The Realm's Fright | HOTD S1 | Fem!OC x Aemond Targaryen Fanfiction

Chapter Five

The hall was bathed in the cold light of the flickering torches, casting long shadows over the stone floors as the royal family gathered in the heart of Driftmark's great hall. It was a night fraught with tension and bitterness, one that would leave its mark on the bloodlines of House Targaryen for generations to come. Everyone had been roused from their slumbers by the King's summons, an urgent call that echoed throughout the castle like a death knell. The King had taken the Driftmark Throne for the night, his tired eyes weary beneath the weight of his crown and the trials of his family.

Prince Aemond, whose once-pristine features had been marred by a grievous wound, sat grimly at the center of the hall. His face, cruelly slashed, was bound with fresh linen, but it did little to mask the fury that burned beneath his brow. His lost eye, a hollow pit of darkness, gleamed with hatred as he glared across the room. Queen Alicent stood beside him, her posture stiff, eyes glistening with barely-contained tears, her lips set in a grim line. Her older children, Aegon and Helaena, were clustered nearby, their faces pale with the same tension that had gripped their mother.

The Maester, summoned hastily from his chambers, had worked feverishly to clean the blood that soaked Aemond's face, the wound deep and cruel, but still not enough to mask the lost light of his eye. The boy had fought valiantly, but fate had been unforgiving. The Maester had done his best, stitching the gash closed with steady hands, but the loss of the eye was final. Aemond would carry it with him for the rest of his life, a permanent reminder of what had transpired beneath the pale moonlight.

The bickering of the children had filled the hall, a cacophony of shouting and accusations. Rhaenyra, furious and frantic, had demanded answers as she knelt before Lucerys, her hands shaking as she examined the bruised, bloodied face of her youngest son. Her eyes were wide with horror at the sight of the wound. Abroken nose, blood smeared across his cheeks, the aftermath of a violent struggle. Lucerys tried to hide it, his hands trembling, but it was clear to everyone what had transpired.

"Who did this?!" Rhaenyra cried, her voice quivering with emotion.

"Mother, I couldn't stop it..." Alysanne whispered, her voice choked with guilt. Her mother's cold stare bore into her, and the girl shrank back behind her twin brother, Jacaerys, who stood stoically beside her. Her heart ached for the violence that had been done to her family, but she could not find the words to express the sorrow that pressed upon her chest.

"He attacked me!" Aemond's voice rang out across the room, sharp with accusation. His fury was palpable, his face twisted in a grimace that seemed almost unnatural.

"He attacked Baela!" Lucerys shouted back, his voice rising in defense.

"He broke Luke's nose!" Baela, standing by her cousin's side, added with vehemence.

The children's voices clashed against each other, a tempest of anger and confusion that drowned out all sense of reason. Alysanne stood, a silent witness to the chaos that her family had wrought, knowing deep down that it could have been stopped—but had it? Should she have stepped in?

"I'm sorry, Jace," Alysanne whispered again, her voice trembling. Her mind replayed the events over and over, and she couldn't shake the haunting thought that perhaps if she had acted sooner, this could have all been avoided. Ser Harwin had always praised her skills with a sword, telling her she was more than capable of handling herself. But in the cavern that night, when the fight had broken out, she had hesitated. She had not thought to seize the knife from her brother's hand and prevent the violence that had followed. She had stood by, paralyzed, as the blood was spilled.

"It should be my son telling the tale!" Queen Alicent's voice cut through the tumult, her frustration reaching its peak. Her words, like a dagger, only fueled the fire of the argument. The air in the hall grew thick with tension, and the children's voices swelled to a crescendo, a screeching cacophony of blame and shame.