chapter twenty-three !
the joining of hands
◆
AEMOND, 134 AC
The collar of his jacket scratched against his neck uncomfortably. Aemond tugged at it discreetly, hoping that the High Septon didn't notice his movement or hear the rattling of the bulky gold chain sitting upon his shoulders.
Even though the heavy black, red, and gold cloak was positioned on top of the elaborate chain, it still moved.
The queen had insisted that he don the stupid chain as well as the finely tailored and embroidered jacket of black and gold, which looked ridiculous on him. But to top it all off, he was given a baldric to carry the sword she'd gifted him. It was a beautiful blade, but the pommel was bulky, made of elaborate swirls of metal that caged his hand when he held it. He would keep the sword to please her, but he would never use it nor the baldric. He preferred a practical blade on a practical belt.
As the septon spoke in front of the crowd gathered in the throne room, Aemond let out an impatient sigh. He hadn't been to a wedding since Aegon and Helaena's, and even then, the prayers didn't seem to take as long as they did now.
At mid-day, the septon had begun reciting from the holy text, The Seven-Pointed Star. Prayers to each of the seven gods were read, each taking at least five minutes. The septon was just finishing the prayer to the Stranger, and then he flipped a page in the book and started with the prayers for the bride and groom themselves.
Aemond barely resisted the urge to groan.
Instead of focusing on the prayers, for many of them were simply courtesies, Aemond allowed his mind to roam to a place of peace.
In the past, it had been in the skies with Vhagar, soaring among the clouds and hills and sea, but now, images of Alayne swarmed his mind, of when he'd seen her in the courtyard early that morning. She'd been focused and still and quiet, and it all washed into Aemond. He hadn't allowed it, but it seemed to be outside of his control.
Be someone to her, and do not let her fall.
That was what Princess Rhaenys had said to him. It had genuinely surprised him to hear those words, for he would never think that Alayne Targaryen was one to struggle.
But then he thought about how she would constantly twist her ring during times of stress or anxiety, just like his mother used to, as he remembered from when he was very young.
She is marrying you for the Royces, but she is hating you for her father.
His uncle Daemon had such an influence on his daughter, but it wasn't completely to her benefit. According to Rhaenys, Alayne desperately tried to please her father, and Aemond could only assume that it was to the point of her loyalties being tested.
She is loyal to a fault.
Without a doubt, Aemond knew Alayne was true to the Royces as their cousin and their lady, but he also knew she dearly loved her Targaryen family and would do anything for them.
She is everything to everyone.
Aemond didn't know how Alayne did it all. It was admirable, even he had to admit it. Though she frustrated him to no end, he could see how strong and resilient she was. But underneath all that, Rhaenys had said, she was fragile, sensitive. He had seen it after her worrisome ride on Vermithor, how she melted into her grandmother's arms.
She has no one.
Alayne didn't appear to be alone, for people always seemed to surround her, but one could be alone in a crowded room. Aemond knew that all too well.
The septon finished the prayers, pulling Aemond out of his thoughts, but before his focus was completely on the ceremony looming before him, he reminded himself of his promise to Rhaenys, to be someone to Alayne.
And with this marriage, he vowed that he would be. Though who he would be was completely up to her.
With a mighty creak, the great doors of the throne room were opened, Ser Arryk standing against one and Ser Harrold Westerling the other. Every head in the room turned, and Aemond felt his heart start to beat faster. He was nervous, and for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why.
As he moved to receive his bride, Aemond's gaze wandered over the Royces, and his brow furrowed. All of her male cousins were there. Gunthor, Gerold, Willam, Robar, and even Jakob. He'd expected that one of them would escort her down the aisle since Daemon wasn't present.
Perhaps Princess Rhaenys instead.
But no, Aemond saw her standing there as well.
Even his father, the godsdamned king, was here.
Then who was presenting Alayne as the male figure in her life?
He looked to the entrance of the throne room, to where Alayne, a veil of white lace surrounding her like a cloud, stood alone.
By the gods, she was a vision of cream and gold, a replica of the dragon egg that never hatched. The soft ivory color of her gown was akin to pure sunlight, and the embroidery shone as if the thread was made of precious metal. She was adorned with the sapphire jewelry that matched her ring, given to her for her twelfth nameday, he remembered. And atop her head, pinned in place by sapphire pins, was the crown he'd placed upon her when he named her the queen of love and beauty.
Aemond felt as if he couldn't breathe.
The crowd gathered to witness the ceremony began to murmur of her beauty, her grace, her elegance as she started her solitary walk to the base of the Iron Throne. She was presenting herself, proving that she didn't need a man to give her away.
Alayne was the head of her own House, she made the rules, and she was giving up some of her freedom in exchange for her family to prosper.
Aemond would see that they received all of that and more.
Her head was held high as she walked, hands clasped in front of her, but her eyes were blank, he noticed as she drew nearer, and all he wanted was to see something in those blackberry depths.
As she approached, the two of them and the septon standing between the statues of the Mother and Father, Aemond saw that Alayne never met his gaze. She stared at the floor or his doublet, but never at him.
Her hands were still clutched together, her fingers spinning her ring around and around. Aemond wanted to reach out and stop her from doing so, but before he could, something caught his eye, and his breath hitched.
The neckline of her gown was much lower than her other gowns. The one on those never went farther down than her collarbone, but this one...Aemond could see the tops of her breasts.
She wasn't nearly exposed as the whores on the Street of Silk, but it was more than what he was used to seeing her in. As she breathed, the rising and falling of her chest made the sight even more tempting.
And then there was the matter of her scar, inches of it visible due to the vastly different neckline. It was the same pink as the tip of her nose, a silvery sheen over the ridges from years of healing.
Alayne had taken a thick lock of hair and pulled it over her shoulder to cover it, to hide it in plain sight.
One day, he vowed, he would see it in its entirety.
Aemond couldn't help himself. He remembered what she'd done to receive that scar, the pain she'd experienced for him.
And so he reached out and gently brushed the bronze curl over her shoulder to reveal what she'd hidden for so long. As he did so, his finger gently grazed the soft flesh.
Her breath shook as she inhaled, the bodice of her gown tightening against her chest, and yet she still didn't dare to meet his gaze.
Then the single word spilled from his lips in a whisper, unprompted and uncontrolled, a word he'd never uttered to anyone in the common tongue, much less Valyrian.
"Gevie."
Alayne's eyes widened ever so slightly, stunned as she looked up at him, searching to see if he spoke true.
And he did.
She'd stopped twisting her ring, which pleased Aemond considerably.
He didn't say another word as they both turned to the septon as he invoked the seven blessings upon them, but he did glance at her every so often because he wanted to despite her being on his left side, and because he could.
As the wedding song was sung, the hundred voices filling the throne room, Aemond turned again when he heard how sweet her voice was. He recalled a moment years ago, how she hummed to herself softly, how lovely it was.
The song ended, the room filling with silence once again, and the septon announced, "If anyone challenges to speak against this marriage, let him come forth now."
And of course, no one did, for who would challenge Aemond?
When no one answered, the septon continued with a gesture to Aemond. "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection."
Aemond removed the heavy cloak from around his shoulders. As he did so, the septon announced, "My lords, my ladies, we stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife. One flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever."
Stepping forward, Aemond didn't give her the chance to turn around, instead placing the cloak around her shoulders, resting his hands there for the briefest moment.
He was standing closer to her now, staring into her dark, starlit eyes, and he whispered again, "Gevie."
And by the pretty pink blush that spread across her cheeks, the way her eyes shone, Aemond knew that Alayne believed what he'd said, that he truly thought her beautiful.
◆
ALAYNE, 134 AC
The word resounded in her mind over and over. It was all she could hear as she felt his finger brush against her scar, warmth heating her from the inside. It was all she could hear as her mouth moved, singing the words of the wedding song. It was all she could hear as her body moved of its own accord, automatically adjusting so the cloak wouldn't tug at her veil and pull it from its place in her hair, nestled underneath the crown of orange blossoms he had given her.
And then Aemond had said it again, soft and sincere, as he stood so close to her, and she could feel his breath fan her face like a gentle caress.
Gevie.
Gevie.
Gevie.
Alayne knew she was attractive, her Targaryen blood made it so. Every person of Valyrian descent was extraordinarily lovely, and even with his eyepatch, that included Aemond. Beautiful and mortally edged, Myranda had once called the Targaryens, just like Valyrian steel.
She loathed to even think it, let alone admit it to herself, but Aemond was incredibly handsome, pretty even. Myranda had unapologetically made her aware of the fact. What was it that she had said?
Wickedly striking.
It was an appropriate description, Alayne decided as she glanced over at Aemond, her head turned ever so slightly so she could look at him.
His jaw was sinfully sharp, his nose even more so, and his mouth seemed to be in a permanent smirk, pursed and ready strike. His remaining eye was still the clear, periwinkle color as it had been when they were children, sky blue with just a hint of lavender.
It was a color she cherished just as much as she did sunset orange or bronze or sapphire blue. It was the softest thing about him, and while his gaze was often harsh and unrelenting, there were moments when she had seen tenderness that matched the color of his eye.
However, that wasn't the object of fascination for her. She yearned to see what lay beneath the eyepatch, to see if it was as horrific as her burn, to see if he was as damaged as her, to see if they were one and the same.
All that was visible was a silver scar that peeked from beneath the eyepatch, and Alayne wanted to run her finger along it, trace the line like it was a map to follow.
But most of all, Alayne wanted to see if what lay beneath held the same beauty that Aemond found in her scar.
That was what had shocked her when he whispered, "Gevie."
Beautiful.
Aemond had been looking at her scar when he said that word, then when he'd stared into her eyes after placing his cloak around her.
Her scar was hideous, terribly ugly, but Aemond saw beauty. Her eyes were dark, not the obvious purple that other Targaryens possessed, but more akin to blackberries or plums, possibly amethyst when looking into direct light, but Aemond saw beauty.
Alayne didn't deserve to be called as such. Beautiful things were pristine and perfect, unrivaled and unblemished.
And she was damaged and full of flaws, just as much on the inside as she was on the outside.
Inside, she was empty and cold and alone, and in the past, she'd wanted to fill it with such light and happiness, so she strove to connect with every person she came across, to see beauty amidst ugliness. But when she did so, it made the risk of becoming damaged even higher. Such risk came when she lost her mother .
Inside, Alayne was dark, as dark as her eyes, and it was often said that the eyes were a window to the soul.
Gevie.
Gevie.
Gevie.
Was it possible to find beauty in darkness?
That was what had been on her mind when the septon pulled out a ribbon of finely woven silk embroidered with gold and silver.
Pulling herself out of her thoughts, Alayne turned to Aemond, finding that he was still looking at her. More specifically, at her hands.
She'd been twisting her ring again, a stupid, mindless habit she had trouble breaking. It had started when she had left her family in Pentos and wanted to be near her mother again, but now she didn't even have to think and she would be twisting her ring; it came as easy as breathing.
Aemond had noticed it several times since she arrived in King's Landing, pointing it out blatantly and without remorse. He knew it was her habit, one she participated in during moments of stress or anxiety.
But this time, Aemond looked from her ring to her eyes, and then back down again. It might have been a part of the ceremony, but Aemond took her hand with a different purpose, lacing his fingers through hers in the most heartfelt move he's made against her, unspoken words whispered through his gaze.
All would be well.
But would it? They were dutiful children, yes, serving their Houses and their families in the only way they could. The benefits far outweighed the disadvantages, of which there was really only one.
This marriage went against everything they had ever wanted.
Alayne hadn't wanted to meet Aemond again after seven years of hostility between them. She hadn't wanted this union to create a rift with her and her father. She hadn't wanted to be drawn to Aemond so much that he tormented her. She hadn't wanted him to occupy her mind day and night to the point that she was having intimate dreams of him.
She hadn't wanted to feel so whole when binding herself to him in marriage.
And yet here she stood.
Draped in his cloak, watching as the septon tied the ribbon around their joined hands, Alayne hadn't felt so complete since before she left Pentos nearly eight years ago.
She shouldn't feel this way, not here, not now, and especially not with him. She didn't deserve to feel such a thing, and she was angry that she did.
But it was the strangest feeling, as if she truly felt the septon's words as he completed the ribbon's knot around their hands.
"Let it be known that Alayne of the Houses Targaryen and Royce and Aemond of the House Targaryen are one flesh, one heart, one soul. Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder."
But Alayne was already cursed, as was Aemond, as was so many who stood in this room and who stood across oceans. It no longer mattered who could come between them. They were already damned.
"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," the septon called out into the throne room.
Aemond's hand tightened its grip around hers, a twitch of reaction, and out of the corner of her eye, Alayne saw his jaw clench.
Eternity was a long time, and hopefully, Alayne didn't have to stay in King's Landing for much longer. Her goal was to spend what remained of her eternity alone, where she could be free, where her darkness couldn't touch anyone.
The septon gestured to the two of them. "Look upon each other and say the words."
Alayne swallowed, then wet her lips. She blinked up at Aemond, meeting his intense gaze with her poignant one. When he saw how affected and tragic she was, he squeezed her hand reassuringly.
All would be well.
Alayne prayed that it would be.
She kept her eyes locked on Aemond, finding that his focus on her kept her steady. And together, they spoke the words that bound them in the sight of the gods.
"Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days."
Aemond recited his version, calling Alayne his, and he hers. With every word, he never once strayed from her gaze, as if he truly meant the vow.
The septon removed the ribbon from around their joined hands, but Aemond never let go, shifting his grip to take her other hand in his, brushing his thumb over her knuckles soothingly.
They turned to the audience, and when he stepped closer, Alayne's blood ran cold.
She'd forgotten about the last part of the ceremony. How incredibly foolish she was. This step would surely damn her in the eyes of her father, for surely he would expect it, would hear of it. It would damn her in her own eyes. But she had to go through with it, no matter the cost, no matter what it meant.
"With this kiss," Aemond said, and then he turned to face the crowd for a single breath, meeting the gaze of someone in the crowd before turning back to her. "I pledge my love, honor, and protection."
He'd added to the promise, not taken away. He could've simply said honor and protection, or even only love, but he didn't.
Aemond reached up with his left hand, his right still holding hers, and gently cupped the side of her neck, thumb and forefinger nestled against the curve of her jaw. He met her eyes, focus dropping to her mouth and back up again.
And then he pressed his lips to hers.
◆