Princess of the Smoke: Chapter 2
House of the Dragon Season 2
Aemond x TargaryenOC
Chapter Word Count: 5608
Chapter Summary: The aftermath of Blood and Cheese is felt by all, though some feel more deeply than others. This follows Episode 2 of Season 2!! Full spoilers ahead!
This is a sequel to Lady of the Ashes! It follows the events of the show, but is canon-divergent.
For most of her life, Aelinor had been a temperate being. She loved fiercely, and as all children were, she was prone to fits of outrage or sorrow, and yet she had never been one to lose herself to her passions. She was capable of knowing herself without ever losing herself fully to her emotions.
But now she felt rage unlike any other.
“It appears that the boy’s head was severed from his body. Thousands witnessed the procession.” Geradys was relaying the missive to the council.
Jaehaerys. That poor little boy, who had never done anything to deserve such pain. There was nothing he could have done, nothing that anyone could have done that would have warranted such violence against a child.
“And they are accusing me of this?” Her mother was aghast, and Aelinor had no doubt in her mind that the Queen was innocent of this crime. She may be only barely past the worst of her grief, but she was not one to order the mutilation of a child.
Aelinor shifted in her chair. She still felt ill at ease, like she didn’t belong at this table. Her mother sat at its head, all eyes on the Queen as this news was delivered, and Aelinor wondered if anyone would truly notice if she slipped away. Jace was here, but he was the heir, bound to stand by their mother’s side through everything. But she had no real place here, in many ways no more than a spectator in her mother’s court.
Jace stood at her side, and she felt him shift as he spoke.
“Send me on Vermax,” He implored. “Rhaenys is needed in the Gullet, and we need all eyes on King’s Landing.”
“No!” Rhaenyra said quickly. Jace let out an exasperated breath, too quiet for anyone save Aelinor to hear. She carefully reached back, finding his leg and giving it a squeeze. She understood him, knew that he too felt the buzzing in his veins, the instinct to get out there and do something. Both of them simmered in this knowledge that there was worse to come, and yet neither of them could take action.
She would speak to him after, reassure him and together they could come up with a plan. Their mother would not ignore the both of them, not when they stood in agreement and only sought to defend her and their family. Perhaps she should speak to her father. They might be of two different minds on many things, but he was not one for inaction. It was he who had coaxed her from her grief, urging her to fly to Winterfell to retrieve her brother. Perhaps he would help her mother see reason.
“How long have they been in there?” Baela asked.
Aelinor rested her cheek against her arm. “Long enough. Too long.”
They both looked down the corridor, to the closed door that the Queen and Prince Daemon had retreated behind following the council meeting. Aelinor sat in the window, the black velvet of her dress barely enough to keep out the cold stone. Baela wore her riding leather, much more suited to Dragonstone’s harsh climate. Aelinor’s own leathers had been torn to shreds by her journey North, the leather stripped bare until they were largely useless to her. She had had no choice but to turn back to her gowns, which only made her stick out more.
“What was the North like?” Baela asked, as if reading her thoughts.
Aelinor tilted her head, looking at the genuine curiosity on her sister’s face. “It was cold.”
Baela snorted. “That’s all you’ll give me it? It was cold? What about the people? The food?”
“You’d be better served asking Jace,” Aelinor said. “He actually spent time there. I spoke to no more than two men, had an arrow fired at me, and then left.”
“Yes, yes, I’ll ask Jace about the food.” Baela laughed. “But he is useless when it comes to important things.”
“Important things?” Aelinor asked.
“Like men,” Baela winked conspiratorially. “What of Cregan Stark?”
Aelinor felt her lips twitching in a smile. “Dear sister, are you not betrothed?”
“I can still admire,” Baela insisted. “Tell me.”
“Hm,” Aelinor considered her answer. “And I suppose ‘sturdy’ is not a good enough descriptor?”
“Not nearly!” Baela laughed.
She had missed this. In the tragedy of the last few weeks it had been easy to forget that — even when they pretended to be cousins and not half-sisters — they had always been friends. It was so hard to find levity in these days, with Luc’s death hanging over her like a shadow, and yet she could feel Baela bringing shreds of herself to the surface.
She twisted her lips together, trying to remember Cregan Stark’s face. “I’m not sure. Handsome enough, I suppose. Very…severe looking. A bit bear-like.”
“Bear-like?” Baela mused. “How specific. Though I suppose, not unappealing.”
Wasn’t it? The more Aelinor thought of it, the more Cregan Stark’s features seemed too large, too found. His eyes were hidden beneath messy hair and fading amongst shades of brown and gray. He was a large man, but not as tall as she liked. No, the more she considered it, the more his features faded away, assembling themselves into a figure she considered handsome.
She realized who that person was with a start, the anonymous man she was imagining quickly gaining a recognizable face, and she shook her head to clear it from her mind.
Baela’s eyes widened, as if she had followed where Aelinor’s thoughts had wandered, but she was saved from any inquisition by the sound of the door opening at the end of the corridor.
Baela leapt to her feet, striding down the hall with quick steps. “Father?”
There was no answer.
“Baela?” The Queen’s voice called from the library, and Aelinor heard the sound of Baela walking away.
Prince Daemon reached her window a second later, his eyes darting over to where she reclined. His shoulders were tense, his head hanging down as if he had been scolded.
“You ignored her.” Aelinor said, picking at a loose thread on her skirt. “Why?”
He did not answer for a long moment, looking as if he was debating continuing down the hall and ignoring two of his three daughters in the span of a minute.
Finally, he sighed. “I am to go to Harrenhal, to muster the Riverlands.”
Aelinor swung her legs down from the window, stepping onto the floor and finding herself face to face with her father. “You did not answer my question.”
From the tick in his jaw, it was clear that he did not intend to.
“Perhaps you’ll answer another one?” Aelinor was not sure where this boldness was coming from, and yet she found herself unable to stop her tongue. “Did you, or did you not, order the murder of Prince Jahaerys?”
His mouth opened once. Then twice. Practically confirmation.
“I did not order the murder of that boy.” He said finally.
“Not in so many words then?” Aelinor knew her father, knew that he was many things, but he was not a liar. A braggart and snake and sometimes a coward, but she had never known him to be untrue. “You can tell me, Father. What’s done is done. I simply want to know.”
Did she? What good could come from her knowing the truth of this? A little boy had died, a little boy who was the son of someone she loved very much. Learning her father was responsible should only bring her more pain.
“Your brother was murdered,” Daemon said quietly.
“He was,” The words stung as they left her lips. “And was this your justice?”
Daemon looked away, staring back down the hall to where Rhaenyra and Baela stood behind closed doors. “I will not burden you with this act, Daughter.”
It was generous of him. Even, she suspected, an act of love. And if not love, some loyalty. He did not wish to share the truth of this act with her, and either it was because he thought she would turn from him, which she would have already done, or it was genuinely because he did not want it to weigh on her. She could leave it there, there was no reason to push for more. But she nodded anyway, urging him to go forward.
Daemon gritted his teeth, before nodding slightly, as if acknowledging her choice. “If…if this had been an act of justice…it would not have been the boy Jahaerys who should have paid.”
Aelinor’s heart beat once. Then twice. And then the full weight of her father’s words hit her in the chest.
Aemond.
Her father had sent assassins into the Red Keep to kill Aemond.
“Oh,” Her voice sounded echoey, distant. “I see.”
She did see. The horror of it all was that she did understand. Aemond had murdered her brother. It was a crime he needed to pay for. She wanted him to answer for it. But for her father to nearly be the one to swing the sword, for a little boy to pay the price instead? It was horrific.
It was hard to determine which was worse; the murder of that little boy, or the idea of imagining Aemond dead in his place. And perhaps most horribly, Aelinor knew which would have caused her more pain.
“For what it’s worth, Daughter,” Daemon said quietly. “I thought to warn you before.”
But he hadn’t. She remembered a few days ago, crossing paths with him as he left for the harbor with his cloak. Had it been then that the deed was done?
“I…” Thoughts tumbled around in her mind like leaves in a gale. “I understand, Prince Daemon.”
“I think you do.” He nodded.
That acknowledgement, that inkling of respect that she saw shining in his gaze, that affected her more than she would like to admit. Here she was, having been just delivered the devastating blow that her father had ordered the death of her….of Aemond, and still the shock and shame was quickly giving way to an unfamiliar feeling. Pride.
It was deeply unnerving.
“You are going to Harrenhal now, then?” Aelinor asked.
Daemon nodded. “Rhaenyra thought I would be of more use there.”
Or rather, Rhaenyra was displeased with Daemon’s actions, and now sought to send him away.
“You will be safe, I trust,” Aelinor felt herself verging on sentimentality. “I imagine war will come to us all soon.”
“At least one of you can see it,” Daemon pressed his lips together. “Don’t let her tell you what you are.”
Aelinor blinked. “What?”
“Your mother.” Daemon said, leveling her with a serious gaze. “She is going to want to treat you like her daughter.”
“I…I am her daughter.”
“No,” Daemon insisted. “You are a dragon rider and a weapon, and she must not forget that.”
“We are…” Aelinor frowned. “We are all dragon riders.”
“Yes,” Daemon agreed. “But we do not all command the largest claimed dragon save Vhagar.”
“Dreamfyre,” Aelinor said quietly.
“That girl,” Aelinor bristled at how he addressed Helaena, “Will not ride to war. You will.”
He made it sound so easy. She would go to war. As if it were an inevitability. Alas, it was not up to him.
“I ride at the pleasure of the Queen,” Aelinor said simply. The door at the end of the corridor opened, Baela stepping through. She saw her sister hesitate as she spotted the two of them, a wounded expression flashing across her face.
“Safe travels, father.” Aelinor dipped her head slightly.
Daemon nodded. “And you, daughter.”
Aelinor didn’t look back as she approached her sister, reaching out to grab Baela’s sleeve. “It wasn’t what it looked like. He only wanted to—”
“Speak to you and not me?” Baela jerked her hand away. “It’s hardly a surprise.”
Aelinor floundered for a reply, her sister striding away before she could decide how to respond. What did she mean ‘it’s hardly a surprise’? Surely she did not mean to insinuate that Daemon favored her? Not when she had spent half her life without him, not when Baela and Rhaena were his trueborn daughters.
But that hurt in Baela’s eyes, that had not been new. That was the ache of a pain that had been there for a long time, only hidden beneath the surface.
Aelinor longed to chase after her, longed to reassure her that her conversation with their father had been anything but comforting or welcome, but the open door at her back beckoned her.
She stepped into the study, finding her mother seated on one of the low chaises.
“Mother,” She bobbed a curtsy even though there was no one to see it. “It’s been an eventful morning.”
“That is has,” Her mother let out a weak laugh. “Do you have need of me? I am supposed to be at another council meeting.”
Because this was her mother’s life now, council meetings and courts and war planning.
“Was there something you needed, Aelinor?” Her mother reached out a hand, gently brushing her fingers across Aelinor’s scarred palm.
In truth, no. There was nothing Aelinor needed. But she could not pass up the opportunity to have an audience with her mother, not when her time was becoming more and more precious.
“I sought to implore you, on behalf of Jace,” Aelinor stepped around the chaise, leaning her hip against the table.
“And why does Jace need you to advocate on his behalf?” Rhaenyra said, sounding mildly amused.
Aelinor knotted her hands together. “He is anxious to help, Mother. He wants to be out there, patrolling on Vermax.”
Rhaenyra sat up straighter. “He is my heir, it is out of the question.”
“He is a prince, and a boy,” Aelinor sighed, “Or a man, technically. It causes him shame when you order him to stay here while others fight our battles. While his betrothed and Princess Rhaenys fly around defending our borders. He wishes to be useful. For a chance to prove himself.”
“And yet he sent his sister here to petition me?” Rhaenyra raised her eyebrows, the expression all-too patronizing and motherly.
Aelinor tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “He didn’t send me, Mother. But he…we understand each other. We both desire nothing more than to help you.”
“You have helped me. Jace secured the Vale and the North for us, and you flew to retrieve him after fleeing King’s Landing. What more could I ask of you?”
“You should ask us to help. To fight. To defend your claim.” Aelinor insisted. “We are dragon riders, Mother. Use us.”
Rhaenyra inhaled deeply. “Aelinor, I understand the desire to be useful. Do you think I am not also frustrated? I must stay here, away from danger, as a war is waged in my name. It is difficult, but it is the way of things. And Jace is my heir.”
Aelinor scoffed, surprisingly indignant. “Surely if you are Queen, it is up to you to determine the way of things. Don’t let that council of old men tell you what you are capable of.”
Rhaenyra’s silence was answer enough.
“If not Jace, if he is too valuable to risk, then why not me?” Aelinor asked.
“You?” Rhaenyra said in surprise. “You wish to fly to war? A war that may yet prove unnecessary.”
“Have I given you reason to doubt me?” Aelinor asked, mildly offended. “I flew North when you commanded, I fled King’s Landing all on my own.”
“Yes but…” Rhaenyra hesitated. “You have always been…gentle.”
“Gentle does not mean weak.” She insisted. “Darrax is nearly as large as Vermithor, with the speed of youth. You must use him. Use us.”
“And what if it comes to battle?” Rhaenyra asked. “What would you do then?”
“I would do what was necessary to defend my Queen.” Aelinor said simply. “Do you doubt that?”
“Aemond is out there, Aelinor.” Rhaenyra’s expression was soft, pitying almost. “Could you fight him?”
“I—” The words caught in Aelinor’s throat.
It wasn’t as though the thought hadn’t crossed her mind. Somewhere out there Aemond was flying around on the biggest dragon in the world. If there was to be a war, he would certainly be on the other side. The thought of standing against him, of facing him across a field of fire, it was terrifying. But she had to believe that she would have the strength to do what was necessary.
She wouldn’t be able to live with herself otherwise.
“I’m here, Mother.” She brushed out her skirt. “And so is Jace. Use us, before it is too late.”
Aemond wasn’t supposed to be here.
He wasn’t sure what had driven him back to this place, to this place where his sins seemed to hang in the air like smoke.
His sins.
Killing Lucerys.
Returning to this establishment for the third time.
Betraying Aelinor.
“Is something bothering you, My Prince?” Madam Sylvi asked, her hand stroking his back softly.
“Daemon sent them to kill me, you know?” The silk sheets were soft under his fingertips, the fabric meant to be smooth and sensual, but to him it seemed only cold. “But I was out.”
“You were with me,” Madam Sylvi added, as if the source of his greatest shame was not worthy of note. While his nephew had been slaughtered in his bed by assassins sent to kill Aemond, he had been here, soaking in his own shame and depravity.
“Perhaps you should be proud of it, that he considers you such a foe.” Madam Sylvi suggested, her tone placating.
“Hm,” Aemond considered this, drawing his knees a bit closer to his chest. “That he would murder me in my bed? That he might fear me?”
“As well he should,” Madam Sylvi’s hand slipped from his back, traveling down toward his hips. “The boy is grown into a man.”
“No!” Aemond jerked away from her hand. “I have told you already. No.”
Madam Sylvi sighed, but leaned back into the cushions. Aemond rested his head back in her lap, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as he tried to block everything out. The ringing in his ears, the voices that seemed to be constantly haranguing him, refusing to let him get a wink of sleep without reminding him of what he had done. What he was doing.
“I do regret that business with Luc,” He admitted quietly. “I lost my temper that day, and I am sorry for it.”
“I am glad to hear it,” Madam Sylvi said. “I would remind you that when princes lose their temper, it is the smallfolk who pay for it. Like me.”
Aemond sighed. “They used to tease me, you know? Because I was different.”
Madam Sylvi let out another exasperated sigh, as if he were wasting her time. As if he weren’t paying her a small fortune for her company. “Are you sure I can’t be of more….help…my prince? Offer some relief?”
He knew exactly the kind of relief she could offer, and perhaps he was the fool for denying her. But despite the frustration stirring in his body, despite the fact that he knew any normal man would never spend hours in the company of a whore without fucking her, he could not find a single ounce of desire in him. Not for Sylvi, anyway.
He pushed himself up from her lap, reaching for his discarded clothes. “I have made my intentions clear.”
“Yes, yes,” Sylvi pulled the shoulder of her robe up to hide her nakedness. “Your loyalty is admirable.”
It wasn’t admirable. There was nothing about him that was worthy of admiration. He had betrayed Lina by murdering her brother, and by setting foot in this place. That he had returned many times to the company of a whore old enough to be his mother was too shameful to admit. But he would not allow himself to indulge in anything more than Sylvi’s company. Here he could lay himself bare, let his sins seep through his skin and feel a bit lighter, if only for a few hours. But he would not fuck her. No matter how much he craved the touch of a person, he would not give in. Not when he had sworn himself to Aelinor and broken her trust so deeply. It would never make up for all he had done, but he would not betray her in this. If he couldn’t have Lina — as he did not deserve to — then he wouldn’t have anyone else either.
“Will you be back, my Prince?” Sylvi asked.
Gods, he wished he could say no. Wished that this place hadn’t become his only escape in the city, the one place where he felt free of the judgment that followed him around the Keep.
But he jerked his chin in a nod, reaching down into his boot to remove the small pouch of coins.
“Do you require an escort, Princess?”
Aelinor barely glanced up at the Queensguard posted by the door. “I do not. I’ll be back inside by nightfall.”
“Only it’s…” The Knight trailed off, one of his gloved hands holding the door slightly ajar.
She turned, trying to recall if she knew his name. It was Ser Erryk, one of the few faces she actually recognized. He seemed to be hesitating, as if unsure whether he should address her directly.
“Yes?” Aelinor asked, trying to manage a smile.
“It’s a bit cold for dragonback,” Ser Erryk said, “And you do not seem to be dressed for it.”
She glanced down. No, she certainly wasn’t dressed for a ride on Darrax, what with her loose velvet dress and her hair hanging down about her shoulders. Already she could feel a slight chill from the crack in the door.
“Your concern is appreciated,” Aelinor said. “But I’m just going for a walk. Actually, I was looking for my brother. Have you seen him?”
Ser Erryk stepped aside and held the door open, allowing her to step outside. “I think he was also out for a walk, Princess. I believe the Lady Baela was with him.”
“Wonderful, thank you.” Aelinor gave him one last smile as she walked away, turning down the stone path to circle the base of the castle. Jace would most likely be at the lookout, and she wanted a chance to speak with him about her conversation with their mother.
It was cold out, far colder than she would have liked. If she’d had any sense, she would have turned around and gone to fetch a cloak. But she just wanted to be out of the castle, to spend a few precious minutes surrounded by nothing more than open air rather than stone and tapestries.
She spotted Jace just as she was rounding the corner, his head leaning close to Baela’s as they spoke. She stumbled in her step, tucking herself behind the side of the tower before they saw her. As much as she wanted to talk to Jace, it was probably best that she give Baela some more time. Her sister had been mad at her only hours before, after all, and she did not want to make anything worse.
Resolving to wait for Baela to leave, she crouched down at the base of the tower, leaning her weight into the corner to keep herself upright. There was gravel spread across the ground here, and she let the small stones slip through her fingers.
A small part of her resented Jace and Baela, though she knew that it was unfair of her. But however unfair it might be, she couldn’t stop the painful bite she felt every time the two of them stood together, and she was forced to remember just how alone she was.
For the past years, she had always been some form of alone. Yes, she loved her brothers, and she loved Baela and Rhaena. But they all had each other. Jace and Luc had always been inseparable, and they adored Baela and Rhaena. Now Luc was gone, his absence an ever-present shadow in their minds, and Rhaena had all but retreated into herself. A better sister might have sought Rhaena out, but Aelinor could barely handle her own grief, let alone someone else’s.
Truthfully, seeing Baela and Jace together just reminded her that Aemond wasn’t here. Her entire youth had been spent with him by her side, and she had imagined that her future would be the same. Now everything had changed, and Aemond seemed to be an ocean away.
“What are you doing down there?”
She looked up in surprise, finding Jace leaning over her.
“Oh,” She blinked a tear from her eye. “I was waiting for you.”
“Well, here I am.” He held out a hand, pulling her to her feet. “You didn’t want to talk to Baela?”
“I…spoke to her earlier.” Aelinor stepped around him, shivering in the cold wind. “I was looking for you.”
“Gods, Aelinor,” Jace reached over to remove the red cloak from his back. “Why aren’t you wearing a cloak? You’ll freeze.”
Aelinor accepted the cloak with a smile, wrapping it tightly around her shoulders. “I was just looking for you, and I figured I could just steal yours.”
“You’re hilarious,” Jace took her arm, guiding the two of them down the path. “Why were you looking for me? Did Baela tell you that mother is sending her out again?”
She hadn’t, but it was hardly a surprise. “Baela is quite capable, Jace.”
“I know she is,” His lips pressed together in a pout. “But she…how am I to sit here while my future wife flies around fighting our war? It’s embarrassing.”
“According to Mother, we aren’t at war,” Aelinor sighed. “I asked her to send us out, but she wouldn’t be convinced.”
“No, I assumed not,” He sighed. “I assume her reasoning was the same?”
“Of course, you’re her precious heir. She can’t risk you.” Aelinor kicked a rock down the path. “And apparently she thinks that, despite my irrelevance, I am too weak and gentle to be sent out.”
“You are gentle,” Jace said, his voice kind. “But you are not weak. And you have never been irrelevant.”
Aelinor tucked herself closer to his side. “Why, Brother, was that a compliment?”
“It might’ve been,” He sniffed. “I like you a great deal more now that I know we are not to be married.”
They both wrinkled their noses at that.
The cloak shifted, and Aelinor struggled to grasp the tie with her scarred hand. Occasionally she had issues like this, when the muscles in her burned fingers proved too tight for small movements. It was why she had given up on embroidery years ago.
Jace’s hand was there securing the clasp with easy movements. “Does it still hurt you?”
“No. It’s more of an ache than anything else. I manage.”
He swallowed, his gaze darting to her hand before shifting away. “Do you know, I don’t think he ever really hated us before that.”
She didn’t need to ask who he was referring to. “No? I thought you all teased him terribly.”
Jace shrugged. “I think it got worse as we got older. When you were little we didn’t really care about him, because he was always with you. But after you…after the accident I think everything got worse.”
Aelinor couldn’t really remember. She had been so young at the time, her world so small, that she wasn’t sure that she would have noticed how one event could have changed her brothers’ relationship with Aemond. As far as she was concerned, they had never liked each other, and it had never mattered, because she was there to keep the peace.
“I don’t know how we’re just supposed to stay here,” Jace wrapped his arm over her shoulders. “I feel like I’m going mad.”
Aelinor hugged his waist tightly, sharing in his frustration. “I know, Big Brother. We just have to wait.”
Aemond stood in the balcony, watching his grandsire’s party slowly make their way out of the gates. He hadn’t bothered to speak to Lord Otto before his departure, though it was clear from the tension in the Keep that it had not been an amicable one.
“Ah, Brother,” He bristled at Aegon’s voice. “There you are.”
Aemond smoothed his expression into a mask, spinning on his heel. “You summoned me?”
“Yes,” Aegon’s doublet was unbuttoned, his hair mussed, with dark circles ringing his eyes. He looked exhausted, though there was a brightness to his expression that unnerved him. “You saw that our grandsire is gone.”
“I did,” Aemond looked outside, watching the gates close behind him. “What inspired you to make this change?”
Aegon scoffed. “The bastard suggested that my actions with the ratcatchers was unwise.”
Aemond had seen the display on his walk home from the brother. Crowds had still been gathered under the hanging bodies, some crying out in horror as crows began to feast on the remains. It would hardly win his brother favor with the people.
“One of those filthy, pest-ridden vermin murdered my son,” Aegon seethed. “The goldcloak would not identify which one, and so I was forced to take drastic measures.”
“And the Hand thought it unwise?” Aemond mused.
“Apparently. As if it were his place to question me.” Aegon seemed appalled by this. “As if anyone would have done any different.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” Aegon strode over to a small table, pouring a cup from a pitcher of wine. “Ja— my son was the most important person in the world to me. I would burn the whole damn city down to find out who hurt him.”
“And you think I would do the same?” Aemond followed after his brother, pouring a small portion of wine into his own cup.
“Surely you would,” Aegon said. “What if it were Helaena?”
Aemond chose not to point out to his brother that Helaena was not his wife, as the years had proven that Aegon had not an ounce of attachment to their sister.
“Or what if it were Aelinor?” Aegon was still talking.
“What?” Aemond sat up straighter, cursing himself for being so obvious.
Aegon smirked in amusement. “I’m just saying. It’s a war, so one of us is going to kill her eventually, but it's just the principle of it. If someone snuck in and slaughtered her in her bed, you would seek your vengeance, wouldn’t you?”
His throat was tight. “I…I would.” Was this admitting to treachery? Was his brother trying to coax him into admitting that he still cared for Aelinor?
“I want you at the next council meeting, brother.” Aegon said. “I’ve named Cole my hand, and I want you there as well.”
“Why?”
“To support me? You are our greatest weapon.” Aegon spoke as if it were obvious. “You may yet win this war for us, and Otto was a fool for not employing you.”
Aemond nodded slowly, feeling his chest swell with pride.
“And,” Aegon took a swig of wine. “Maybe, if you win this for us, I can give you Aelinor as a prize.”
Aemond’s teeth smashed together.
“Imagine that,” Aegon chuckled. “The Bitch of Dragonstone having to give one of her bastards to you.”
Aemond had never wanted to murder his brother before, but he did now. How dare he speak as though Aelinor were a thing, some prize that could be won and given away? He was a—
“But it’s possible that none of this will matter,” Aegon stood, dropping his empty cup onto the floor, where crimson driblets of wine began to seep into the rug. “Not if Criston’s plan is successful.”
Aemond was still seething when his brother left the room.
There was screaming in the halls of Dragonstone. Aelinor joined the throng of people pushing towards her mother’s chambers, elbowing her way through until she was near the first to burst into the room.
Her hand flew to her mouth in shock, spotting first the dead knight on the floor, then the second advancing towards her mother.
“No!” Aelinor shouted, pushing toward Ser Lorent and her mother. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do. Throw herself in front of the Queen? Attempt to tackle the invader?
But her efforts were unneeded. No sooner had she realized the foolishness of her plan, then the knight, either Erryk or Arryk, she wasn’t sure, uttered “Forgive me”, and thrust himself down upon his own blade.
Aelinor let out a whimper as his body thumped to the floor, her body feeling weak. There was blood on the floor, under her boot, though she had no idea whose blood it might be. Two identical bodies lay in the room, a heavy silence hanging in the air.
She felt Jace’s hands on her back. “Aelinor? What is…what is the meaning of this?”
He whipped around, beginning to demand answers on how an intruder had entered the castle.
On shaky legs, Aelinor approached her mother. The Queen had lowered herself into a chair, one hand held to her hard. She could see the emotion shining in her mother’s eyes, even as she fought to maintain her composure.
“Aelinor,” Her mother looked up in surprise. “You were…are you alright?”
Of course she was. This attack had been directed solely at the Queen.
Aelinor glanced down, watching as two men grabbed Ser Erryk or Arryk by the legs and started to drag him away.
“Well, Mother?” She asked.
“Well, what?” Rhaenyra furrowed her brow in confusion.
Aelinor gestured to the smear of blood on the ground. “Are we at war now?”