Throughout her first year of living at King's Landing with the Greens, Aemma wrote to her mother on Dragonstone. She told her about the things that brought her happiness: flying on Seasmoke, the peace of her rooms, the sunlight pouring into the castle, Eleanora's comfort and warmth. She told her about things that bothered her: how the court thought about her, the noble girls her age who ignored her, the men of standing and influence who despised her existence, and Alicent's rules and order.
She never heard back.
She did not know if her mother had grown angry with her, if she had decided to dismiss her, if she chose to ignore her, or if she simply forgot about her. In her young heart, this one hurt the most.
But what she did not know was that her ravens were intercepted, and never sent to Dragonstone, just as she did not know that her mother's ravens were intercepted and never given to Aemma in King's Landing.
But still she filled letters and letters of how she spent her time. And after their first few flights together, those letters were filled with Aemond.
Aemond Targaryen was her closest friend. They spent everyday together, talking, playing, flying, and studying. Both of their namedays had passed and they had spent both days flying, much to their surprise, the queen had allowed them the days off from their lessons to do so.
Aemma's eleventh nameday, a few weeks after Aemond's celebration of his eleventh nameday, was a simple affair. If it could be called an affair at all.
When Aemma had descended into the kitchens for breakfast - which she was accustomed to do over eating in the hall with the rest of the court, Eleanora and the other servants had a small feast prepared for her. They had made all her favorite foods and desserts.
"You mustn't tell anyone," Eleanora said, giving her a conspirator's grin as she pushed a plate of cakes towards her.
Aemma thanked her, before digging in.
"Are you going to eat it all?" a voice asked from behind her. Aemond's grin came into view.
"Aemond?" Aemma was surprised, she usually ate alone. Perhaps Mara joined her or Gally, or even Eleanora if she could spare a moment. "What are you doing down here?"
"Ser Criston can take a break from our lessons this morning," he said. "I've come to celebrate your nameday. Eleven years. We are one once again."
Aemma blushed, "Thank you." She pushed the plate towards him, "All yours."
He grabbed a cake for himself and sat down on the table beside her, "I've spoken with my mother, she says we are free to fly again today."
"The septas will have my head," she said with a smile, though she was glad for the gesture. She would take flying over lessons any day.
Aemond's grin faded, "I-I thought we must celebrate somehow."
Aemma knew what he referred to. For his nameday some weeks ago, they held a great feast and a tournament for Aemond - the usual celebration for a prince or princess. On her nameday, nothing had been planned. In fact, Aemma was surprised that the queen knew it was her nameday at all.
"I do not mind," she said. "Dragonriding with you seems like a good enough celebration for me."
Aemond's smile was all the gift she could have asked for.
And so, it became clear what the Greens did and did not expect of Aemma Velaryon. She was to be silent and generally unseen, otherwise she was to attend feasts and events beside Aemond Targaryen as his betrothed, though their eventual marriage was left as a nebulous thing, undefined, and never realized.
Of course, this did not go for Aegon's marriage to his sister, Helaena. The wedding was scheduled and planned, and the day arrived all too soon.
Aemma was walking with Helaena, arm in arm, through a sunny hallway. They were accustomed to daily walks, sometimes they walked even more than once a day. Helaena was not overly talkative, but they discussed among themselves what interested them. Helaena kept a log of botany and insects she discovered within the castle grounds, and she recounted to Aemma the newest additions. Aemma - after swearing Helaena to secrecy - told her about the story of legends and mythology she read last night in the library. She had waited for the maesters to leave and had brought her own candle to read the volume.
Helaena laughed lightly at Aemma's dramatic retelling of the story. "It sounds wonderful."
Other than Aemond, Helaena had become Aemma's closest confidante. She did not seem to mind Aemma's parentage, her family's exit from court, or her betrothal to Aemond. She was kind and graceful and poised.
"It was," Aemma sighed. "Until I fell asleep before the septas this morning."
Helaena shook her head, "Now that must have been terrible."
They laughed together again, a content peace settling over them. They had stopped in front of the Great Hall where servants bustled in and out cooking, decorating, and arranging for tomorrow evening. Seeing as her nameday had passed and she was now twelve years of age, Helaena's marriage to Aegon was being prepared for the next day.
Aemma looked at her sideways, not knowing how to broach the subject. Helaena rarely spoke of Aegon, positively or negatively.
"So..." she began, "how are you feeling?"
Helaena smiled at her, "About what exactly?"
"About the wedding?"
"Well, not much I suppose."
"Really?"
Helaena's smile remained, yet it was a different one than before, one Aemma did not believe to be true.
"How am I meant to feel?"
Aemma did not know the answer to this. If she was engaged to be wed to Aegon... Well, she was just glad it was Aemond and not his elder brother.
"I'm not sure," she replied honestly.
"Aegon and I have an understanding on such matters," Helaena said, adjusting the sleeve of her pale green gown. "We both know what is. We may yet care for each other as man and wife but until then..." Her eyes darkened slightly and she bit the inside of her cheek. "Well until then, we are still bound to our duties."
Aemma admired Helaena greatly. And yet she also felt saddened for her. How could she be so willing to accept such a terrible fate?
"It is not such a terrible thing, you know," Helaena was saying. Aemma whipped her head at her, but Helaena was oblivious to what she had said, how she had somehow known exactly what Aemma was thinking. "We are lucky in other ways."
Aemma did not reply, not having anything to say to that.
The next afternoon, Aemma was in Helaena's quarters seated on a chaise before the fireplace. She heard the servants' quiet voices in the bedchambers as they dressed Helaena. Aemma was tracing the lines of her own gown, another green dress with criss-crossing lines embroidered in a darker green shade. Queen Alicent had continued to insist on green gowns during feasts and events before the court. She supposed she was lucky the queen had yet to forbid the black, gray, and red dresses she was accustomed to wear on the day to day. She had seen Aemond briefly before she entered Helaena's room and he had been handsomely dressed in a dark suit, with red detailings. So, the insistence on the green was a personal command made especially for her. Aemma knew her annoyance was obvious to him and yet she still had ignored his silent questioning.
Helaena stepped out into the great room. The wedding gown was a pale cream color, almost white. The image of a dragon - the image of House Targaryen - in flight, embellished in golden splendor, curved and dipped over her right shoulder and soared across her body, leaping over the curves of her breasts and twining down to her left waist. The bodice was intricately designed so that the clasps of the dress, holding one side together to the other, was part of the dragon - the golden legs, wings, tail, and claws on one side of the dragon held the small clasps. The asymmetrical collar accentuated her smooth, pale collarbone and the sleeves came to a delicate point at her middle knuckle. It truly was a beautiful gown with glittering detailing covering the rest of the skirts.
Her silver hair was piled on top of her head and curled into small ringlets around a golden diadem. Drop earrings set with rubies twinkled in the firelight.
"You look lovely," Aemma said.
She smiled shyly before crossing to the dressing table. Aemma stood, standing behind her in the golden mirror. Helaena's eyes traveled over herself. Aemma could not read her expression. A smile still played on her lips, but her eyes were in slits, almost assessing or as if she herself could not decide how to feel.
"Here, let me help you." Aemma grabbed some powder from the table and began brushing it over Helaena's soft cheeks. She grabbed kohl and lightly lined her eyelids. It was quiet in her rooms aside from the rustling of the servants and Helaena's soft breathing against Aemma's fist. "I wish you luck," Aemma whispered to her friend, "No matter how you feel."
Helaena's lower lip shook once - the most emotion she suspected Helaena would allow herself to show.
The doors opened and Queen Alicent swept in. She was equally as stunning in a long gown with a dragging train. It was decorated simply, golden threads wove intricate designs along the hems. It had varying shades of green, a dark green fabric made up the bodice, the sleeves, and the skirts, and a lighter green peeked out from within the long sleeves and the open detailing of the fabric. Large, sparkling jewels adorned her hair, ears, and neck, chittering with every movement.
Her gaze landed on the two girls. Something dark and cruel flashed behind her eyes for a second.
"Leave us, my dear," she said to Aemma, as she crossed to her daughter.
Aemma met Helaena's stare before bowing to the queen. As soon as she made to leave, passing through the other rooms, she heard the queen's urgent whispers. And she heard her name.
She took in a deep breath, telling herself to leave with her chin up.
⚔
The ceremony was long, and the celebration after was even longer. Aemond and Aemma stood together against a far wall, a plate of pastries between them. They had escaped the table when the dancing had begun and the queen had pulled Aegon to the floor for his obligatory dance as man and wife. It was finally a slight reprieve to the stuffiness of the ceremony.
"Oh, but Helaena looked so lovely," Aemma was saying, "Such a gorgeous gown, I've never seen anything like it."
Aemond was inclined to agree. Though he did not say, he recalled having a similar reaction at the wedding ceremony. There was a lovely flush to Helaena's face as she had walked down the aisle. The lamplight lit around the hall and hanging from the ceiling cast the room in a warm glow. Her blue-purple eyes sparkled against the darkness on her eyelids and the matching sparkles on her dress. Of course, Aegon had said nothing of his new wife and had immediately started downing cups and more cups of wine. Aemond found it hard to keep his mouth shut to his brother's foolishness. And even harder to say nothing when he spoke to Helaena afterwards. She had been smiling wide, some semblance of happiness in her soft features. It was a lovely sight. To see her find joy in the duties forced upon her.
"I hope that my gown is as lovely as hers when we're finally wed," Aemma was still speaking, more to herself than Aemond. "I wonder how I will feel. Helaena seemed indifferent when I spoke to her this evening." She stuffed a sweet tart into her mouth.
Aemond mulled her words over. He did not know how to feel in regards to their marriage. Aemma was a friend, yes, but to marry her? He was willing to chalk up all his doubts to a general uncertainty of the benefits of their marriage. Certainly nothing to do with how he felt about her, or how he felt about someone else...
He looked at her sideways. Her hair was pulled up and away from her face in small plaits tied behind her head. She had let some curls, delicate and dark against her pale skin, frame her features. But she looked strange in her green gown. Aemond knew it bothered her. Her eyes had narrowed as she took him in earlier. It only took a second before he realized what had earned her ire, the black and red tunic he had been dressed in.
She seemed to have forgotten those particular plights as she indulged in the desserts laid out by the servants for the wedding. He knew they were her favorite, soft dough filled with sweet cream and fruits, covered in a cloyingly sweet honey glaze.
"Though your mother does not seem to care for me very much," she spoke with her mouth full, "I think she would like it if we were not wed at all."
Offended gasps sounded from nearby. Three young, highborn ladies were watching them. Aemond thought they were quite plain looking, using jewels and fabric to make themselves seem more beautiful - though none of them compared to either of the two princesses in attendance.
"One might think a princess had better manners, no matter who her father is," one said to her friends.
Aemma's eyes widened. Aemond watched as she opened her mouth to respond before closing it again. She blinked, as if she did not believe what she had heard. Then her eyes watered and her lower lip trembled. She looked afraid, distraught, and angry all at once.
The three ladies stiffened suddenly, their gaze facing someone behind them. They spun, bumping into each other as they scattered, frightened animals scurrying away.
Aemond and Aemma turned to face the knight Ser Criston Cole.
His ever-watchful gaze was on the assembled guests, not on the children before him, "There are those that need reminders of their place," he said, his low voice rumbling. His silver armor gleamed bright in the warm light. Aemond spied his fist curling over his sword, partially hidden against the white cloak.
Aemond felt the ghost of anger flickering inside him. He should have said something, he should have defended her honor. He turned back to her.
But she was gone.
Aemond stepped out of the banquet hall.
"Aemma?" he called. "Aemma?"
The hallway was empty and dark. Beyond the windows, the night sky was black. He listened, straining to hear footsteps, voices, anything. When the sudden silence, so different compared to the joyful tunes playing in the Great Hall, revealed nothing, he started the trek towards her rooms.
He knocked on her doors, "Aemma? Are you in there?"
When he got no response, Aemond ventured inside. He had never been inside her rooms, certainly not in her rooms alone.
"Aemma?"
Her rooms were dark and cold. No fire burned in the hearth before the couches, no candles were lit on the tables scattered throughout the room. Only the moonlight poured in from the large windows against the whole of the far wall, casting the rooms in cool light. He glanced quickly into the bathing chamber and then the bedroom, but something about being so near her bed made him uncomfortable.
There was only one other place he could think where she would be.
Aemond passed back through the silent halls of the castle, down to the kitchens.
The kitchen and servant quarters of the Red Keep were on the lower and underground levels of the castle. As he got closer, he could feel the heat growing from the burning hearths blazing below. The pale stones of the castle walls gave way to darker stones that were surprisingly moist and cool against the hot air, Aemond thought as he ran a hand along them. Despite the darkness - regardless of the late hour, windows were few and far between - it was bright with candlelight.
He had never spent much time in the kitchens, seeing as his mother would have looked down on such behavior, except for when he had breakfast with Aemma on her nameday. And yet, Aemond understood why Aemma liked it down here. Her friendship with the servants and the comforting warmth and smells of the kitchens provided a safe haven, especially when compared to the cold scorn of the court on the upper levels.
The emptiness of the castle halls could not have been more different from the bustling busyness of the kitchen. He heard shouts and laughter, bangs and slams. His eyes scanned the various rooms. Two aging hearths breathed life into the two main rooms, connected by a large opening. Smaller rooms could be seen through opening and closing doors, filled with grains, produce, and meat. Several smaller fires heated pots and pans. Through it all, the servants mechanically wove through the room. It was a lively, if not an overwhelming scene.
Eleanora saw him standing by the entrance. She bustled over, her brown gown swaying over the dirty floor with each swish of her wide hips. She was a stout woman, with gray hair that seemed to resist the low bun she always threw it in.
"What brings you down here, Prince?"
Aemond hesitated, his eyes still searching.
Eleanora nodded faintly, wiping her hands on her apron, "Come, I saw her not too long ago."
She guided him through the kitchen to a door that led to a curving stone staircase. He glimpsed the glint of wine bottles down the staircase that led to the wine cellar. But Eleanora pointed up.
Aemond ascended the staircase alone. The baking air of the kitchens became the cool air of night. Aemma was seated a few steps from the top, looking out an old door she must have opened. He did not know where in the castle grounds the door led but he could make out the pale moon, a sliver of light in the black sky. A gentle breeze drifted in the narrow space and ruffled Aemma's loose hair.
"Are you alright?"
Aemma looked at him over her shoulder. Her eyes were glassy and red and her cheeks were wet with tears.
She had been crying.
Aemma sniffled and turned from him. From his place a few steps below her, he watched her profile. She looked out the door with such yearning. As if she imagined herself to be somewhere else, anywhere else.
"What has upset you so?" He heard himself ask.
She huffed quietly. "What has upset me?"
It was a ridiculous question. There were many things that upset her. But he just thought... well he did not know what to think. He never thought it was so bad.
"I cannot do this anymore. I cannot take it." Her voice was quiet. "They whisper things about me. A-and I cannot control what I look like, what color my hair is." He watched more tears trace lines down her cheeks.
He hated that she was so upset. And that he had said nothing to those haughty ladies in the Great Hall. He had not realized he had been blind to the stares, the rumors, and the whispers.
Aemma's voice quaked, "No one wants me here."
"I do," he said suddenly. It was a truth he could only utter in solitude, when no one else could remind him of everything wrong with this arrangement. He liked having her around. Aemond climbed up the rest of the steps to sit beside her. "I want you here."
She wiped her face. The look in her gaze seemed to say that she did not believe him. He supposed he deserved it. He had been cruel and cold to her before they had become friends. She had every right to doubt him.
"Neither of us asked for this," he started. He gestured to himself. "But we are in this together."
Aemma said nothing as she watched him. The weak moonlight from the open door lit up her eyes. The purple irises were blurry beneath the tears that still threatened to spill over. But a crease formed between her brows as she studied him.
Aemond suddenly felt as if she did not want him there anymore. That she had desired the emptiness of this quiet hiding spot.
"I will give you a moment," he said, by way of parting. He began to descend the stairs when he heard her voice.
"Aemond," he turned back to face her. "I do not care about your eye."
He blinked, thinking for a moment. When he had pointed to himself, it was at his injured eye. It made sense, that he associated her doubts about him to his eye. His eye that he still could not look too long at in the mirror, that still made him hate himself and made him feel beastly.
But she had never cared about his injury.
She spoke again, "And though we did not get to choose, I am glad it's you."
Aemond went back through the crowded kitchens and the empty halls all the way back to his rooms. He could not stop thinking about what she had said.
They may not have chosen this life, and they may never love each other in the way that husbands and wives are ought to do, but perhaps, however unlikely it may be, everything may just be alright.