the next right thing
Chapter 2
aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc
summary: Aemond takes care of his wife through the audience; Myria and Aemond attend a volatile family dinner.
warnings: little fluff, lots of angst, vulnerable aemond, aemond discusses his trauma
****
Myria had been instructed by the Maester to remain in bedrest for as long she could, to avoid any stitches from opening up and help them heal faster. That meant she hadn’t been able to greet the Velaryon upon their arrival, despite how much she desired to. She had met Rhaenyra before, since she had attended her and Aemond’s wedding, but they hadn't spoken that much.
She glanced down, towards the baby feeding on her chest, and smiled. She started stroking his little legs with her fingers, occasionally tickling his little feet, just to earn a heartwarming coo from the baby. But for every smile, she got an angry frown as well, as her teasing prevented him from eating. Sure, Max had her looks— but he had inherited his father’s temper. Aemond’s.
She turned her head, to stare at the painfully empty place beside her. He wasn’t around as much. He was either sparring in the patio, or teaching the boys how to care for their baby dragons, or reading them stories and teaching them High Valyrian, all for which Myria was grateful. But she missed him. And she couldn’t help but to think her endless foul mood, complaints and her always picking on fights had something to do with her husband’s absence. Maybe he had finally grown tired of her.
The baby coughed against her chest, forcing her attention back to him and thankfully preventing her from diving into even sadder thoughts. At any other time, she would’ve been happy to stay all day in bed, with no other responsibilities but to take care of him, while the boys are under the safe care of their father, but with so many things happening at the castle, she dreaded the idea of being confined in her room, ignorant of everything outside the doors.
So she dragged herself out of bed, grateful that Aemond wasn’t around to scold her, and left the room, with little Max on her arms.
“Princess? Where are you going?” Yago, the bodyguard assigned to watch her door, asked, concerned. “Prince Aemond gave me strict instructions to not let you out of this room, you know?” He insisted, while grabbing her arm so he could ease her pain. Myria looked over at the man and grinned. Yago had been her sworn guard since she was a young girl in Dorne, and was specifically chosen by her father to protect her. When he agreed to accompany her to Westeros, to keep on looking after her, she was thrilled. He was a good friend, and an even kinder man.
“Since when do you answer to my husband, instead of me?” She joked, letting a grunt of pain escape her lips. The man chuckled, and kept on strongly holding her frame, making sure she wasn’t putting too much pressure on her feet. Each step claimed a groan from her lips, but she didn't mind. She wouldn’t die out of exhaustion, boredom on the other hand…
“I’m only loyal to you, Myria. Always.” He declared, switching his grin to a serious frown. “The moment things inevitably take a dangerous turn here… you simply say the word, and I’ll take care of everything. You, and the children.”
“Yago… what have you heard?” She asked, looking at him with disbelief.
“Whispers, my lady.” He explained. “Bad ones— corrupt ones. And your father is just as concerned as I am.”
“You’ve talked to my father, how—” Myria mouth was shut, by him placing a gentle finger on her lips.
Yago restrained himself by lending her a knowing look, and cleared his throat. Myria had failed to realise they had already arrived at the King’s door, and talking about such matters in front of the realm’s bodyguards wasn’t a very clever idea.
“I’ll be here when you leave, Princess.” He said.
“Thank you, Yago.” She smiled, putting on a nice smile. She then turned around, and looked at the guard outside the room. “I wish to pay a visit to the King.” She asked.
“It’s been requested that the King receives no visitors.” The man grunted.
“I only wish for him to be introduced to his new gransire.” She said, holding the baby closer to her chest. “I think the King will very much enjoy it.”
The guard gave it another brief thought, before nodding and motioning for her to come inside. She thanked him, and walked across the room towards the bed, where a very ill Viserys laid. Judging from the bandages he had around his face, Myria could only assume the disease had progressed from the day before, and finally claimed his eye. And yet— as sickly and feebly as his body was, his mind remained unharmed in a way Maesters couldn’t quite explain. And Myria intended to enjoy what it could possibly be the last few weeks he had left of such awareness.
“Is— is that who I think it is?” Viserys asked with a smile, doing his best to sit himself up, after spotting the young woman walking towards his bed.
She sat herself next to him, and shifted the baby in her arms so he could get a better sight of him.
“Hello, father.” She smiled. Upon meeting him, Viserys had been very adamant on her calling him father. He said he would have no daughter of his refer to him under formalities such as your grace, or my king, and for that, Myria was very grateful. She liked Viserys, and he had always made her feel very welcomed. “Meet your new grandson.”
“Another boy?” He wheezed, showing a smile so big part of it disappeared behind the bandages.
“His name is Max.” She chuckled. “Trystan named him.”
“Oh,” he simpered, caressing the baby’s head. Visery’s face light up as Max grabbed one of his fingers, and strongly got a hold of it. “Max. He looks like you, dear.”
“He really does.” She giggled.
“He’s one precious little boy. Well done, Myria.” Viserys muttered, and squeezed her hand, looking at her with pride in his eye.
Maybe it was at that moment she realised there were only a handful of stares like that one she would ever get from him, or maybe because receiving such affection from him made her realise she missed her own father so dearly, but Myria didn’t find the strength in herself to avoid tears from filling her eyes.
“You’re a kind King, father, and an even kinder man.” She bubblered. “And all of your children and grandchildren love you very, very much. Your own daughter, Rhaenyra arrived here this morning, and I’m sure she will be visiting your chambers any time now.”
Just as she said so, she heard a grunt behind them. Myria turned around and saw a scary looking man standing still, holding his hands behind his back. He had an eerie feeling to him, sinister enough that Myria felt shivers down her spine. Daemon. She had crossed paths once with him, and that was all she needed to realise he was not a man one could afford to be on his bad side.
Besides him, Princess Rhaenyra stood, listening with a gloomy smile to Myria’s words. Myria took their entrance as her cue to leave, assuming Rhaenyra probably wanted to spend time with her father alone. So she squeezed Viserys’ hand, and got up from the bed. She fought a flush of lightheadedness away, not having realised how much of a toll the walk towards the room had taken on her.
“Princess, Rhaenyra” she bowed her head as she reached her side, “Prince Daemon. I’ll leave you to it.” She smiled, before starting to walk away.
“Sister,” the Princess called her, before Myria could leave. She turned around, to find her grinning at her. “Congratulations,” she said, motioning towards the baby in her arms, “I hear it is a boy. Please extend my congrats to my brother.”
“Yes,” she chuckled, “his name is Max. And I will.”
“He’s lovely,” she said, tickling the baby’s feet, “you have three boys, just like Ser Laenor and I did.”
“We do indeed.” She agreed. “I can only hope to be able to raise such nice and kind men as you did, Princess.”
“Please call me sister, Myria, I insist.”
“Sister,” she smiled, “I was told you became parents yourselves to two little boys recently. Aegon and Viserys, is that correct?” Of course she knew she was correct. The very night they got the news, their Aegon got drunk as ever, and joked about Rhaenyra finally ‘breeding Targaryen looking’ children. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Myria.” Rhaenyra answered, with a genuine smile. As much as Myria wanted to understand Aemond’s family feud with them— she couldn’t. The woman seemed kind and sweet, and a loving mother as well.
“Well I better leave, I’m sure you’re eager to see your father. I hope we run into each other again, Rhaenyra.”
“I hope so too.”
After one last bow of her head, Myria finally left the room. Yago was waiting outside, as he said he would.
“Are you ready to go back to bed?” He asked, worried at the sight of her pale face, and the weak grip on his arm.
“Yes please,” she whispered, handing him the baby, “could you please carry him, too? I’m afraid I don’t think I have that much strength left.”
“Of course, princess.” He said, holding the baby with gentleness. He was great with children, and Myria felt very lucky indeed her sons got to regard him as not only a protector, but as family.
They were walking with leisure and in silence throughout the castle’s hallways, when an angry voice called her from behind.
“Myria?”
Myria stopped in her tracks, recognising that voice as her husband’s and dreading the upcoming discussion. She slowly turned around with a grimace, only to find a very irritated Aemond striding towards her.
He stood before her, and fixed his gaze on hers, without saying a word, as if she were being silently scolded. “I will carry my son and escort my wife from now on, thank you very much Yago.” He hissed, and then turned around to grab the baby into his arms.
The man handed the child to him, and then glanced at Myria. She vaguely nodded her head, and Yago carried on with his way. Only after he had disappeared from their sight, did Aemond deign to look at her again.
“What were you thinking?” He taunted her, still offering one of his arms for her to hold on. “The Maester gave you strict orders to remain in bedrest.”
“I wished to introduce Max to your father.” She explained, naively following his steps.
“You could’ve asked me to do so.” He said, with a strained voice.
“You weren’t around.” She argued, in a repproaching manner she didn’t actually mean.
“I took the boys for a ride in Vaghar, so you and Max could rest, is that so bad of me?” He sneered, turning on a hallway Myria knew didn’t lead to their chambers.
“W— where are we going?” She asked.
“I’m going to leave you with Helaena and my mother’s company, as you can’t seem to be trusted enough to look after your own well being.” He grunted. “If I can’t keep an eye on you, I want them to do so.”
“Then do keep an eye on me, Aemond.” She exhaled, pulling on his arm so he would turn towards her. “Stay with me, and the baby.”
“The boys—
“The boys are perfectly content to play with the twins, under the care of your sister and the Septa.” She snapped, putting an end to her husband’s excuses. “I know you think I’m angry at you, for it seems as of late we can not help but to get into an argument every time we speak, but I’m not.”
Myria delicately placed her hand on his face, and the other one on his chest.
“And I know it’s my fault, as I’m the one always picking fights,” she continued, “and for that I have no explanation. Maybe it’s due to the lack of sleep, maybe it’s simply because being with child gets me into a foul mood, but one thing I know is that it’s not because of you.”
“For every feeling of annoyance I might have towards you, I promise there’s twice as many loving ones. And I apologise if that has made my presence dreadful to you. But I don’t want you to drift away from me, Aemond.” She pleaded, resting her face on his neck.
He gruffed, letting the rest of his exasperation leave in that exhale, and lowered his gaze towards her.
“Don’t ever worry about that again,” he muttered, leaving a kiss on her forehead.
• • •
The following morning, when she woke up, Aemond was by her side, holding her hand against his chest, as he always did. She turned around to make sure Max was still sleeping, and was relieved to find the baby soundly snoozing on his cradle.
She then swirled to face her husband once again, and placed a gentle hand on his face. Even in his sleep he didn’t look peaceful, or vulnerable.
Myria delicately trailed her finger throughout his scar, wishing he would open up more often about the story behind it. She so deeply wanted to be understanding of her husband’s ever lasting quarrel with his nephew, but she couldn’t think of it as any more than that— a childish fight, if he didn’t tell her what had truly happened that night. Sure, he had explained to her how he lost his eye, but the way he narrated it led her to believe it had been more of an unfortunate incident rather than an intentional offence. Aegon had also comedically filled her in about the pig incident, over a few too many cups they had shared, but she thought there was more to it. There had to be more to it. Among the many things Aemond was— childish wasn’t one of them. He wouldn’t be so resentful of the boy unless something more meaningful than what he told her had happened.
As gentle as she ensured her caresses remained, perhaps she had been thinking too loud, because next thing she knew, Aemond was sleepily opening his eye.
He reached for her hand on his chest, and drew it towards his lips, so he could leave a kiss on it. “Good morning.” He said, in a raspy voice. He then noticed her fingers trailing his scar, and chuckled. “What are you doing?”
“Good morning, dear.” She whispered, bringing her face closer to his. “I was just fawning over my handsome husband.”
“Hm.” He hummed, as a flustered smile stretched on his lips. Even when a tiresome frown covered her face, skin pale and frail product of a hard childbirth, he still thought she was the prettiest woman he had ever seen. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, than to have her, but above all he was a gentleman, and his wife’s comfort would always be a priority to him. He knew it would take time before she could endeavour in such activities, and was fine with that. He was perfectly happy with simply admiring her. Admiring the way her swollen breasts pressed against his body, the way her nightgown enhanced the soft curves of her hips, or the way she bit down on her lips, leaving a faint shade of burgundy in them.
But Myria must have noticed his gaze fixing on her lips, or maybe she just felt the very obvious arousal in his pants, because she then brought her face to his, pressing their foreheads, and hummed.
“You can kiss me, if you want.”
“I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”
“A kiss won’t hurt me.” She whispered, closing the gap between them, and left a peck on his lips.
He didn’t reciprocate at first, still unsure about it; he didn’t want to make her feel as if she owed him that. But he was convinced by the way his wife didn’t seem to care about that, and kept on passionately deepening the kiss.
He then grabbed her waist and moved her body above his, to both avoid crushing her and letting her be the one in control, and hungrily took on her mouth. His soft, gentle kisses turned into greedy ones, agonising as he couldn’t get enough of her.
It was when Myria realised how much she had missed having her husband. She yearned for his touch, for his kisses, for his love. But it was a bittersweet feeling— she desired her husband, although she didn’t desire intimacy. She still felt sore, uncomfortable and weak because of the baby. But Aemond knew that, hence his lack of any sort of following advances. He felt entirely content with being able to just hold her, and kiss her.
They were interrupted by the soft cooing of a baby who had just awakened. Myria laughed into the kiss, and then turned around, to pick the baby into her arms. “Someone wants some attention too.” She chuckled.
“Greedy.” Aemond joked, straightening up. He reached towards her, so he could take the baby into his arms. He placed his head on both his hands, as to let his little legs kick against his chest.
Myria sweetly smiled at the sight, since it wasn’t common for Aemond to take that sort of initiative. He was never one to refuse holding his children, whether it was because Myria needed some help, or because the boys demanded him to, but he didn’t usually ask for it. It warmed her heart seeing him get more comfortable in that role— he wouldn’t have dared to carry Trystan with such confidence when he was born, and yet there he was, picking up Max from her own arms, not even asking before.
She bent towards the baby, so she could leave a kiss on his temple, and with a groan got up from bed, and started to get ready for the day.
“What are you doing?” Aemond asked, when he saw her change into a lavish, lavender dress.
“I’m getting ready, we have an important audience to attend today.” She explained, struggling to do the buttons on the back. “Could you come help me button this up?”
Aemond remained still. “Yesterday you said you didn’t wish to pick on fights, and yet it seems you do everything in your power to make me start an argument.” He hissed.
“Don’t use that voice, I don’t want the baby to get upset.”
He rolled his eyes. “I don’t think you should go, dearest.” Aemond faked a smile.
“Well, I’m going anyway, so I don’t see the point in—
“The Maester said you should rest, an audience where something is bound to go wrong is hardly the place you should drag yourself to.”
“Then thank the Gods I have a caring, loving husband who will keep me company at all times, ensuring I’m alright.”
He simply huffed at her, and returned his attention to the baby. “You will never be as troublesome as your mother, right Max?” He asked, tickling the boy’s feet. “She’s certainly proficient at keeping me on my toes.”
“Otherwise you’d be bored.” She smiled, sitting besides the both. “It’s important that I go, Aemond.” She added, in a serious voice. “My father is the ruling Prince of Dorne, and my sister will inherit that title after him. I’m the only person here at court that can keep them updated on such politics. I don’t wish to be ignorant of them. Please understand.”
Aemond stared at her for several moments, before answering. “I do.”
“Thank you.” Myria smiled. “Now, help me get this dress buttoned up, or else I will make a spectacle of myself at court.”
Aemond placed the baby on his crib, and stood behind his wife. Seeing her bare shoulders brought lustful feelings to the depths of his stomach, but he ignored them.
“For some reason it doesn’t seem to close.” She complained, as he put his hands on her back, struggling to pin the buttons together.
“Yes, because it doesn’t fit.” He said, innocently.
Myria turned around, and glared at him with so much fury, he wished he could confront a dragon instead.
• • •
“What do you know of Velaryon blood, princess?” Vaemond asked, with a smug expression on his face. “I could cut my veins and show it to you, and you still wouldn’t recognise it.”
Myria discreetly clenched her fist against the blue fabric of her dress, her other hand tightly around Aemond’s arm. She couldn’t believe the nerve of Corlys’ younger brother.
Although she could understand where he came from, and his desire to protect his house, Myria would never condone the way he so obscenely disrespected a Princess of the realm, especially in front of her children, who most certainly weren’t at fault for their lineage.
“This is about the future and survival of my house,” the man continued, “not yours. My queen, my lord hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation and survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother’s successor. The Lord of Driftmark, and Lord of the Tides.”
“Thank you, sir Vaemond.” Otto said, from his seat in the Iron Throne. Myria glanced around her, entirely surrounded by people who most certainly rooted for Rhaenyra’s downfall, and thought it was not fair for her. “Princess Rhaenyra,” he then called, “you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon.”
The Princess retracted her hands from her swollen stomach, and trudged towards the centre of the room. “If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding that nearly twenty years ago, in this very—
The Princess' speech was interrupted by the loud noise of the throne room’s door being opened. Myria looked up towards her husband, to see if he was aware of what was happening, but she found him to be as ignorant as she was.
But her obliviousness was accounted for by the voice of one of the guards. “King Viserys of House Targaryen, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”
Myria let go of Aemond’s arm in order to get a glimpse of the King. She positioned herself between Aegon and Helaena, and got a better view of the hall. Her heart clenched at the sight of him, ill beyond any cure, dragging himself across the room, with nothing but a cane to support him. His walking was erratic, and sickly, he seemed as if he were about to collapse at any second. She reverently bowed her head as he lumbered past them, worried Viserys would not be able to walk up the stairs.
“I will sit the Throne today.” He told Otto, stopping before him.
“Your Grace.”
A few guards bolted towards the man, in order to aid him, but he refused the help. He then slowly tumbled towards the throne, losing his crown in the process. The piercing noise with which the symbol clattered against the floor was one Myria would never forget. It would forever remind her of the lengths the man would go to protect his first born daughter.
Daemon was the one to approach him, and placed a steady hand on his lower back, to help him to the seat. With a groan, the King sank into the throne, and Daemon was quick to place the crown on his head. He directed one last nod towards his brother, and returned to Rhaenyra’s side.
“I must… admit… my confusion.” Viserys said, between heavy breaths. “I do not understand why petitions are being heard over settled succession. The only one present who might offer keener insight into Lord Corlys’ wishes is the Princess Rhaenys.”
“Indeed, your Grace.” The woman, who had remained silent and still for most of the audience, confidently walked towards Rhaenyra’s side. “It was ever my husband’s will that Driftmark pass through Ser Laenor to his trueborn son… Lucerys Velaryon. His mind never changed, and nor did my support of him. As a matter of fact, the Princess Rhaenyra has just informed me of her desire to marry her sons Jace and Luke to Lord Corlys’ granddaughters, Baela and Rhaena. A proposal to which I heartily agree.”
Myria looked at Vaemond, and could almost see the smoke coming from his nostrils. He was shivering in fury.
“Well…” Viserys sighed, “the matter is settled. Again. I hereby reaffirm Prince Lucerys of House Velaryon as heir to Driftmark, the Driftwood Throne, and the next Lord of the Tides.”
And then it was turmoil. Such words from the King were enough to make Vaemond forget about any kind of protocol, and started accusing the King for breaking centuries long laws and traditions, and condemned Rhaenyra for adultery.
“Her children are… bastards!” He yelled. “And she is… a whore.”
The whole crowd, Myria included, gasped in shock that Vaemond would dare say such a thing. Predicting the inevitable, Aemond worriedly reached for Myria’s hand, bringing her closer to him. She clumsily stepped back, until she was by his side, and clutched on his arm.
In an agonising gesture, The King got to his feet, with all the fury his sickly body allowed him to. “I…” he breathed, reaching for a dagger within his clothes “will have your tongue for that.”
But Viserys didn’t need to claim any more threats, because quicker than a heartbeat and stealthily than a whisper, Daemon grabbed his sword, and swiftly cut Vaemond’s head in half.
Myria choked in horror, as Aemond stepped right in front of her, to avoid such unpleasant sights from reaching her eyes. She clenched on his shoulders, starting to feel dizzy.
Everything following that happened in a blur, and next thing she knew, she was being led by her husband outside the room, towards the gardens. Only when they were both leaning against the terrace, looking at the sea, did he open his mouth.
“I thought you could use some fresh air, my lady.”
“Indeed,” she inhaled, trying her best to forever remove the images of Vaemond’s head flying through the air from her brain, “I can’t believe that happened.”
“I do.” He scoffed, rubbing her back with a reassuring pace. “That’s why I didn’t want you to go. Vaemond was bound to lose something for daring to speak in such a way. You” he added, pointing a reproaching finger towards her, “have too reckless a mouth sometimes as well.”
“I would never go as far as calling Rhaenyra’s children illegitimate outside of our bedroom.” She complained.
“But you would take the risk of yelling in this very garden, for everyone to hear, that you think a deposition against her is being planned.” He said, grabbing a strand of hair the wind had blown against her face and putting it behind her ear.
Myria closed her eyes at his touch, and inhaled. “You’re right.” She admitted, dropping her shoulders. “It was foolish of me.”
“The yelling was foolish, the speculation not so much.” He said, lowering his voice, eye fixed on the ocean. “I apologise for dismissing your worries that day, truth be told I share them too. But there’s nothing we can do about it, Myria. And there’s nothing we should do about it, especially since we are clearly on opposing fronts.”
Myria hummed, the feeling of apprehension tightening her chest. “I am never in an opposite front to you, Aemond.” She whispered, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I am by your side, always. I might not agree with… some of your family's doings, but that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t stand by you, in every possible scenario.”
“Even if my brother were to be crowned?”
“I am loyal to you.”
“What if your father took Rhaenyra’s side? If it came to a war, and you were to choose between us or your family?”
“That’s unfair.” She muttered. He simply shrugged. “You are my family, Aemond.” She said, holding his hand, more than anything hoping the time to make such a choice would never come. He nodded, and pressed a kiss on her forehead.
“Let me escort you to our chambers, you should rest before dinner with our family tonight.”
“As you wish, my love.”
• • •
Myria watched as her husband got ready, while gently rocking the baby in her arms. She had already put the boys to bed, after getting on a nice dress and doing a simple hairstyle. Max had finally fallen asleep, when she heard a soft knock on the door. She glanced at Aemond, who left his buttons undone, and pulled the door open.
“Hi,” Myria greeted the Septa with a whisper, “I just fed Max, and I’ve rocked him to sleep, so I think he should be down for the night. The boys are also in their beds, they shouldn’t be that much trouble. Prince Aemond made sure to tire them out by sparring with them, so they should be snoring already.” She explained, as she placed the baby in the woman’s arms. “Although, Griffin has been having some night terrors, so he might wake up at some point.”
“Don’t worry, Princess, I know a lot of stories.” The older woman spoke softly, with a soothing smile.
“Great, he’ll love that.” Myria said, escorting her to the boys’ room. “I’ll fetch the baby when we’re back, thank you.”
She returned back to her chambers, and promptly helped Aemond get ready. After that, the two of them bolted towards dinner, with Myria walking as fast as his sore body allowed her.
“We would get there earlier if you carried me.” She asserted, with a condescending pout.
“I’m not doing that.”
By the time they reached the room, everyone except for the King had already arrived, and they were either talking or already sitting down. Aemond guided her towards the left side of the table, where his family was, opposite to Rhaenyra’s. Two steps into the room, she could already feel the tension between the two families, especially between the Queen and the Princess.
“Oh, Myria!” Alicent said with delight, when she spotted her. “It’s so nice of you to join us, we weren’t sure if you were coming.” She then turned towards Rhaenyra’s side of the table. “Princess Myria gave birth to a healthy baby boy two nights ago.” She explained.
“I know,” Rhaenyra smiled, “we crossed paths this morning. The baby is darling. Congratulations, Prince Aemond.” She added, staring at the man.
He hummed in response, and looked down. “Thank you.”
Alicent stared at her son for a moment, before returning her gaze to Myria. “I hope you’re not overburdening yourself. You shouldn’t have come, darling, given your condition.”
“Dear mother, my sister is much too nosy to do such a thing.” Aegon cackled. Myria not so discreetly nudged him in his ribs, earning a groan from the man.
“I would never miss out on such an opportunity to be with family, my Queen.” She said, with a pleasant smile. She then turned towards Aegon, and stared at him with anger.
Truth be told— she got along with the man, and she thrived on their quarrels. “That hit was pathetic, dear sister.” He whispered to her ear.
“My apologies, I’ll make sure to carry a dagger next time. Is being stabbed enough for you?”
“You could stab me in the face and I still wouldn’t look as wretched as you do as of now.”
Myria stared at him in disbelief. She knew childbirth had taken a toll on her, and that she no longer looked the vivacious, charming woman she had been before. “Too far.”
“Too far.” Aegon agreed.
Their bickering was interrupted by the King’s entrance; four bodyguards carrying him in his chair only to place him between his wife and daughter.
“How good it is… to see you all tonight… together.” He said, once everyone had taken their seats.
“A prayer before we begin?” Alicent suggested.
“Yes.”
Myria glanced towards Aemond, and saw him close his eye and press his hands together, respecting his mother’s wishes, so she did the same.
“May the Mother smile down on this gathering with love.” Alicent started. “May the Smith mend the bonds that have been broken for far too long. And to Vaemond Velaryon, may the Gods give him rest.” Myria had her eyes shut, and was on the opposite side of him, and yet she could still sense Daemon’s smug expression. The cackle that came afterwards was embraced with quietude.
“This is an occasion for celebration, it seems.” The King broke the silence. “My grandsons, Jace and Luke, will marry their cousins, Baela and Rhaena, further straightening the bond between our houses.” Myria was happy to see both couples smiling fondly at each other. Happy marriages should always be celebrated, she thought. “A toast to the young Princes, and their betrothed.”
“Hear, hear!” Daemon chanted, as everyone raised their cups.
“Lets toast as well Prince Lucerys…” Myria noticed Aemond tensing up by her side, so she searched for his hand under the table, and squeezed it, “the future Lord of the Tides.”
“Hear, hear.”
Viserys then pushed on his cane, to give him strength to stand up, and continued his speech.
“It both gladdens my heart, and fills me with sorrow to see these faces around the table. The faces most dear to me in all the world… yet grown so distant from each other… in the years past.” He then used his one hand to take the golden mask off, which fell with a thud on the table. Myria chugged down at the sight. “My own face is no longer a handsome one, if indeed it ever was. But tonight, I wish you to see me… as I am. Not just a King, but your father. Your brother. Your husband… and your grandsire. Who may not, it seems… walk for much longer among you. Let us no longer hold ill feelings in our hearts. The crown can not stand strong if the house of the dragon remains divided. But set aside your grievances, if not for the sake of the crown… then for the sake of this old man who loves you all… so dearly.” As if talking had drained his remaining energy, the King plopped down on his seat, with Alicent’s aid to put back his mask.
To everyone’s surprise, Rhaenyra then stood up, and raised her cup. “I wish to raise my cup to Her Grace, the Queen.” Alicent turned her gaze towards her, with a sorrowful expression on her face. “I love my father. But I must admit that no one has stood more loyally by his side than his good wife. She has tended to him with… unfailing devotion, love and honour. And for that she has my gratitude… and my apology.”
The room waited unusually quiet, as whispers of truce wandered around the table. Neither Myria nor the rest had any way of knowing, but it was more than truce. Friendship, once forgotten, ruined by the vile strings of destiny.
“Your graciousness moves me deeply, Princess.” Alicent muttered. “We are both mothers… and we love our children. We have more in common that we sometimes allow. I raise my cup to you… and to your house. You will make a fine Queen.”
Myria reached once again for Aemond’s hand below the table, as Alicent’s words filled her body with warmth, and peace. She wouldn’t have to pick. The future she so dreaded, the one she and her husband had discussed that very morning, slipping away, leaving nothing but sour feelings, the kind a bad dream left. Frightening, but comforting by the fact that they would never become true. She brushed his hand, but her gesture wasn’t reciprocated.
She glanced towards Aemond, who looked as calm as the next person, but Myria knew him better. He was angry, trying his best to prevent his emotions from breaking out. She couldn’t help but to think one last apology was overdue. How different things would’ve ended up otherwise.
Everyone then sipped on their cups, and the feast began. Myria saw Aegon get up from her side, towards Jace, but didn’t think much of it. Only after getting startled by Jacaerys’ strong fist against the table did she look towards them.
“To Prince Aegon and… Prince Aemond. We have not seen each other in years, but I have fond memories of our shared youth. And as men, I hope we may be friends and allies. To you and your families’ good health, dear uncles.”
Myria raised her cup to that, and gave it a sip. She didn’t catch the look of betrayal her husband sent at her.
Helaena was then the one to stand up, and raised her cup. “I would like to toast to Baela and Rhaena. They’ll be married soon. It isn’t so bad, mostly he just ignores you… except sometimes when he’s drunk.” Myria looked up towards her, and lovingly grabbed her hand. Above everyone in Aemond’s family, Helaena was the one Myria loved the most. The girl had become a sister to her, and she regarded her as one. She resented the way Aegon treated her.
Myria didn’t realise, but both she and Helaena became targets of pitiful stares from the other side of the table. If only they knew what a wonderful husband Aemond was to her. Truth be told— she was prepared for someone not even half as great as he was to her.
“Let’s us have some music.” The King asked, and instruments started playing. Both Jace and Luke rose from their seats, and walked towards the two girls at the other end of the table.
Luke offered his hand to Myria, in an invitation to dance, and she couldn’t help but to take it. She knew her husband would feel betrayed by her doing so, but not accepting it would’ve been taken as a gesture of hostility… and she really loved to dance, an activity which Aemond rarely granted his company for.
She accepted the boy’s hand with a shy smile on her face, and joined the other two on their dance. Her movements were sluggish and erratic, given that she still felt pretty sore, but Luke seemed to catch up on that, and corresponded with her pace. Helaena and Myria beamed and laughed at each other each time their paths crossed, excited for being able to endeavour in such a diversion.
Only when the room went still as the King being taken away by guards, did she notice how carried on she had gotten. She looked towards Aemond, and found him staring at her, with a fervid glare tracing her frame as she danced.
Guilt set on the depths of her stomach, and so she thanked Luke for the dance, and returned to her husband’s side. She tried grabbing his hand, not daring to look at him, but her advances were, rather painfully, rejected by him. She then raised her gaze, only to see him intensely staring at Luke across the table, as a pig was placed in front of them. She saw the boy’s grin, and knew that would be the last straw.
She tried stopping Aemond from getting up, after he smashed an angry fist against the table, but he cruelly pushed her hands down. “Final tribute.” He announced. “To the health of my nephews: Jace, Luke… and Joffrey. Each of them handsome, wise… strong.”
“Aemond.” She whispered, scared of the outcome his reckless words were doomed to have.
“Come,” he continued, “let us drain our cups to these three… Strong boys.”
“I dare you to say that again.” Jace threatened him, threateningly walking towards him.
“Why?” Aemond cackled, approaching him as well. ‘Twas only a compliment. Do you not think yourself Strong?”
Jace slapped him in the face, and Myria gasped in terror. Aemond stood still, rather amused at the boy’s effort. She tried grabbing one of his arms, but he gently shoved her backwards.
Chaos broke in the room as Aegon pushed Luke against the table, and Rhaenyra and Alicent yelled for everyone to stop. Aemond knocked Jace to the floor, and turned around chuckling. Myria was petrified at the sight of her husband apparently enjoying all of it.
She froze in panic, as her gaze reached his, and showed no remorse whatsoever in his semblance. She looked at him, unintentionally staring at him appalled, which she then regretted upon seeing his hurtful expression. She had done the one thing she had promised him she would never do: not being on his side. And for that, Myria could not forgive herself.
Alicent ran past her, to approach him. “Why would you say such a thing before these people?” She whispered, with anger.
“I was merely expressing how proud I am of my family, Mother.” He replied, rather loudly, not reciprocating his mother’s attempt to keep their discussion away from everyone’s ears. “Hm, though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs!”
Jace bolted towards him, as to start a fight again, and he would’ve done so, if it weren’t for Daemon stepping in between the two.
“Wait, wait.” He said, calmly. He stared at the man he believed to be the root of the chaos, and Aemond held his gaze for a couple of seconds, until he awkwardly looked away, and left the room.
“Wait, Aemond!” Myria called him, but he didn’t turn back. He wasn’t running, but he was walking at a pace fast enough she couldn’t keep up with him, hard as she tried. “Aemond, wait for me.” She whined, earning no response from him. She kept following him across the hallway, until she couldn’t.
The Maester had been right, she was in no condition to handle all of that. She should’ve stayed in her room. That way, she wouldn’t have caused that mess. Most importantly, she wouldn’t have caused her husband such pain. She leaned against a wall, heavily breathing, and closed her eyes. She was busy trying to calm her racing heart, when she felt a hand lay on her lower back.
“Come on.” He said, grabbing her by the waist, and effortlessly raising her in his arms— yet refusing to meet her eyes.
“I’m sorry.” She whimpered, a lump full of unspoken emotions choked her throat, as hot tears streamed down her cheeks. “Gods, Aemond, I am so, so sorry.” She threw her arms around him, burying him in a hug. He instinctively embraced her back, resting his cheek against her head. Her face was laying on top of his shoulders, and he could feel her relentless sobs on his neck. She didn’t deserve such kindness from him.
He always savoured seeing those who he felt had wronged him in pain, but his wife could never possibly do wrong enough for him to enjoy her anguish. He felt as if he were the one being tortured instead, which wasn’t fair at all given the situation.
“Shh.” He calmed her, tenderly rubbing her back. “I am not angry at you.”
“I—I know.” She hiccuped. “But I am m—mad at myself.”
Aemond figured there was nothing he could do about that, so he simply kissed her forehead, and kept on carrying her towards their shared room. Once they reached it, he decided to drop on the plush chair by the bookshelves, with Myria still on top of him.
She kept on quietly tearing up on the crook on his neck, while he reached towards the chair arm, from which her legs were dangling. He took each of her shoes away, letting them fall with a thud against the floor.
“Why aren’t you mad at me?” She cried, finally lifting her gaze towards his.
“I am upset with you.” He had no trouble confessing that. “But not as upset as you seem to be with yourself. Why?”
“I danced with Luke. Wasn’t that the reason you got so furious?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t enjoy that, but I’d say I’m more angry at Lucerys because of it than you.”
“That’s exactly what upsets me!” She sobbed. He stared at her in confusion, and disbelief. His wife’s erratic emotions weren’t that much of a thrill to him. “That I don’t know how you feel, or how you might feel. That I fail to understand why a childish quarrel that’s over ten years old enrages you so much! And I’ve come to realise it’s my fault. That I’ve never tried enough to force it out of you!”
He drew his lips into a line, and stared out the window.
“Did you get angry because of the pig, then?” She asked. He abruptly looked at her again, visibly bewildered. He had never told her that story. He was about to ask her where she had heard such a tale, when— Aegon. Of course. Myria wasn’t one to drink that much, but she did rather indulge in a few too many more cups than what she could handle when enjoying dinner with his brother. Most of those times Aemond didn’t pay attention to their blabbers.
“Of course it wasn’t about the stupid pig.” He snapped, angry, and certainly not desiring to discuss such a topic. He tried to move her aside so he could get up, but she placed a hand on his chest and softly pushed him back.
“Aemond… what really happened that night?”
He looked at her, and grunted. He didn’t want to talk about it, not then, not ever. He didn’t owe anyone the reasoning behind his grudges. They were there. They stood there, as the angry, newly red scar crossed his face, and blamed him for it. Rhaenyra herself asked for him to be tormented for simply stating the truth. What everybody already knew.
As she reached for the buckle behind his head, lovingly undoing it to then leave a kiss above the sapphire in his eye, he realised his poor wife didn’t deserve his cold temper. She hadn’t been there, she had no way of knowing. She didn’t understand it was more than a childish grudge, because he had never let her believe otherwise. Perhaps he was too afraid of being vulnerable. He looked up towards her, and found that if ever there was a moment to be such a thing, it was with her. His adoring wife. The woman who kissed his scar each time she caught a glimpse of it. The woman who put up with his temper with a loving smile on her face. The woman who had never, not even once, rejected any part of him, and instead embraced the whole of him, bad and worse. The woman who had honoured him with being the mother of his children. And then the words came flooding.
He told her how the rest of the kids had ganged up against him, for claiming Vaghar as his own. He explained how he had never been serious about hurting them, and yet he still lost his eye. He told her how his mother had been the only one who had actually cared about him getting irreparably hurt, and the embarrassment everyone put her through that night.
“I got angry because my father dragged himself from deathbed today to defend what my sister brought on herself and yet he couldn’t care less when I lost an eye.” He explained. “I am mad that my mother, the only person who stood by me, was put to shame that night, being treated like a crazy woman. I am mad that my nephews seem to thrive on it. And I am mad that no one seems to understand that.”
“I understand, now.” She said, tearing up. “You deserve an apology, Aemond. Both you, and your mother. It’s not childish to want one, it's what you’re due.”
He very simply stared at her, softening his sharpened features as the sight of her tears, and kissed her hand.
“I am sorry I didn’t understand before.”
“It’s not your fault.”
“Yes it is.” She said. “I am your wife. And I promised you I would always be by your side, but tonight I wasn’t. And I apologise for that.” She inhaled, bracing up in courage to say her next words. “I love you, Aemond. And I want my actions, all of them, to be a testament of that.”
He wasn’t crying, and he wouldn’t cry, such a gesture didn’t even cross his mind. Crying was a reaction long lost in him, it took too much of an effort. But he was moved— he wouldn’t deny so. He very subtly nodded, and buried his head against her chest, gripping on her back. They remained like that until Myria fell asleep, and Aemond carried her to bed. He laid down next to her, holding tight onto her body, and for the first time in a very long time found sleep with his mind at peace.
****
a/n: i hope you enjoy this! and i hope it's not too long lol. just a few notes on the chapter: Aegon is not as shitty as he is in the show, and also Viserys' illness doesn't progress as quickly. Thank you so much for reading!
@cherryaemond