied by the Fates," Helaena said, her voice a whisper lower than her normal voice, "For they did not tie a lone string." Aemond looked to his sister. Her gaze was towards the doors at the far end of the hall.
They were strange words, yet he turned them over in his head. Aemma did not ask for this either, she was telling him. That he could not hate her for forces outside of their control.
He dipped his head and said, "Of course, my sister," because there was nothing else for him to say.
It took only an hour or so for his mother to realize that Aemma Velaryon had left her place at the table. One of her ladies appeared behind her and spoke quietly to the queen.
She stood, "Excuse me, husband," said the queen, placing a hand gently on the shoulder of the king before crossing the length of the table to the other end.
Aemond did not know that she had descended upon them until Helaena looked up at their mother.
"Where is the Velaryon girl?" she hissed into his ear.
"Why must I know?"
A sharp fingernail pressed into his left arm. "What did you do?"
"I did nothing, mother." He kept his head straight and his voice low, "She left. What would you have me do? Tie her to the chair?"
Queen Alicent huffed before joining her lady through the feast, nodding and smiling at her gracious guests, and out the door.
Despite her best attempts, the small bit of commotion had gained the attention of the first couple of guests who sat or danced or stood by their table.
It also gained the attention of Aegon, who leaned over the table to look at his younger brother.
"Aemond!" He shouted, by way of getting his attention, "When she is your wife, you must control her. She embarasses you, brother, and she embarasses the Targaryen name."
Aemond bent over as well, looking over Helaena to his brother. "Perhaps if I did not have to wed her, she would not embarrass me."
"I thought the notion of marriage was appealing to you," Aegon said, "I recall you were willing to wed Helaena."
Helaena said nothing all the while, her head turning in between her brothers.
Aemond's face warmed, "That was different, Aegon, and you know it."
"Is it that she is more to your liking? Helaena is more beautiful than Aemma?" Aegon grinned, pleased with how he could torture his young brother in front of their sister.
Aemond growled under his breath, opening his mouth to retort before he closed it again. He could not deny nor could he confirm it. He had yet to decide how he felt about Aemma and her long brown hair and her wide purple eyes.
"You're a fool, brother," Aegon said, when Aemond did not respond.
"And you're a drunk," He snapped. It was a poor insult, but Aemond was nearing the end of his patience with his brother.
Aegon only laughed, throwing his head back. It was not a sound of joy, it was humorless and dry.
"Be that as it may, but listen well, Aemond, this is our duty now. We play the role of husband to our insolent wives." He spread his arms wide, "And we are the most powerful men in Westeros."
Aemond opened his mouth again, this time to defend Helaena, who still said nothing. He took her in, the sweet smile and glittering eyes that showed no acknowledgement of the words spoken against her.
He would have replied, offering some condolences to his sister, had he not seen his mother reappear in the banquet hall. Her face showed no hint of anger or issue as she reentered the feast. She was the image of perfection – not a hair out of place, not a speck of dust dulled the sparkle of her gown – as she floated back to her seat.
Aemma entered shortly after Queen Alicent. He watched her until he could make out the redness of her cheeks and the wetness of her eyes. He immediately felt for her, his mother's rage was not to be trifled with.
She sat down beside him, avoiding his intent gaze. Aemond watched her lower lip tremble. Her hair had been re-pinned around her head in messy coils and little curls framed her small face. She seemed so much younger then, so innocent. Just... a child, as he was.
"Aemma, I–" he started but stopped, turning from her. He did not know what to say to her. Nothing could take back how he had treated her.
He could tell that she was looking at him, waiting for him to speak. When he never did, she looked away. There was something about the way she straightened, almost as if she was hardening from the inside out. A wall was built between them and he was the sole builder.
And there they remained until the evening came to a close.