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

Chapter Ten

Alysanne rushed through the open doors of the dining hall, the heavy oak creaking under her hasty steps. Her boots echoed in the silence, and every head turned as she entered, a momentary hush falling over the gathered lords and ladies, all already seated. She noted, with a touch of bitterness, that they had already settled into their places, as if her absence had been expected, her lateness a familiar thing.

Her grandsire, King Viserys, sat at the head of the table, a frail figure beneath the heavy crown that still sat upon his brow. The years had weighed upon him more than the robes of royalty ever could. His face, once strong and vibrant, was now drawn with the lines of age and the burdens of his rule. Yet, despite his frailty, there was a light in his eyes when they met hers—familiar, warm, and filled with a quiet pride.

"Grandsire," Alysanne murmured, her voice carrying more reverence than she cared to show, as she moved around the long table. She bent down, pressing a soft kiss to his unmasked cheek, the scent of aged wood and sandalwood clinging to his skin. The touch was fleeting, but to Viserys, it felt like a blessing. His smile, weak as it was, spread across his face, and the old man's voice trembled with something akin to warmth.

"Alysanne, you have become a woman grown," he said, his words soft, yet filled with the weight of time, as though he had not expected to see this day, her grown, poised, and so very far from the girl she had once been. The sadness in his eyes did not escape her notice, but she did not linger on it. She never did.

"And my wife-to-be, father," came Aemond's voice, cutting through the fragile moment with its customary sharpness. His gaze was locked on Alysanne, unwavering, his chin held high, a look of pride and possessiveness in his violet eye. His words, though seemingly innocent, carried a weight of ownership, as though their betrothal was more a matter of fact than a choice between them.

Beside him, Prince Aegon smirked, his lips curling into something like amusement, though his eyes were laced with the familiar venom of brotherly rivalry. It was always the same with them. Aemond's need for affirmation, Aegon's need for mockery. Alysanne couldn't help but feel a flicker of something—resentment, perhaps—that she would forever be bound by them, by their politics, their games. But she would not let it show.

"I'm glad you're finally here, my sweet," Princess Rhaenyra's voice cut through the tension, sweet and welcoming, though laced with a certain coolness Alysanne had come to recognize over the years. She sat at Daemon's side, her hand resting upon her husband's arm, her posture regal but relaxed. "Please, take a seat."

Alysanne nodded with a tight smile, though her gaze lingered on Rhaenyra's face longer than it should have. The princess, once a sister of sorts, now felt like a distant stranger, bound by the same blood but not the same loyalties. Alysanne's heart twisted, but she concealed it behind a composed mask. There was no time for sentiment, not now, not in this room, not with all the eyes that followed her every move.

She moved towards the empty chair beside her betrothed, the space between them too wide for comfort, too close for ease. The table groaned under the weight of the unspoken words, and Alysanne knew, just as all of them knew, that this gathering was not just for supper. No, this was a meeting. A dance of power, veiled in the guise of family.

As she sat, the faint clink of her chair echoed in the room, a final punctuation to the stillness. She met Aemond's gaze across the table, his purple eye glowing with an intensity that she had long learned to read. She would not let it rattle her. Not now.

"Shall we begin, then?" Daemon's voice, deep and commanding, broke the silence once more. His eyes never left Rhaenyra, but his hand tightened around hers, as though anchoring her to him—and perhaps, in turn, anchoring himself to the throne.