We Light The Way
(Warning: Mentions of self-harm & suicide)
A pact was struck, had anyone other than Alys Rivers proposed the opportunity. Aemond would have cut their stomachs open and let their spilling bowels be food for the mutts.
Harrenhal had been relentless in their visions, mocking Aemond in his arrogance. He would die never to be king, a bloated corpse forever at the bottom of God's Eye. Never to receive a proper burial as a Targaryen prince, a dragon rider of Vhagar.
I would rather burn the kingdom to ashes.
Any restraint Aemond had was non-existent, the slightest remark was answered by his blade. Let their fear and blood feed the hungry ghosts embedded in Harrenhal. The thought of joining them in this accursed place suddenly became appealing. To unleash his own wrath from the other side onto any who allied with the whore of Dragonstone, or even the whore herself and her pathetic lot.
Staring at his own blade, Aemond stood silent weighing his temporary insanity. Either to slit his own throat or steal the victory from Daemon, plunging his blade into his eye.
Choices choices…
Had Alys not found him when she did, proposed what she said...
If dragons are real can't the same be said about magic. Aemond Targaryen, what do you desire and are you willing to pay the price?
â—Ź
Through the tears, Visarys watched his children. Rhaenyra could hardly look him in the eye. Perhaps it was the grief wrapping his mind whenever she did meet his gaze. He could hear her condemning him, asking why he wasn't the one on the funeral pyre. Visarys could weather through her resentment, she'll understand the burden of the crown soon. It was his heir who truly worried him.
One of Aemma's greatest gifts left in this world. His first born son Aemond who had her eyes, his gaze reopening Visary's grief anew until his death.
His boy was silent throughout the whole procession. Aemond's voice never wavered as he gave his dragon Vermithor the command, “Dracarys.”
Shedding no tears as the dragonfire consumed Aemma's funeral pyre. His heir held his head high, showing strength despite it all. Oh how Visarys wanted nothing more to comfort his boy. Voice his pride at his conduct, reassure him that their heartbreak wasn't a weakness. That Aemond could fall apart in his arms to be a son grieving his mother. Any who dare ridicule him for not being the perfect heir during this tragedy, would feel Visarys’ wrath. Yet, he knew better. His son never fully welcomed his presence. Indifferent at best and at worst hostility. Perhaps Aemond foresaw Aemma's death, punishing Visarys from birth for this moment. What a fool I've been.
As the smoke cleared, leaving only ashes. Aemond still did not move but alongside him stood Rhaenyra. Their Targaryen hair catching the setting sun's light. Visarys for a moment saw a halo of fire on top of their heads. Blinking it disappeared, a trick of the light or his grief manifesting hallucinations once again. Instead Visarys took it as a sign from the gods, perhaps even from Aemma.
He could imagine it clearly, his- no Aemma's children together on the Iron Throne. The path for his repentance.
For Aemond and Rhaenyra, Fire & Blood, Aemma this I vow to you.
â—Ź
Gently opening the door to the nursery, treading lightly not to wake the wet nurse. Aemond peered inside the cradle, where his living breathing baby brother slept. The “Heir for a day” hadn't and would never come to pass. It raised Aemond's suspicions but seeing the newborn brat fully. He bit down the urge to crackle and curse the gods. Perhaps even "dear Alys" was mocking him. Oh how they love to play their games, treating us as nothing more than cyvasse pieces.
"You feel the same, don't you? Aegon."
