She wakes in a prison dressed as a palace.
Her mother’s apartments in King’s Landing look the same as she remembers them. She is wrapped in the silks of her mother’s bed, the same she would crawl into on the nights storms lashed the capital. Her mother would always accept her into the sheets, soft whispers at her ear and fingers threading through dark hair.
There is no comfort now.
Arrax is gone.
Arrax is gone.
Aemma claws at her chest, wanting to find her beating heart and finding nothing at all. Arrax is gone and so is she. Her roar is as deafening as Balerion the Black dread, filling the room with the pain she cannot simply keep within her body. Her grief is an ocean and she is drowning. Her grief is a fire and she is burning. Oh, how death calls her name so beautifully and how she wishes she could go to him.
Arrax is gone.
And Aemma remains.
Prisoner, she realises as she looks around her mother’s chambers. King’s Landing belongs to a false king and false dragons now. Usurpers who had taken her mother’s throne and her dragon.
Aemma sobs into hands. She is the spoils of war, dragonrider without a dragon, princess with no crown. Bastard, bastard, bastard.
The stone is cold beneath her feet. She circles her mother’s bed, leaning on the post as she collects her breath. A throbbing pain takes over her mind and her hand comes to massage her head, feeling dried blood at the bottom of her skull.
Aemma remembers rain and terror. She remembers Vhagar’s roar. She remembers Arrax’s cry.
And then there is black.
She cautiously leaves her bedchamber, taking in the roaring fire in the hearth of the solar she knows so well. She has been cared for in her sleep, she realises. Stripped of her riding gear and the blade she carried at her hip. They have dressed her in a sleeping shift, fine embroidery at the hem and neckline. They have dressed her as a girl when she is a dragon hungry for vengeance.
Gone is any evidence of her flight to Storm’s End other than the hole in her chest and the pain at her skull. She walks over to the fire, hands coming to hover over the flames. Take me, she commands the fire, take me in life as you would in death.
“You’ll burn yourself if you get too close.”
Aemma freezes at the low voice, familiar and haunting. She doesn’t need to face him to know who it is. Aemond Targaryen.
Dragonslayer, dragonslayer, dragonslayer.
Aemond has come to see his prize, she realises.
But Aemma Velaryon is no prize. She is fire made flesh, the blood of old Valyria and she will take more than his eye this time.
Her grief is no match for her fury when she reaches into the fire. Flames lick at her hand as she grasps a burning log, before she shoots to her feet and hurls the wood at his head.
Aemond lets out a shout as he scrambles to dodge the burning wood. It’s enough time for Aemma to grab a golden plate that rests above the fireplace and throw it at his head. This time, she doesn’t miss.
Aemond stumbles as he is hit, his head wrenched in the other direction as he tries to protect his only eye. Aemma relishes in the distraction and grabs a fire poker from the ground, running across the room.
“Dragonslayer!” She screams as she hits him with the point of the poker, enjoying his cry of pain. “Dragonslayer, dragonslayer!”
His hands come to protect his face as he falls to the floor.
“Think I won’t take another eye?” She rams the poker into his hands, slicing open his flesh. His hands fold and she rams it into his face, cutting open his cheek. “I will take EVERYTHING!”
The doors slam open and the kingsguard stand at the door, gaping at the sight that meets them. The small Princess, dressed in a dainty nightshift, holding a poker to the Prince’s neck.
Aemma’s head snaps up at the sight of them.
“Traitors!” Aemma yells, digging the poker into Aemond’s chest. The leather of his doublet protects him, but she enjoys the groan of pain nevertheless. “You’re all TRAITORS!”
She is restrained in an instant and Aemond is helped to his feet by the guards.
His pupil is blown wide as he wipes the blood from his face.
“You will burn in all seven hells!” She screams, vision blurring with her tears. “I will have your life, traitor! And you will BURN!”
~
“The only sense I see is mine,” Aemond mutters. “I won us a great advantage. We have Rhaenyra’s daughter in our clutches. We have a pawn to trade. Rhaenyra will have no choice but to give up her crown and bend the knee, as she should have when Aegon was crowned.”
Alicent breathes, “You don’t know Rhaenyra at all.”
“Aemond is right, Alicent,” Otto says. “He has won us a pawn, but it will come at a price. We have a very fine line to walk if we want Rhaenyra to give up her crown.” Swallowing, he turns his eyes onto his grandson. “You have made quite the mess, Aemond. Lord Stark is that girl’s betrothed. We have angered the North, the Vale and Lord Baratheon refuses to confirm your betrothal. They say his daughter is quite wroth that the man she was to marry stole another woman.”
Aemond scoffs. “Baratheon’s weak as piss who is only motivated by ambition. Send him gold and his anger will fade.”
Screams of a dark princess fill the room. Traitors, she shouts, traitors, traitors, traitors.
“We have much to do,” Otto says. “In the meantime, do not go near that girl. Leave her to mourn the dragon you slayed.”
~
Aemma is brought before the iron throne and the court, dressed in blue.
The colours of House Velaryon… and House Strong.
She is no fool. She knows the insult they are trying to make. But she is a dragon and she will not let men make her cry.
“Princess Aemma of Houses Velaryon and Targaryen.”
The court watches as she is escorted into the throne room, chin held high and eyes focused on nothing but the throne that belongs to her mother. Guards with heavy steel walk at her side, as if a girl of four and ten is a threat to a man who claims to be a dragon King.
She stops before House Hightower, who lines the dais like vipers feasting on a corpse. Alicent stands by Aemonds side, his face red from the new wound she carved into his skin. Aemma doesn’t look at him. She refuses to acknowledge the man who wrenched her heart from her chest.
“Welcome, niece,” Aegon declares, arms spread wide. She can see cuts to his hand.
The throne is already rejecting him, she thinks.
“What a sight you are after so many difficult days here in the capital,” Aegon says, violet eyes dancing with the joy of her misfortune. “We were so sorry to miss you at my coronation. Perhaps that is why you have not yet bent the knee.”
Aemma has a spine made of steel and skin made of marble. She will not bow for a mummer’s king.
“I see no King before me.” The court erupts in whispers and Aegon’s face erupts in anger. “Just a traitor sitting on my mother’s throne.”
Aegon sneers, opening his mouth only to be cut off by his grandfather. “King Aegon, the second of his name, has been anointed before all of King’s Landing. He wears the conquerors crown and wields the conquerors sword.”
“Anyone can play dress up,” Aemma says simply. “I finished playing pretend when I was a girl, but if Prince Aegon wishes to live a farce, he may do so on a throne that does not belong to my mother.”
“You would do well to hold your tongue, niece,” Aegon snarls.
Aemma cocks her head to the side and asks, “Do you truly think wearing a conqueror's crown makes you a King? Do you truly think this farce gives you any right to the throne at all?”
“The King named Aegon his heir before his death,” Alicent proclaims, to which the court nods along. They’re all complicit. “It was his last wish.”
Aemma wants to set the woman on fire.
“And were there any witnesses to this declaration?” Aemma asks, narrowing her eyes. “Where is the parchment upon which this proclamation is made? If the King thought it so pertinent to name a new heir before his death, wouldn’t he have a scribe put it in ink?”
The Queen blinks at her words.
“And better yet, if the King thought Aegon so well suited for the throne, would he have not named him heir in the twenty years since his birth?” Aemma asks, watching as the Queen buries her anger. “As I seem to recall, no declaration was made. My mother remained the heir until the King died. So tell me what I am missing, Queen Alicent? For all I see here is treason.”
She looks around the court.
“And I wonder if the court remembers what the punishment of treason is?” She asks, her voice bounding through the court. “You may play pretend, but the Gods will remember this betrayal for what it is. As will I.”
Aemma relishes in their silence.
It is too bad Otto Hightower has to ruin it with his own voice, “What a pretty speech, Princess. It is a shame you have been so misled by your lady mother. Aegon is King and is merciful in his majesty. He will forget the insults you have said today and forgive you, as his kin.”
“I want none of his forgiveness,” Aemma declares, stepping forward. She watches as the kingsguard bare their steel. “And if he was truly a King, he would put me to the sword for my words. So go on: kill me and be done with it.”
~
Kill me and be done with it.
Aemond watches the princess at the foot of the iron throne, begging for death with a snarl on her face.
Kill me and be done with it.
Not a whisper could be heard in the throne room. The court is silenced by their shock.
Aemond looks to the King and sees a smile beginning to stretch on his lips. His heart pounds, his chest tightens. No, no, no. His hand goes to the pommel of his sword and he steps towards the King. His brother could not kill her. Aemond would not allow it. Aemond could not allow it. Kill me, kill me, kill me.
He thinks of dead brown eyes and a cold corpse and he opens his mouth to stop the pain that was coming.
His mother interrupts him.
“The King is merciful, Princess Aemma,” Alicent declares, a false smile stuck on her lips. “We do not desire any blood to be shed here today.”
Aemma stares at his mother, dark eyes turning black with fury. “Can the King not speak for himself? Or does his mother still rule him?”
“My mother rules no one,” Aegon snaps. “I am my own man.”
“A weak and pitiful excuse for a man,” Aemma spits. “I have seen more strength from toddlers.”
She taunts the King like it is a game. She prods him with her words with little care for her own future.
Aemond wants to grab her by the hand and run far from here. He wants to seal her all over again.
Aegon grabs at the throne and shouts, “Be silent, you insolent bitch!”
Aemond’s head snaps up at the insult, anger flaring in his chest. But where Aemond feels fury, Aemma laughs in delight.
“Cut out my tongue then!” She dares him, smiling broadly. The court whispers in shock, lords and ladies looking at each other in discomfort. None wanted to see a girl of four and ten maimed. “Do it, Aegon.”
“Ser Criston,” Aegon begins, before the Hand intervenes.
“You will do no such thing, Lord Commander,” the Hand declares. “We will not shed blood before the iron throne.”
Aemma laughs, a glittering sound that makes Aemond’s throat tight with something similar to lust. “How lucky I am that the Lord Hand is so benevolent. Or mayhaps I should count my good fortune on the fact that my mother has a dozen dragons and you have four.”
“Your mother has one less now!” Aegon taunts. “Where is Arrax, niece? At the bottom of the sea, I heard.”
Aemma’s fury is a dragon in itself, bursting from her body like flames. “My dragon was killed! Murdered on a peace mission!”
And finally, after so long without her eyes on him, Aemma looks to Aemond.
He feels the need to kneel before her when she is looking at him. He doesn’t mind the disdain, or the hatred. He only wants her attention, whatever it may be.
“I would have the dragonslayers head if this court had any true justice.” Tears are already painting her cheeks. “But I will not wait for the Gods to bless this godless place with a miracle.”
Aemond feels as if she has reached into his chest and grabbed his heart, squeezing it within an inch of his life.
He remembers promising her everything.
And yet he clipped her wings and stole her flight.
Godless, indeed.
“You are a hostage here at court, Princess Aemma,” the Hand declares. “You will be confined to your rooms until your mother sees sense and bends the knee.”
“My mother will never do that,” Aemma says. “And neither will I. I will bend no knee but to the true Queen, Rhaenyra Targaryen. I will bow to no pretender. And I will not bow to a Hightower.”
~
Aemma goes days without seeing anyone.
Food is brought to her solar every morning, midday and night.
She doesn’t touch it.
It is on the fourth day that they send the Hand to reason with her.
“You must eat, Princess,” Otto Hightower says, his voice soft and soothing. She wonders if this is what the King heard before he died. The soothing tones of a traitor's lies. “You are no good to your mother dead.”
“Is that why you didn't kill, Lord Hand? Is that why you refused to allow the King to harm me?” She chuckles. “I'm no good as a trading pawn if I don't have a tongue.” She bites her lip. “And I'm no good to my mother without a dragon,” she croaks, not bothering to look at him. Her eyes are on the city below, bustling and busy. “Your grandson killed Arrax. I should have died with him.”
Her heart is empty, but she still feels the ghost of Arrax. She still feels his fire as if his life was not taken from her.
The Hand leaves her to rot and sends his granddaughter in her place.
The little Queen Helaena is guarded by four kindguards. Aemma rolls her eyes at the sight of them all, especially Ser Criston Cole.
“You can fuck off right now,” Aemma says, glaring at the Lord Commander. “I would rather throw myself from this window than have to look at your face, Ser Criston.”
“Such vileness from a Princess is surprising,” Ser Criston says. “Your mother would not be pleased to hear such words.”
“My mother would feed you to her dragon before she ever let you lecture me,” Aemma snaps. “Now go away before I start throwing things at you.”
But there is little to throw now.
The Queen had made sure to remove almost everything from her mother’s chambers after Aemma had sliced Aemond up with a fire poker. They were fools to leave such weapons in the apartments in the first place. They had expected a Princess, not a dragon.
Helaena looks uneasily between Ser Criston and her niece, before she says, “You may go, Ser Criston. Wait outside for me.”
The Lord Commander can’t hide his shock at his Queen’s command, but does what she says nevertheless.
“Thank you,” Aemma murmurs, holding her knees to her chest as she looks at her Aunt. “I don’t think I could have stomached being in the same room as him.”
“Why do you hate him so much?” Helaena asks, her eyes holding a rare clarity as she sits beside her niece.
“He never treated Jace right,” Aemma whispers. “And Ser Harwin hated him.”
Helaena picks at the scabs around her nails and whispers, “I told Aemond not to go to Storm’s End. I’m so sorry, Aemma.”
Aemma looks up and finds herself staring into the haunted eyes of her grandfather. “How were you know what would happen?”
“I have horrible dreams,” Helaena whispers. “I saw storms and blood. But you lived.”
“Did I?” Aemma asks. “I feel like I died with Arrax.”
“Don’t be fooled by the mummer’s farce,” Helaena hisses, grabbing hold of Aemma’s hand and digging her nails into her skin. “Don’t be fooled by it.”
Aemma sees a broken girl crowned as Queen and wonders what horrors she has seen. “I don’t know what you mean.”
Helaena blinks and clarity returns.
“The Gods curse us all,” she whispers, sitting back. “Nothing can go right as long as the dragons dance.”
The Queen reaches into her skirts and offers Aemma a letter. “From your mother.”
Aemma gapes. “Where did you get this?”
“I may be mad,” Helaena whispers, “but I do have some friends here at court.”
Aemma waits until the Queen has left before breaking the seal of the letter, devouring her mother’s familiar scrawl.
Mourn Arrax, my love.
Justice will come on dragonback and we will have their heads.
~
He wants to fuck her.
He wants to see her belly swell with their babe, dark haired and violet eyes and strong. He wants to place his cloak on her shoulders and feast at the nectar between her legs. He wants to ride Vhagar with her at his back. He wants a life with her – and she wants to take his head.
His touch is soft enough not to wake her, but he doesn’t leave her rooms – not even when dawn approaches.
He delights in watching her toss and turn and wonders what she dreams of. He imagines she is like him, who dreams of an endless sky and dragon wings. His gut churns at the thought of Arrax roaring as he fell into the sea below. He wonders if Aemma dreams of that moment, just as he does.
She wakes slowly and with a yawn, face free of fury or fear. The first moments of waking are always peaceful… until she sees him sitting in the corner of her bedchamber.
Aemma rears up, eyes wide and mouth already half open in a scream.
“Don’t scream,” he commands. “No one would come. The King has commanded it so.”
She holds her sheet to her chest. “Get out.”
“No.” Aemond shakes his head, stretching his legs out on the seat he rests. “I’m rather comfortable here.”
“Leave,” She snarls, “before I add another cut to your ugly face.”
“Don’t lie,” Aemond tuts. “We both know you don’t think I’m ugly.”
She’s breathing deeply and it moves the sheet from where she clutches it. Aemond can see the dark of her nipples through her night shift and he has to cross his legs to hide the hardening of his cock.
“Why are you here?” She finally asks, relenting from her constant fury to give into her curiosity.
“Aegon wants your cunt,” Aemond says, “and your head, I’d wager. He bribed the kingsguard to abandon their station at night. As long as you’re here, he will try to hurt you. I won’t let that happen.”
A startled laugh escapes her. “Are you my protector, now?”
“If you wish.” I would be anything you want me to be. “You’re angry with me, I know.”
“You killed my dragon and kidnapped me,” She snaps, her eyes aflame with anger. “I fucking hate you. Do you understand? I hate you.”
“For now,” Aemond muses. “Hate is a very strong emotion, niece. Things can change.”
“Nothing will change until I have your head.”
“You may have it between your legs, if you wish,” Aemond says, eyes feasting on the sight of her rising chest and her shocked eyes. “It’s your choice.”
Aemma breathes out a laugh. “Fuck you.”
“You may do that as well,” Aemond continues. “At night, I am simply a servant to you, niece. I will protect you from my brother, I swear to you.”
“You shouldn’t,” Aemma says. “Let him do as he bids. Wait until my mother hears of his cruelty.”
Aemond stands, crossing the room to tower over her. “Do not wish for things you don’t want, niece. Aegon is vile and he would harm you. He would cut you open and feast on the sight of your blood. I will keep you safe.”
“If you wanted to keep me safe, you would release me,” she spits. “If you wanted to keep me safe, you would send me back to Dragonstone.”
His hand comes to touch her face, but she slaps it away.
“Do that again and I’ll bite your finger off,” Aemma snaps. “I may not have a weapon, uncle, but I still have my teeth.”
Aemond smiles at her viciousness and wants her even more.
“I’ll see you tonight, niece.” He begins to walk out of her chamber. “Remember, your nights belong to me now!”
Sorry it took me so long to update. I hope you liked this chapter. There is still more to come. :)