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Aemond Targaryen

Basics

Full name: Aemond Targaryen

Aliases: Aemond One-Eye, Hand of the Queen, Rider of Vhagar

Age: 25

Date of birth: April 14th, 105 AC

Pronouns and sexuality: He/Him, Straight

Alliances: House Targaryen

Spoken languages: High Valyrian, Common Tongue

Religion: Follows the Faith of the Seven

Physical Traits

Eye(s): One dark lavender eye and a sapphire in his other eye socket

Noticeable features: Long jaw/chin, ears that stick out, thin lips

Hair: Long, white-silver, often straightened

Build: Lean, built

Height: 5’11

Personality

“Positive”: Fearless, loyal, driven

“Negative”: Arrogant at times, can be vengeful, ruthless with punishments

Alignment: Lawful Neutral

Interests: Sword fighting, history, government

Hobbies: Flying on Vhagar, reading late at night, studying old maps and books, spending time with his wife Rhaena, teaching others High Valyrian

Goals: To make a name for himself while remaining loyal to the rightful queen

Fears: That no matter what he does, people will always see him as a disfigured boy

Social weapons: His position as Hand of the Queen and rider of Vhagar, which strengthens his influence and standing

Connections

Mother: Alicent Hightower

Father: Viserys I Targaryen

Siblings: Rhaenyra, Aegon II, Daeron, Rhaena, Helaena

Family status: Second son and third child of Alicent Hightower and Viserys I Targaryen

Partner: Husband of Rhaena Targaryen

Children: N/A

Court ties: Hand of the Queen, Prince of King’s Landing

One of Visenya known habits was walking into rooms and silently taking a seat in one of her parents’ laps. Something she had seen her muña do with her kepa and something mumuña Rhaenys did with kepāzma Corlys, though the adults usually did it in theprivacy of the family livingrooms.

Being told no, was not something that happened often to Princess Visenya. It had started when she was very young, due to her being sick, but it was also because she very rarely asked for outrageous things, nor things her family wouldn’t do for her.

After her classes ended, Visenya wandered through the hallways of The Red Keep. Her classes had ended earlier than usually and none of her nannies or carers had known, which allowed the princess a rare moment to herself, but Visenya wasn’t very fond of being on her own. Visenya was often seen with her mandia Rhaena, following her around like a shadow or reading to her hāedar Aemma, when she wasn’t with her parents.

Her steps led her the familiar route to her kepa’s office. The door was ajar and Visenya paused, listening for activity inside. She could hear someone talking, though it wasn’t her kepa, sounded like one of the guards. Visenya looked inside and spotted her kepa in his seat by his ornate desk.

Without a word, Visenya pushed the door open wide enough to slip through. The guard paused, briefly, and bowed to her, before he continued talking. Visenya climbed into her kepa’s lap with practised movements and leaned against him. She knew not to repeat words she heard in private meetings, though truly she rarely paid attention, but simply enjoyed the proximity to her parents or grandparents.

Only when the guard left did Visenya speak. “Kepa? Will you tell me about when you were little? About you and mumuña Rhaenys and your Lēkia Viserys?” She asked, toying with a button on his waistcoat.

Loreza took a moment to stretch her shoulders and back out when she woke up. Her temporary residence was so unlike her chambers at home in Dorne, but everything was different in King’s Landing, especially because of the winter. Her muscles slowly warmed, despite the chill in the air, thanks to the fire roaring in the hearth. A cup of steaming mint tea stood on the mantle and Loreza rose and wrapped her fingers around it. At least they still had mint in the capital.

Loreza had fought the decision, or as she recalled it, the summoning, to King’s Landing for the Winter. Why would they leave Dorne for a colder harsher climate. The only one she hadn’t fought was Aliandra, allowing her eldest, the Ruling Princess of Dorne to make the final decisions for her. She had, however, declined staying within the walls of the Red Keep and had found accommodation just outside the palace walls. Nothing grand, nothing rich, but it suited her needs. The fact that she could easily slip off to The Streets of Silk was an added perk.

The mint tea refreshed her and cleared her mind. She got dressed in her usual silks, though she added a fur lined cloak, a gift from Qoren many years ago, before she braved the winter roaring outside. The sun had yet to rise, despite it being morning, but the winds were less harsh than the night before with only a hint of snow.

With practiced steps Loreza made her way to Obella’s rooms, but stopped in her tracks as she saw the door opening, yards before she reached it. At least it’s a Velaryon, Loreza thought as she saw Prince Lucerys Velaryon, heir to Driftmark step out of Obella’s room. She raised a practiced brow but curtsied respectfully to him. “Good Morrow, Prince Lucerys.”

Loreza slipped past the young man and entered Obella’s room, closing the door behind her. “Please tell me, he only came by to wish you Good Morrow,” she said with a soft smile towards her daughter. “Or did you forget you wanted to break your fast with your mother?”

Encountering Floris in the library had made Rhaenys realise that her Baratheon cousins were all at The Red Keep. It had been embarrassing not being able to recognize Floris, but it had been years since she had seen her cousin, formative years for the young woman.

Recognizing Maris was somehow easier. The clever storm, wasn’t that how her own mother referred to Maris? It had not been easy to realise just how close her own mother was with her younger cousins when their own relationship was still strained.

“Maris?” Rhaenys called out as she spotted her cousin near the dining hall. “Sorry,” she added as she finally caught up to Maris, now slightly out of breath and rubbing her side. These last few days she had begun to get stitches at the slightest of movement. Calm little hippocamp, please. Muña will remember to move slower, promise.

“I heard Floris and Lady Jocelyn arrived. And that you arrived with Princess Rhaenya. It took me an embarrassing amount of time, to realise that I would have a chance to catch up with all my Baratheon cousins during this royal wedding.” She said with an easy smile. “Though, Floris didn’t seem too pleased to run into me,” she added with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“Mother – Lady Jocelyn – tells me you’re quite studious? Which languages are you capable of reading? If you don’t mind my curiosity?” Rhaenys asked, she had always loved languages, especially High Valyrian and had been fortunate enough to find a husband who shared her love of languages, though he had never quite mastered High Valyrian. “And I was wondering whether you might share Princess Rhaenya’s fondness of lemon cakes?”

Hand pressed firmly to her stomacher, Alicent inhaled through her nose. Held as she recited to herself, Father, Mother, Maid, Warrior, Crone, and released from slightly parted lips. The nausea was barely held at bay by this exercise but it still worked.

The keep upon Dragonstone was an upfront to her senses and she loathed, not for the first or last time, that the Princess- no, Queen, had gifted this to her children. She understood its importance, however she also recognized that it was giving her son something she could not.

Confidence.

Surely, given time, he will realize how natural he is in his Lordship that this would be the first step towards his proper ascension. Alicent nodded to herself, confirming her own quiet thoughts. Yes, yes, this would work. She just needed to have Faith. She always had Faith.

In the meantime, she must step back and allow him to come into his stewardship on his own. She could not interfere nor could she carry this burden for him. Alicent must light the way.

The Dragonstone Sept was pitiful but also historic. The figures of the Seven Who Are One were carved from the very masts of the ships that carried the first wayward Targaryens to these rocks.

She could not begin there.

Alicent cringed at the final tally of sums that had been presented to her but through her father's work in negotiating her marriage contract and later with the Iron Banks, this did not drain her coffers. Affixing her seal to the documents before her, she gestured with a sweep of her fan for her belonging to begin to be packed from the quarters she had claimed for herself in her son's halls.

It was time she went to her new home.

The Green Sept it could be called or Dragonstone's Grand Sept. The name did not change the fact that it was first and foremost a cathedral devoted to the Faith of the Seven Who Are One. It was nestled in the mountains on the very outskirts of the island's primary port village.

Alicent's quarters were safely ensconced between the grand cathedral and mountains. From her bedroom and front parlor she could look out towards Blackwater Bay, back towards the Red Keep. Further inwards were her dining and entertaining quarters, which all encircled the grand glass domed garden she had installed.

Vents dug into the rock bellowed steam that made the plants installed here to stay in a near constant state of bloom.

This room may also be perhaps why the Sept had it's moniker. It had been dubbed by it's creators as The Green Room.

High Tide, Driftmark, 8th day of the 3rd moon, 130AC

“Dorne, really?” Corlys’ voice came around the corner.

Rhaenys stopped in her tracks and turned towards her husband. “Yes, Dorne. I am visiting Mahira. This has been planned for weeks, Corlys, I did not surprise you with this knowledge.” She said and patted Nyssie’s backside gently, having her strapped to her front, ready to take off to see her friend.

“I know. But I… You’re taking Nyssie away from Driftmark.”

“Nyssie and I have left Driftmark several times Corlys.”

“Not without me.”

“Ah…” Rhaenys smiled softly and leaned up kissing Corlys’ cheek. “There it is. I would offer to invite you, but you and Mahira don’t get along and you have never been a fan of flying on Meleys.”

“It’s not that we don’t get away, it’s her trying to…”

“… Corlys, we’ve been married for forty years, if Mahira stood a chance to take me away from you, don’t you think it would have happened by now?” Rhaenys grinned and gave herself into Corlys’ kiss, enjoying his possessiveness and his hands all over her.

Dorne, 8th day of the 3rd moon, 130AC

An hour later Meleys landed effortlessly in Dorne. Rhaenys reached back and untied herself and her belongings, before she climbed down. “Well done, Nyssie,” she praised her daughter and kissed her dark curls tenderly. “Kirimvose Meleys,” she added and patted the dragon’s neck lovingly.

“Look Nyssie, this is Dorne. The southern most kingdom in Westoros. You’ll like it here. I like it here. Now, let’s see where Mahira is, people usually notice when Meleys arrive.” Rhaenys looked around, they had landed a save distance from buildings and markets, Meleys had always been considerate like that, unless Rhaenys prompted her to act differently. “Will you be all right here a few days, old friend? I’ll ask Mahira for some boar or sheep for you.”

“It should have been you,” Corlys said, moments after Rhaenys’ ladies closed the door behind them, leaving him alone with his wife. “The crown should be yours,” he repeated as he walked up to her. The look she sent him spoke volumes. It’s been thirty years. Let’s not do this today. “I know, I know,” he said and placed his hands upon her hips, smiling as her arms wound around his neck, her fingertips tickling the hairs on his neck.

He was dressed to perfection. Velaryon blues, soft pliable leather details. The decorative breastplate with the Velaryon hippocamp embossed. Even his belt buckle showed the Velaryon insignia. He had half expected Rhaenys to wear Targaryen colours; reds and blacks. Or black and gold as she had worn at Laenor and Rhaenyra’s wedding. But when she had asked him to bring a specific blue silk from High Tide he was proud to learn that she would be displaying Velaryon colours at the coronation ball.

“Will there be dancing tonight?” He asked, lips close to hers. He expected a yes but received only a peck and a smirk in return, before she pulled from him. “Come, Princess. Let’s celebrate our new Queen.”

Word count: 200