#odam

He continued to chuckle to himself about his encounter with the woman at Harrenhall, admiring her for biding her time yet enjoying the likely possibility of her being wrong. There was no possible way Lady Maera of House Wylde would be in the Capital, especially on this day. A sense of satisfaction washed over him as he entertained the notion of cutting off Alys's head and proving that he was not so easily swayed by magical predictions and other silly notions.

Upon entering his rooms, Aemond shed is riding gear with a contented sigh and rang the bell, summoning a servant to assist him in preparing for dinner with his family. He exchanged the weathered clothes for more formal attire, opting for a black leather doublet adorned with the sigil of House Targaryen - three-headed dragons. His trousers matched the dark hue of his doublet, and he pulled on polished black leather boots to complete the ensemble. Allowing a maid to assist him, Aemond had his silver hair brushed back into its usual straightened look, securing half of it away from his face. With a nod of thanks, he dismissed the servant, allowing himself to gather his thoughts before facing his family.

Aemond reached into a box on his bedside and pulled out another eyepatch, this one made of sturdier leather and less weathered from riding. With reservation, he removed his old eyepatch, catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His scar and sapphire eye stared back at him, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of disgust. Quickly, he covered it with the new eyepatch, hiding the reminder of his past injury.

Departing from his rooms, a sense of duty compelled him to visit his mother, the dowager Queen, before joining the rest of the family for their meal. However, an unsettling feeling gnawed at him, prompting him to pause in the hallway. He glanced out of the window, his gaze drifting over the expanse of the Keep Gardens, where the sun began its descent behind the distant hills. She wouldn’t actually be there would she? That would mean the whore at Harrenhall was right, and the chance of that being true was slim… Aemond knew there was at least an hour until dinner, so with a frustrated huff, he decided to go and at least check outside, unable to shake off the notion.

Descending into the Keep Gardens at twilight, Aemond found himself immersed in a serene atmosphere. The fading light cast long shadows across the lush greenery, painting the scene in hues of gold and amber. Flowers bloomed in vibrant colors, their sweet fragrance mingling with the cool evening air. The sound of birds chirping and the gentle rustle of leaves added to the tranquil ambiance. Finding a secluded spot, Aemond settled on the garden wall, positioned high up behind a tall tree. From this vantage point, he could observe the beauty of the gardens while maintaining a sense of privacy.

As the gardens gradually grew darker with the setting sun, Aemond became mindful of the approaching dinner hour and the need to not be late. Preparing to descend from the wall, he couldn't shake off the slight disappointment he felt at not encountering Maera. Yet, as he readied himself to jump down, the sound of footsteps approaching along the path below froze him in place. Looking down, he saw a flash of blue and gold, and a curly mane of brown and silver. It was her.

Watching from his elevated perch, Aemond observed Maera's graceful stride as she walked down the path. Her turquoise gown, adorned with intricate golden detailing, caught the fading light and shimmered with every movement. He couldn't help but admire the way the tight bodice accentuated her curves, highlighting her ample breasts and slender waist. It struck him how much she had blossomed into a woman since he had last seen her.

Leaning in to get a closer look from his elevated position, Aemond's gaze lingered on Maera's dark brown hair, styled in an elegant half-updo. A delicate braid encircled the crown of her head, allowing the rest of her locks to cascade down her back in soft waves. Amidst the brown strands, her distinct silver streak caught the fading light, serving as a visible reminder of her Targaryen lineage.

When Maera walked toward the garden wall to gaze out at the shoreline, Aemond felt conflicted. If Maera was indeed here, specifically on this day, it meant that Alys had been right. Perhaps there truly was such a thing as foresight. And if that were the case, what other implications could it hold? What was this supposed "divine plan" the witch had mentioned to him?

“The Jewel of Rainwood,” he murmured into the air, his words filling the silent surroundings of the gardens, watching the Lady’s reactions closely. He noted the slight panic in her movements, the way her gaze darted around frantically, searching for the voice. As she reached for what he assumed was a dagger concealed beneath her skirts, he couldn't help but smirk. The notion that she could ever pose a threat to him seemed laughable.

He decided to humiliate her by speaking the language of his ancestors. Aemond was now fluent and whilst he knew Maera was also learning when they were children, he was sure she had not stuck to it. She was a Wylde, not a true Targaryen.

“Sīr, ao emagon māzigon arlī naejot dārys tegorīr?” So, you have returned to Kings Landing? He asked her mockingly, observing the wrinkle of her nose and the squinting of her eyes as she gazed up to where he was hidden behind the trees. He smirked, “Mōrī jēda nyke ūndan ao istan hāre jēdri ag? Ao istan olvie vēdros rȳ issa mandia’s dīnilūks” Last time I saw you was three years ago? If I recall correctly, you were quite agitated at my sister’s wedding.

But the girl did not seem intimated. In fact, quite the opposite, maybe even irked. She removed her hand from dagger beneath her skirts and Aemond watched her stare up defiantly at his concealed figure. “Se mōrī jēda nyke ūndan ao, aōha ego ēdan mazverdagon hae rōva hae aōha zaldrīzes.” And last time I saw you, your ego had swelled to match the size of your dragon.

The Prince’s confidence wavered at her reply, causing his eyebrow to raise in surprise at her perfect wording and annunciation of High Valyrian. Clearly, she had diligently maintained her studies, and her proficiency was almost on par with his own. Almost.

“Issi ao māzis hen? Nykeā lua ruaragon inkot se tēmbi?” So are you going to come out? Or continue to cower behind the trees? She called up to him in a goading manner as he breathed out a chuckle. With practiced grace, he leaped down from the wall like a cat, landing elegantly on the ground below. Stepping out of the shadows, he turned to face her, a mix of amusement and curiosity in his single violet eye.

Gods, she had changed. Yes, her features remained very similar to those in childhood. But now she truly was a woman grown, and he struggled to maintain his indifference as he stalked towards Lady Maera. Her face, still round as it had always been, now boasted higher and more defined cheekbones. Her once button nose had transformed into a graceful slope, adding to her newfound allure. Her eyes, still the same unique shade of green, now held a different kind of depth and intensity. They seemed to pierce through him, stirring something within him that he struggled to contain.

As the Lady displayed a low curtsy before him, Aemond felt a tightening in his chest, his doublet collar suddenly feeling constricting. There was an undeniable allure in her submission, a tantalizing appeal that sent a shiver down his spine. When she rose, the pair walked side by side down the path, their conversation seeming cordial to any outsider, but in reality, it was far from pleasant. Each word exchanged between them was laced with bitterness, cruel jabs, and sarcasm. Aemond seemed to relish in their verbal sparring, pushing the boundaries further with each barb, determined to come out on top.

"Rumors are quite persistent, Maera. They say the eldest daughter of the Master of Laws is not as virtuous as her family would hope,” the Prince sneered at her, hoping his words would shake her to her core, that she would feel at his mercy.

Instead, she met his accusation with a smile. "If I were a lord serving my King, I could frequent the street of silk as much as I pleased. But whether I have been…deflowered or not, who I take to my bed is hardly any concern of yours."

When Maera did not deny her indiscretions, it struck a chord with Aemond. She had been sullied, tainted by her actions, much like his sister Rhaenyra had been in the tales recounted by his mother over the years. The difference was that Maera showed no signs of shame, meeting his challenges head-on with an admirable, albeit foolish, defiance.

Attempting to provoke Maera further, mentioning his sister Queen Helaena was the only instance where Maera visibly reacted. But it wasn't for the reason Aemond had anticipated. Instead, he could see that Maera still harbored a strong and fierce protectiveness over Queen Helaena. No matter what accusations Aemond threw her way, Maera's loyalty to her queen remained unwavering. It was clear that she simply wanted to be there for her queen, as her friend.

Ending their conversation, with each party agreeing to avoid each other, Aemond couldn't hide his satisfaction as he watched Maera walk away in a huff. And when she turned to look back at him, his smirk grew wider. The game of cat and mouse had begun, and now he relished the opportunity to make her life hell, just as she had made his when she abandoned him all those years ago.

As her form disappeared from his view, Aemond chose a different route back to the Keep. Instead of entering through the main doors, he navigated the secret passageways hidden within the fortress. These tunnels, overseen by his ancestor Maegor the Cruel, were well-known to every Targaryen born at the Keep, and Aemond had mastered them over the years.

Swiftly and silently, Aemond made his way through the narrow passages, his footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. He maneuvered through the twists and turns with practiced ease, before finally reaching a hidden door concealed behind a tapestry. With a deft motion, Aemond pushed aside the tapestry, revealing the grandeur of the Great Hall beyond. He stepped through the doorway, his presence unnoticed by the occupants within.

The room was adorned with banners displaying the sigil of House Targaryen, creating an atmosphere of regal splendor. A long table was laid out in the centre of the hall, draped with rich fabrics and adorned with silver candelabras. Torches flickered along the walls, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene. Servants bustled about, laying out plates of food and pouring wine into ornate goblets. The air was filled with the tantalising aroma of roasted meats, freshly baked bread, and spiced wines.

At the head of the table sat King Aegon, his imposing figure commanding attention as he chugged his wine with gusto. To his left sat Queen Helaena, her delicate hands fiddling with her cutlery as she stole glances around the room. On the opposite side of the table stood Lord Otto Hightower, his tall stature imposing yet regal, engaged in conversation with Aemond's mother, Queen Alicent. The two conversed animatedly with their voices hushed, coinciding with the peacefulness of the room.

Aemond's stealthy return was abruptly interrupted by the King's booming voice as he spotted his younger brother, calling out to him from his seat at the table. "You move like a ghost, Brother! Where have you been?" Aegon inquired with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

Rolling his eye, Aemond responded nonchalantly as he walked towards his family, his steps echoing softly against the polished stone floor. "I had matters to attend to before dinner, your Grace."

Alicent, who had been engaged in conversation with Lord Otto, Aemond's grandfather, left her discussion and approached her son, planting a tender kiss on his marred cheek. Aemond welcomed the affection from his mother, hoping it meant she was not still upset with him.

The dowager queen smiled warmly before inquiring, “And Harrenhall?" she asked, her tone tinged with hopefulness.

Aemond hesitated, reluctant to divulge the grim details of what had transpired at Harrenhall. "We shall discuss it in detail tomorrow, Mother. But rest assured, I handled it," he assured her, choosing to leave the darker aspects of his mission unspoken for the time being.

Satisfied with her son's response, Alicent nodded understandingly and returned to her seat. Aemond followed suit, leaving a deliberate space between himself and Helaena, anticipating Maera's arrival. He relished the thought of confronting her once more, eager to continue his clandestine game with Maera from a more public stage.

“Lord Jasper, and his daughter, the Lady Maera of House Wylde,” one of the guards announced as the doors opened. When the Master of Laws entered with his eldest daughter on his arm, a hush fell over the room, all eyes locking onto the young Lady who has finally returned to court after many years away. Aemond's gaze remained fixed on her, his single violet eye tracing her every movement with a mix of curiosity and anticipation.

“Seven Hells,” he heard Aegon muttering.

Maera's entrance was as graceful as ever, her turquoise gown billowing around her as she scanned the room. Aemond watched as her gaze swept past the assembled guests, lingering on each face before finally landing on him. A smirk played at the corners of Aemond's lips as he observed the furrow of confusion that creased Maera's brow. He could practically feel the gears turning in her mind as she tried to decipher how he had managed to arrive before her.

The sense of satisfaction that washed over Aemond was palpable as he reveled in the feeling of outsmarting her. With Maera's presence at the Keep, their game of had only just begun, and Aemond was determined to emerge victorious, his fixed steely gaze silently daring her to challenge him further.

However his smug smile disappeared when Aegon rose from his seat with a gleam in his violet eye and a Cheshire Cat smile. It was the same look that Aegon wore when he indulged in his more base desires, like when he bothered the serving girls or took a particular interest in a Lady at court. A grin that Aemond found distasteful, especially in this context. Watching Aegon approach Maera with such boldness, Aemond's jaw clenched involuntarily, his grip tightening on his goblet. He couldn't help but feel a surge of emotion, a complex mixture of indignation, frustration, and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on.

Seeing Aegon embrace Maera, his hand boldly placed on her waist, Aemond felt a pang of discomfort. His gaze narrowed as he observed the interaction, the uncomfortable look on Maera's face only adding fuel to the fire raging within him. It was a sensation akin to a primal instinct, a territorial instinct, but Aemond refused to acknowledge it as such. Instead, he attributed it to his protective instincts over his sister, the Queen, and his disdain for Aegon's lack of propriety in his wife’s presence.

When Maera locked eyes on the table, Aemond couldn't help but notice the slight huff of annoyance as she realized her allocated seat was uncomfortably close to him. He almost chuckled at her reaction, finding joy in her discomfort. As she passed by him to take her seat, Aemond caught a whiff of her familiar scent, a blend of vanilla and rainwater that stirred something within him. Despite his resolve to remain unaffected, he couldn't deny the uplifting effect it had on him.

Throughout the meal, Maera seemed to ignore him, focusing instead on her food and the conversation around her. Aemond took this as a victory, feeling a sense of superiority in their silent battle of wills. However, when Aemond looked up from his plate, his anger flared at the sight of Aegon's continued leering at Maera from across the table. In their childhood, the girl had never tolerated Aegon’s distasteful behaviour, and Aemond was disappointed to see her acquiescing now, even though he knew she couldn’t really protest because Aegon was the King.

Despite his anger towards the young Lady of House Wylde, Aemond noticed the positive effect her presence had on the atmosphere in the room. Helaena seemed more animated, reminiscing with her old friend, her violet eyes sparkling with joy. Even Aemond's mother, the dowager Queen, was seen laughing, a rare sight that brought a sense of warmth to the room.

"And do you still train with the sword, Lady Maera?" Aemond heard his grandfather ask her, causing his ears to prick up. Memories of their childhood training sessions, before societal expectations had stifled Maera's freedom, flooded Aemond's mind, and he could not help but be curious as to what her answer was.

However, before Maera could answer, her father, Lord Jasper, interjected, cutting off the conversation. A flicker of annoyance crossed Maera's face, swiftly masked by a forced neutrality. Aemond observed how she quickly composed herself, casting her eyes down as if to remind herself to behave and not cause a scene. This did not seem like the behaviour of the girl he once knew.

Refusing to let the moment pass, Aemond swiftly interjected, "The Hand of the King was addressing Lady Maera, not you, my lord." The one-eyed Prince turned his head towards Maera, seeing the look of confusion and suspicion on her face at his interruption, as well as something else. Gratitude maybe? "Lady Maera, I believe my grandfather is awaiting an answer,” he declared, his eye locked on her.

Aemond relished in the discomfort evident on Maera's face as all eyes turned to her, a faint blush painting her cheeks with embarrassment. However, when Maera looked straight at Lord Otto and revealed that she, in fact, still train with a sword, Aemond couldn't suppress a hum of acknowledgment. Despite his disdain for her, there was an admiration for her continued skill. It was a testament to her resilience and determination, proving that she hadn't succumbed to the role of a helpless Lady as he had assumed.

“Such behavior hardly befits a lady who aspires to find a suitable husband, no matter how beautiful and witty she may be,” Aegon commented with a smirk, seemingly trying to humiliate her.

Maera, undeterred, replied with a retort as quick as lightning, “Perhaps it's time that the lords of Westeros alter their attitudes, so that I might find one worthy of my time and affections.”

Aemond felt a smirk tug at the corners of his lips, though he quickly suppressed it with a clearing of his throat. This was the Maera he remembered from their youth – fierce, honest, and unyielding.

The Prince was aware Maera's attentiveness to Helaena's emotions, her offer to escort the Queen to her rooms earning a grateful smile from his sister. Despite his irritation at the prospect of Maera's presence in the Keep, he acknowledged that Helaena would benefit from her friend's company. As Lord Jasper took his leave some time later, Aegon wasted no time in taking the vacant seat next to Aemond, launching into a conversation filled with lewd and exaggerated remarks.

“Gods, did you see that arse, brother? And those huge tits?! Holy Father, how I would love to-“

“Aegon, that's enough!” Alicent's stern voice cut through the room, her disapproval evident as she scolded her elder son. Aemond, of course, had noticed Maera's physical attributes, but he maintained a facade of indifference, refusing to engage in Aegon's lascivious commentary. He was above that, after all.

"You constantly used to call her fat and ugly when we were young," Aemond reminded his brother. But then, with a smirk, he added, “Let us not forget, she would not tolerate your vile behaviour either.”

Aegon grinned in response, unfazed by the reminder of his past humiliations. "But the ugly duckling can turn into a beautiful swan, Aemond," he retorted, his gaze drifting towards the door through which Maera had exited. "Very beautiful indeed." Aemond could feel the weight of his mother and grandfather's disapproving stares, but he knew they wouldn't challenge the King's behavior. After all, who dared to defy a monarch?

Aegon stood up, stretching dramatically. "Well, I'm positively exhausted. I think I shall retire," he announced, his tone dripping with faux weariness.

Aemond arched an eyebrow, skeptical of his brother's sudden desire for an early bedtime. "You never go to bed this early," he pointed out, his suspicion evident in his voice.

"Being King is exhausting, brother," Aegon replied with a smirk, placing a patronizing hand on Aemond's shoulder. "How fortunate you are to never know such a burden." Aemond clenched his jaw, suppressing his frustration at Aegon's jab. He watched his brother leave the room, his resentment simmering beneath the surface. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, and Aemond knew the true reason behind Aegon's early departure.

“Aemond…” Lord Otto's voice cut through the tension, a silent plea in his tone.

"I will see to it," Aemond declared, standing up with determination. With a curt nod to his grandfather, he exited the Great Hall, intent on finding his brother and ensuring Maera remained safe from his clutches.

The one-eyed Prince wandered the dark corridors, his steps heavy with anger as he searched for Aegon. His older brother's actions brought shame upon the family time and time again, his reckless behavior and disregard for propriety tarnishing their name. It frustrated Aemond to no end that Aegon faced no consequences for his actions, especially his mistreatment of women, which was widely known within the court.

As the ever-dutiful second son, Aemond felt compelled to clean up his brother's mess for the sake of their family’s honour. He couldn't help but feel disillusioned by the notion of an elder brother, someone meant to be looked up to and followed, especially considering Aegon's status as King. Yet, Aemond couldn't deny the bitter truth: Aegon's frequent disappointments had only reinforced Aemond's belief that he would be the better choice to wear the crown and lead the realm.

Aemond's heart pounded in his chest as he listened to his brother's hushed voice in the distance, drawing him closer with every word. Peering around a stone pillar, he watched in horror as Aegon stood close to Maera, her back pressed against the cold stone wall. The sight of Aegon brushing a stray strand of hair behind Maera's ear ignited a fiery rage within Aemond, like a volcano on the brink of eruption.

His horror turned to disbelief as he witnessed Maera seemingly play along, her fingers tracing a flirtatious path across Aegon's chest. Aemond growled under his breath, feeling betrayed by Maera's actions. He had always suspected her of being a harlot, a manipulative snake seeking to advance her own agenda by cozying up to the King like so many others. But to see her reciprocate Aegon's advances was a betrayal that cut him to the core, igniting a fury within him unlike any he had felt before. As Aegon and Maera leaned in for a kiss, Aemond's anger reached its boiling point.

“Ooof!”

The one-eyed Prince’s rage was replaced by astonishment when Maera suddenly drew her fist back and delivered a powerful punch straight to his brother's stomach. The force of the blow sent Aegon staggering backward, collapsing onto the floor with a groan of pain.

A chuckle escaped Aemond's lips as he shook his head in disbelief. It seemed he had underestimated her. Despite his initial suspicions, she had not succumbed to Aegon's advances, but had instead stood her ground and defended herself, just as she had done when they were young. It was a reassuring realization, and Aemond found himself feeling a newfound respect for Maera's strength and resilience.

As Maera hurried away, Aemond emerged from the shadows, casting a satisfied gaze over his fallen brother. He felt a surge of vindication, knowing that Aegon had received the retribution he deserved. Looking up, Aemond caught Maera's gaze as she glanced back over her shoulder.

At first, he saw a flicker of fear in her eyes, but when Aemond demonstrated his indifference, and even pride for what she had done, it quickly shifted into something else—a mixture of determination and relief. There was an unspoken understanding between them, a silent acknowledgment of shared sentiments and shared enemies.

Their eyes locked for a brief moment, conveying volumes without a single word spoken. Then, with a nod from Aemond, Maera turned away and continued on her path back to her room. Aemond watched her retreat, a sense of respect a flicker of their old camaraderie shining through

“Do you believe me now, my Prince?”

Aemond returned to Harrenhall a few weeks later, not only to check on the progress of the guards, but, as a man of his word, he freed the witch. The Prince couldn't shake the feeling of being unsettled by her ability to foresee events, especially when her words had proven to be true. And yet, if she proved to have the power of foresight, what else did she know and how else could it benefit him?

The crackling hearth cast flickering shadows across the room, illuminating shelves lined with jars and ointments, giving the space a cozy yet mysterious atmosphere. Facing Aemond, Alys sat with an air of quiet confidence, her catlike green eyes sparkling in the warm glow of the fire.

"I understand it is difficult,," the witch began, her voice calm and measured. "To accept that there are things beyond your understanding."

Aemond's brow furrowed, his expression hardened. "There were many known ancient mysteries of Old Valyria," he countered, his tone sharp with skepticism. "House Targaryen and its descendants are the only people in the world who can bond with and fly dragons.” He paused, before leaning forward to emphasise his point. “I can assure you, what you tell me is not beyond my understanding."

Aemond's patience began to wear thin, his jaw tightening and his hand clenching into a fist at his side. He couldn't shake the disdain he felt for the situation—here he was, entertaining notions of magic and prophecy with a mere bastard of House Strong. The memory of the last encounter with a Strong bastard, ending in death, lurked in the back of his mind, casting a shadow over the present moment.

With a frustrated sigh, Aemond stood from his chair, pacing around the room with his hands clasped behind his back. "You say that I want her, but you could not be more wrong," he declared, his voice tinged with bitterness. "She occupies my thoughts because she is the bane of my existence. I cannot stand her, and she in turn, cannot stand me."

Alys watched him intently, her gaze unwavering. "And yet you are bound," she declared confidently. "It is fate, my Prince, foretold by the Gods."

"The Gods tell you this themselves, do they?" Aemond asked, his voice laced with sarcasm yet tinged with curiosity.

"Or they show me," Alys replied, her tone calm and confident, accompanied by a serene smile.

Aemond's skepticism was evident as he approached her, looming over her seated form. "You mentioned a divine plan the last time I was here. The least you could do is tell me," he demanded, his gaze piercing.

"Why would I do that, my Prince?" Alys countered, her head tilted slightly inquisitively.

The witch’s disrespectful tone only fueled Aemond's growing irritation. Despite her lowly status, the witch seemed to believe she held the upper hand in their exchange. But Aemond was determined to change that. His gaze hardened as he met Alys's eyes, silently asserting his authority and refusing to be belittled by her insolence. "If you wish to return to the executioner’s block, just say the word," he sneered with a smirk.

Alys, not so easily intimidated, rose from her seat, meeting his gaze fearlessly. "But then you would not know what the Gods have in store for you," she pointed out. "I volunteered my knowledge for free last time. But since this is somthing you are now requesting personally, it requires payment.”

Aemond scowled, feeling a sense of unease creep over him. "What kind of payment?" he inquired, his voice betraying a hint of reluctance.

The witch's grin widened, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. "Since this is something you want to know, the payment must come from you," she stated cryptically, her gaze scanning him intently. Finally, she settled on a suggestion. "A lock of your hair, perhaps?"

Aemond scoffed at the seemingly trivial request, finding it absolutely ridiculous, but the thought of uncovering more of the witch's insights compelled him to comply. Unsheathing his dagger, he deftly severed a small strand of hair from the back of his head. He presented it to Alys, who accepted it with a gracious nod, her eyes alight with satisfaction.

The witch twisted the lock of hair around her fingers, her eyes closed in deep concentration, reminiscent of Helaena's meditative muttering, Aemond observed. Though he couldn't discern the words she murmured, he was taken aback when she suddenly cast the silver hair into the fire.

Impatience gnawed at him, prompting Aemond to break the silence. "Well?" he demanded, his tone edged with frustration.

The witch turned to face him, a serene smile gracing her features. "Your brother, Aegon, is now the King, as is his right as Viserys’s firstborn son," she began, her voice calm and measured.

Aemond's irritation flared at the mention of his brother. "Yes, I know that," he hissed, eager to get to the point. "What is your point?"

Alys's smile remained, almost unnervingly sweet, as she delivered her revelation. "His reign will last no longer than two years," she declared cryptically, forestalling any immediate questions from Aemond. "Yet the King of Kings will be born directly from your blood."

Taken aback by her words, Aemond furrowed his brow, his curiosity piqued. Before he could inquire further, Alys continued, gripping him by the hand. "You need her. The eye of the Maelstrom is a nest for the dragon," she proclaimed, her words laced with a sense of urgency. Aemond attempted to pull away, but the witch's hold remained steadfast. "You will ascend the throne. And she will be your Queen."

Ambition warred with morality as the Prince grappled with the implications of her words. The thought of ascending to the throne enticed him, fueling his desire for power and recognition. But the cost weighed heavily on his conscience—his dear nephews, Aegon’s sons, would have to meet a grim fate for him to claim the crown. Despite his ambition, Aemond couldn’t bring himself to wish harm upon his beloved nephews.

The mention of Maera’s involvement in the prophecy added another layer of complexity to Aemond’s internal turmoil. Despite their mutual animosity, the notion of Maera as his Queen seemed improbable, if not outright ludicrous. The enmity between them ran deep, and the idea of uniting with her in such a significant manner felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Aemond withdrew his hand from her grasp abruptly, his gaze fixed on Alys with a mixture of bewilderment and confusion etched on his features. Before he could articulate his barrage of questions, Alys forged ahead, her voice steady and unwavering."You will sire many children. But it is the union of a son and a daughter that will produce the greatest King of all," she declared, her words laden with gravitas.

Aemond's cautious inquiry followed. "My children? With her?" he asked, his tone tinged with uncertainty.

Not being entirely direct, Alys pressed on, her eyes seemingly fixed on some distant horizon. "I have heard the beat of his dragon’s wings across the world. Not only will he be King of Westeros, but he will unite the North, South, East, and West into a single Kingdom," she prophesied, her voice resonating with conviction. "And his rule will be a great one, with a dynasty of dragons to follow."

Aemond shook his head in disbelief. "Impossible. Lady Maera is of a minor House and would never agree to a marriage. I am promised to a Baratheon also. My nephews…it cannot be," he countered, his voice tinged with skepticism.

Yet Alys remained steadfast, her proclamation resolute. "The path the Gods have set for you is magnificent. And when you tread it, I will be at your side to guide you. For the sake of your House, do not desecrate their vision, my Prince."

Notes: I’ll be uploading main ODAM after this now sorry, I’ve been hyperfixating on the Aemond chapters 🤣

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