Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, Lady of Runestone, was not born of love. Nor passion. Nor even a sense of duty. She was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royc...
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Arianwyn sat at one of the great oaken tables in the library of the Red Keep, elbows on either side of the great tome before her as she pressed her balled fists into her still-flushed cheeks. She had been waiting for the answers contained in this book for as long as she could remember, but now that they lay before her, all she could think about was Aegon's words.
"As soon as your father acknowledges you're alive..."
What did it matter that he acknowledge her? Had she not been taken in by the King and Queen themselves? Lived in their castle, raised alongside their own children? Was she not the Lady of Runestone, head of an ancient and noble house in her own right? Why should her fate be determined by a man she had never met?
Daemon Targaryen was across the Narrow Sea, living happily with his young wife and two daughters. According to the latest ravens, a third child would join them soon.
Did Lady Laena know about her stepdaughter—or Baela and Rhaena about their sister? Did they care? Did they yearn to know her as she did for them?
Likely not, she told herself. Daemon had remarried before Arianwyn had seen her first full moon. He had not written to inquire about her health nor that of her mother. He had said nothing before fleeing across the sea. Ten years had passed, and he had never once written to his firstborn daughter.
He did not want her as part of his family.
-
"Aria?" Aemond's soft voice echoed through the cavernous library. He had been wholly silent as they raced through the stone corridors of the Red Keep, passing by her chambers to retrieve the book before coming to the library.
Now, he sat next to her at their usual table, a stack of parchment in front of him. They had been here many times before – at this same table, delighting in each other's companionship and curiosity, but their hours here had grown quieter in recent years. They were no longer the rambunctious children they once were. Aemond would readily admit much of the fault in that lay with him.
He was not as happy as he once was.
But he was still happy here, in their place. It was perhaps the only place he could still depend on to find comfort and respite. Here, he was never alone. Even if Aria was elsewhere, he could still find her in the books. The winding rows of shelves held happy memories of their childhood, when they first delved into the paper forest in search of knowledge.
Here, they had uncovered the great tales of their ancestors and felt the great legacy that sat upon their shoulders. Only now, Aemond realized the true, overwhelming weight of that legacy.
Just after his tenth nameday, Aegon had caught Aemond reading one of the more romanticized books of Valyrian history in the library. He snatched it and began reading aloud. "And so the fair Princess Elaenyra was granted mercy by her uncle, the noble King Synar, for he knew she was not to blame for her father's treason. They were soon married, and Elaenyra became Queen. In the end, Prince Vaerion succeeded at placing his blood on the throne, but at the cost of his very life."
