𝙺𝙰𝙻𝙾𝙽 ° aemond targaryen

Act Two, Scene Six

┍━━━━━━━━━━━━┑
"𝙷𝚘𝚕𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚃𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚞𝚎"
𝟷𝟸𝟾 𝙰𝙲 - 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚁𝚎𝚍 𝙺𝚎𝚎𝚙
┕━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

     CHATTER WAS LIGHT AS THE Targaryen pair walked arm in arm towards the throne room. People glanced as they passed, but were quick to look away, shuffling closer to one another to get away from the two. They were intimidating to the court, to say the least; their similar scowls and scars complimented each other all too well.

     The hall was eerily silent, enough so that it would be heard if a pin hit the stones. Most of their family was already gathered in the hall when they entered, along with quite a crowd from those of the court, eyes turning to face the couple at the sounds of the girl's shoes hitting the floor.

     Rhaenyra was shocked at how much the girl had truly grown. Her body had filled out, the deep emerald fabric of the dress she wore clinging to every curve. She was a woman grown now, and truly no one to take for granted. Her cold eyes were enough to run one's blood cold.

       Though, the eldest princess could not help but notice the way her stomach swelled slightly, mostly hidden by the emerald coat she wore over her dress.

And Aemond wasn't the boy she remembered at all. His hair was pinned away from his face, his eye patch and scar on full display as he stood tall and proud beside the princess. She could see the muscle in his arms rippling as he walked towards his mother and siblings.

      The boy's hand found his way to her lower back and he guided her to stand beside his sister, staying in its place as the pair waiting for the court to pile in. Vaella could practically feel the anger radiating from her blood father from across the room; the thought alone almost brought a smile to the girl's face.

The soft clicking of shoes against the floor could be heard, all eyes turning to Lord Hightower as he took a place before the Iron Throne.

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with the grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark." The lord's voice echoed off the walls, no one daring speak a word over him. "As Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters."

The man turned, pushing his cloak out from under him as he lowered himself onto the throne. As he did so, the Targaryen girl allowed her eyes to scan the room, seeming the bundle of nerves that was her younger nephew. He seemed to had felt her eyes on her and glanced her way, though he quickly averted his gaze when his eyes met her cold ones.

"The Crown will now hear the petitions," Otto spoke once more. "Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon."

All eyes turned to the man as he stepped forwards, but not before casting a look in the eldest princess' direction. He kept his head held high, no sign of worry or doubt etched into his features.

"My queen," He said, bowing his head to the woman before looking towards Otto. "My lord Hand." He let merely a moment pass before he spoke once more. "The history of our noble houses extends beyond the Seven Kingdoms to the days of Old Valyria. For as long as House Targaryen has ruled the skies, House Velaryon has ruled the seas. When the Doom fell on Valyria, our houses became the last of their kind. Our forebearers came to this new land, knowing that were they to fail, it would mean the end to their bloodlines and their name.

"I have spent my entire life on Driftmark defending my brother's seat." Vaemond continued on. "I am Lord Corlys's closest kin, his own blood. The true, unimpeachable blood of House Velaryon runs through my veins."

Before he could speak again, the curt voice of Rhaenyra echoed through the room. "As it does in my sons, the offspring of Laenor Velaryon." Her words caused everyone's attention to go to her. "If you cared so much about your house's blood, Ser Vaemond, you would not be so bold as to supplant its rightful heir. No, you only speak for yourself and for your own ambition."

"Hold your tongue."

Once again, eyes were turned elsewhere. This time, to the youngest of the Targaryen girls, whose eyes were narrowed in on the Princess Rhaenyra. The woman in question held back a shudder at the cold look pointed her way.

Even despite being many years her senior, she couldn't deny that there was a certain terror that came with being on the other end Vaella Targaryen's glare.

"You will be called upon when it is your turn to speak," She continued, her voice hard and leaving no room for arguments. "Until then, hold your tongue."

Alicent, sensing the tension, decided to take a more measured approach to the outburst. "You will have a chance to make your own petition, Princess Rhaenyra. Do Ser Vaemond the courtesy of allowing his to be heard."

Though she looked like she would protest, the white haired woman backed down, thought lifted her eyes when Vaemond turned his body towards her. He was addressing her when he spoke again, not the Hightowers.

"What do you know of Velaryon blood, Princess? I could cut my veins and show it to you and you still wouldn't recognize it. This is about the future and survival of my house, not yours."

He faced the throne again. "My queen, my lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly put myself before you as my brother's successor... the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides."

     The man humbly bowed before stepping away from the forefront, allowing the queen and Hand of the King to nod in respect in return. The court was silent as the man's shoes clicked softly against the floor.

     "Thank you, Ser Vaemond." Otto spoke, turning his gaze to the white haired woman. "Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Lucerys Velaryon."

     She shared a glance with her son before stepping forwards. Taking a deep breath, she began. "If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that nearly 20 years ago, in this very-"

     But then, the doors opened, and all eyes turned towards the king.

𖤍