DARKSIDE // Aemond Targaryen

TWENTY-ONE

Sleep evaded Visneya last night. The anxiety had clung to her like a strong sea fog. She had commanded Delaya to take the seeds and hide them where no one may find them; only when Aemond was asleep the following night was she permitted to return with them.

The seeds. The seeds which may bear the news of a blessing and a curse. At a time like this, war knocking at their door, a babe would be the worst thing for them, and yet hope had bloomed in Vusenya's chest for the first time in a year.

Now, as the sun began to rise over the horizon, could Visenya find sleep, if only for a few hours.

Lords and ladies would start gathering in the throne room at midday, and the question of Driftmarks heir and Luke's legitimacy would be brought into question, and her two other brothers aswell, and hers. As the handmaidens began dressing Visenya for the day in a beautiful red and black gown with billowing sleeves that dragged on the floor, did she start questioning whether her own father would be present.

All these years, she debated speaking to Ser Criston Cole, yet she could never find the courage to do so. Never would she tell him the truth, and never would she let the Greens get their hands on that sole piece of information that could tear down her whole family. Now, flying the colours of her house, Visenya felt herself truly looking like the heir to the Iron Throne.

"You look ravishing, my dear," Aemond whispered in Visenya's ear.

She smiled, the only joy of the long walk to the throne room. Visenya could not shake all her anxieties though–Luke, a child, the throne, it all loomed over her like a terrible storm.

"You're troubled," Aemond took both of her hands, making them pause their walk, "tell me."

Visenya did not want to tell Aemond, give him the hope they soon may have a small bundle of joy to hold in their arms. She would not tell him until she could no longer hide it.

"Helaenas dreams, all of them, do you believe them to be true?" She asked, finally meeting his gaze.

He sighed, "I have always taken her prophecies with caution, and yet I find this one hard to lay to rest." Visenya hated that spark of hope in his eyes, "however, this one I can feel it's life, like a small beating heart."

"And if it is wrong? If I never give you children?" Visenya felt her eyes start to burn.

Aemond took her face in his hands. "This marriage may not have been one of our choosing and may have been filled with hate long ago; I choose you, with or without heirs, to carry our legacy long into the future."

A single rouge tear fell down Visenya's face, quickly swept away by Aemond's gentle fingers. "And will you stand with us?"

He nodded, "I will, even if it means Sunfyre would scorch me where I stood."

–––––

"Though it is the great hope of this court that Lord Corlys Velaryon survive his wounds, we gather here with a grim task of dealing with the succession of Driftmark."

Visenya struggled to stop herself from rolling her eyes at The Hand's words. Stood behind her mother, Aemond at her side, she found herself spinning her Targaryen signet ring on her finger with agitation.

"As Hand, I speak with the King's voice on this and all other matters."

"Cunt." Visenya heard her true father whisper from before them, and she struggled to keep in a laugh. Aemond let a small grin dance on his beautiful pale skin.

"The Crown will now hear the petitions."

Visenya scowled at Otto Hightower, sitting on her grandsire's throne in his steed, her mother's rightful place and her own. She then looked to the Greens; Queen Alicent looked as self-righteous as ever, Helaena trying her best to maintain interest in this stupid matter, Ageon–the whore–looked both bored and drunk at the same time, and Daeron looked ever the protector over his family.