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sydsrichie · 1 year

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'til queendom come, ch. 10 (finale)

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aemond targaryen x targaryen oc

wordcount: 15,249

ch. 10, soldier, poet, king: "No matter what comes after this life, no matter what comes in this life, I fear you’re rather stuck with me, Prince Aemond.”

His laugh was boyish, high and sweet. “Then eternity shall have to do, Princess Visenya."

warnings: canon-typical violence, canon-typical incest, abusive parent/child relationship, nsfw/18+, rough sex, choking, mentions of canon sexual violence & abuse (including against minors), spoilers for HoTD/F&B

a/n: wow 🥹 that's it, folks! So emotional to be at the end, but I'm so freaking glad this has been so warmly received and I cannot wait to hear if you all liked the ending. Comments, asks, reblogs, replies <3 it all means a lot to me! And I think there WILL be a shorter 20 - 30k sequel at some point in the future, although when exactly I cannot say... but watch this space!

Once King’s Landing loomed before Sena and she officially had a crown upon her head, she no longer had the luxury of worrying by Aemond’s bedside in peace. The work of piecing the realm back together started and it didn’t stop, in fact it was all she could do to stem the tide. She threw together a Small Council based solely off of people she felt she could afford a basic level of trust and in those shaky early days she often wondered what in the Seven Hells she had gotten herself into. But Princess Rhaenys came into the role of Hand of the King like she was born to it, lending experience and steadiness where Sena had little and less. Lord Cregan Stark thankfully took up the role of Master of Laws at her bequest to right some of the furious mess the kingdom was in, and Lord Corlys Velaryon retook his role as Master of Ships. From there, Lord Tyland Lannister as Master of Coin returned the crown’s fortune to the royal coffers, Ser Criston Cole resumed his role as Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and the newly legitimised Lady Alys Strong of Harrenhal arrived in the capital to serve as Mistress of Whispers.

And so, they got to work. The great roads in and out of the city were thrown wide open to trade, as was their ports on the Narrow Sea. Despite some initial hesitance, slashed taxes encouraged traders back to the market squares and the smallfolk to go out and spend their hard-earned coin. The Faith of the Seven worked with the crown through Queen Alicent to feed and clothe the most desperate; it was amazing what the royal coffers could pay for when they were not fielding armies and paying sellswords.

A smaller, more personal victory for Sena was convincing Daeron to knight Jarrad for her in recognition of his loyal service during the Siege of King’s Landing, so she might take him on as a sworn shield. The first morning she was able to steal away from the castle for a few hours, she visited Ser Jarrad and his wife, Marigold in their new home just past Cobbler’s Square.

It was on her return from that visit that she finally slipped down a familiar hallway of Maegor’s Holdfast.

She had been trying to see Helaena since she had first set foot back in the city, nearly a whole week ago now, but she was continually rebuffed by the former Queen’s household, telling her she was receiving no visitors. So, Sena finally took it upon herself to sneak in. As much as anyone can sneak anywhere when they were attended by a Kingsguard.

The guard on Helaena’s door took one look at the distinctive missing fingers on her sword hand and her white-cloaked companion and stepped aside for her without a word. Sena nodded a thanks and opened the door.

The air was stale and sour as she slipped into the room.

Through a slim gap in the curtains, a little light spilled in, and dust motes danced on the air. At the table in the centre of the room were abandoned dishes and food that was growing fur. Sena fought to keep from wrinkling her nose, her already sensitive stomach churning.

On the bed, there was a mound of furs and blankets. Sena drew closer on shaky feet. “Helaena?” She whispered. “Helaena, sweetheart?” The mound of furs did not stir, but there was a change in the steady rise and fall. It grew a little quicker, a little more harried. “Helaena, it’s me, it’s Sena.”

Helaena finally raised her head, letting her blankets fall, and she looked so tired. Her beautiful hair was a wild tangle with what looked to be matted clumps in the back. The neck of her nightgown was yellowed with sweat. “Oh Helaena,” Sena breathed.

“Sena,” Helaena whispered. She let out a breath and let her head fall back to the pillows, watching her oldest friend approach.

Sena nodded. “It’s me,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

Helaena shook her head. “You were here. For months, you were here, locked up and alone and I did not come to you. Not even once.”

“Helaena, do not…” Sena trailed off. She reached the side of the bed. “May I?”

Helaena watched her with large, lamp-like eyes and nodded slowly. Sena climbed up onto the bed, burrowing under the covers, and pulled Helaena into her arms. The girl smelled sour, like sweat and filth, but Sena just pulled her closer, tucking her head under her chin. “Sweet girl, do not apologise to me,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to Helaena’s hair, wiping at her cheeks with her healing hand. “I am so sorry you had to do this alone.”

Helaena was moving in slow motion, so Sena held herself steady as the girl reached up and took her disfigured hand in hers. Helaena had bitten her nails to the bloody quick. Large rashes splayed down her fingers, the backs of her hands, turning her skin to scales and flakes. Sena’s heart ached in sympathy. “Your sword hand, Sena- what happened to you?” Helaena asked softly, wetly, taking in the bandages that covered Sena’s hand.

Sena reached out with her left hand and gently pulled Helaena’s gaze up to meet hers with a finger. Dark bruises marred her under eyes. She could not get out of bed and she could not sleep. What a hellish limbo to be stuck in, staring at the wall, the ceiling, seeing her children’s bodies every time she closed her eyes. It gripped Sena in a dark pool of fear, resisting the urge to reach for her own belly.

“I won, Helaena,” she said, pressing a kiss to the girl’s forehead. “I won. That’s what happened.”

Helaena met her eyes shakily and nodded. Tears tracked down the bridge of her nose, dampening her already soiled pillow. Sena pulled her into her chest, kissed the crown of her head. She felt a growing damp spot on the throat of her gown as Helaena weeped against her. “Shh, shh,” she soothed. “We ended it. We ended it. I know it will not bring them back, Helaena, I know. But we ended it.”

“I do not know how to go on,” Helaena sobbed. “I do not know how to get out of this bed. Even the ladies, my maids have given up on me. I cannot… I cannot…”

Sena nodded against her head, smoothing down her hair, sliding her hand over the top layer so she did not catch on the tangles. “Do not worry about that, Helaena. Let me worry about that,” she drew back and met Helaena’s eyes, pressing their foreheads together. “We can make a deal. We can make a deal right now. You let me figure it out, you let me find out how we go on from this. In return, you promise me - you breath. You blink. You sleep. You sup water. You eat when you can, whatever you can. Do you think you can promise me that, Helaena?”

Helaena blinked away more tears. She curled her fingers into Sena’s. “I will do my best, Sena.”

Sena nodded, relieved. “And that is all I can ask of you. That is all you can ask of yourself, sweet girl.”

They lay like that for awhile, Sena cradling Helaena against her chest, holding her as she cried, tears tracking down her own temples. She held Helaena as she shook and shivered and sobbed. She breathed for the both of them, drawing deep, steadying lungfuls of air. Her hand ached where they were twined into Helaena’s, throbbing with pain but she did not pull away, just gritted her teeth.

“Helaena,” she whispered after what felt like hours, after the girl had awoken from a fitful slumber. “Helaena, can I ask you to do something for me? It is a big ask, but it is important.”

Sena met soft lilac eyes and Helaena nodded shakily. “For you? Anything.”

Sena kissed her cheek and drew a breath. “Will you come with me? Get up with me? It’s your brother, it’s Aemond,” she whispered softly into the space between them. “He wants to see you but he cannot get out of bed. He is okay, he is growing stronger every day, but the journey to the Capital was hard on him.”

Helaena drew breath. “I do not want Aemond to see me like this, Sena.”

Sena shook her head. “Aemond loves you,” she said softly, “exactly as you are. He asks for you day and night. We can take the hidden passages. Remember we used to sneak through them as children? Do me this one thing, Helaena, and I swear I will never ask anything of you ever again.”

Helaena drew a deep breath, steadied herself, and nodded.

The sky was darkening outside as Helaena was gently coaxed from bed. Sena helped her shirk off the old nightgown, replaced it with a fresh one. She pulled Aemond’s hair ribbon from her own hair and bound Helaena’s hair at the base of her neck loosely. She cupped Helaena’s cheek in her hand. “There is so much beauty in your strength, it makes my heart ache, Helaena,” she murmured.

Helaena shook her head weakly. “Do not jest, Sena. I am not strong. I wield no sword, I sit on no council-“

“You endure. With a kind heart, with love for every living creature the Gods put on this world,” Sena said, holding Helaena’s gaze with the sureness of steel. “You have been to hell and back and you are still kind, Helaena. What could be stronger than that? I need you in my life, Aemond needs you. You let us see the forest, not just the trees. You keep us kind, Helaena. There is no nobler fight than living in a cruel world and remaining kind.”

Helaena nodded, her eyes brimming with fresh tears, and allowed Sena to lead her from her rooms. Into the hidden passages, through the walls of Maegor’s Holdfast. Sena rested her hand on a rusting handle and pushed.

The hidden door creaked on its hinges, and Aemond’s rooms opened out before her, her fingers still twined tightly into Helaena’s, keeping her going.

A valiant fire crackled in Aemond’s hearth - Alicent had taken over keeping it stoked for her for the day - and the Prince perked up in bed, raising his head from his pillows. Their mother raised her head from her reading - a ledger for the next planned soup kitchen for the needy, by the looks of things. They both took in Helaena, gaunt and tired, and gave her pure looks of love.

Sena helped her friend to the edge of Aemond’s bed and Helaena rested back against the headboard, sitting next to her recovering brother.

Daeron had left for Dragonstone at Sena’s command, to take his brother Aegon home once they had received word of the former king’s seizing of the keep. Sena would trust Daeron with her life, knew he would bring Aegon back safe so they could all kneel at the foot of Aegon III’s throne alongside Rhaenyra.

But there would be time for all that tomorrow. Right now, Aemond reached out for her. He was growing stronger and was awake for most of the day now, weaning himself off of the pain relief so he could claw back his mind. The maesters had not yet assented to him replacing his sapphire eye, so the socket still gaped where his left eye had been, but none of the women who loved him in that room minded at all. Sena rounded the bed and sat down on his other side, pulling his hands into her lap and pressing a kiss to his head. Helaena smiled softly at them.

“My darling girl,” Alicent breathed. “I have so missed your smile.”

Helaena turned to look at her mother, her eyes glimmering with unshed tears. Aemond took one hand from Sena’s lap and reached out to grip Helaena’s fingers. “Hello, sister,” he said in his croaking voice.

Helaena squeezed his hand. “It seems you two have been getting yourselves in trouble,” she said quietly.

Aemond laughed, low in his throat. “Oh, you have no idea.”

Alicent raised her eyebrows. “We are lucky to still have the both of them, Helaena,” she said, shaking her head minutely. “Fools, the pair of them.”

Sena grinned, remembering the look of pure exasperation the Queen Dowager had given them when she had arrived at Harrenhal weeks ago to find one of them near death and the other with child. But then the emotions had caught up and she had burst into tears of joy, pulling Sena against her and weeping into her neck. Sena had held her tightly, a little bewildered, combing her fingers through rich brown waves and patiently answering every question about a wedding, and what they would serve, and who they would invite, and would she be showing by then? The scandal. But she supposed she understood - a certain amount of scandal would be inevitable in their situation. Even if you put aside the entire civil war, there was still the small matter of a broken betrothal and a child conceived out of wedlock, and the scandal would only grow as her belly did and she remained unmarried.

In truth, Sena could not wait to wed Aemond. She would have found the first septon she could lay her hands on by now if it was not for the fact they would not do it without Helaena at their side. And what was scandal and gossip to the House of the Dragon? Seeing as there was currently no higher power in the land than Sena other than her own seven-year-old brother, her dissenters could answer to Vermithor.

“Did you tell her?” Aemond asked his betrothed, looking up at her with a soft smile. Sena looked across them and met Helaena’s eye.

“Tell me what?” Helaena asked, taking in the looks on their faces and thankfully smiled with them. Good news, at last.

Sena twined her fingers into Aemond’s and brought their hands to rest on her stomach, where a small bump was growing, day by day. “We are to be married, Helaena,” she told her softly, “but we might have put the cart before the horse, I’m afraid. The Grand Maester thinks me due in five moons.”

Fresh tears broke free of Helaena’s eyes as she tackled her brother to the bed, kissing his cheeks and giggling happily. Aemond protested weakly, not meaning a single word of it, and held her to his chest, laughing his boyish laugh. Alicent smiled at them from her seat by the fire, her own eyes glistening. “Do not attack me!” Aemond laughed, “Sena is the one with the bastard in her!”

“Your bastard,” Helaena grumbled, smacking his chest playfully. “Honestly, brother. Pious, honourable Aemond! Have you no shame?”

There was no heat in her words though and brother and sister laughed heartily. Then, Helaena reached over her brother to pull Sena into her arms. “Oh Sena,” she breathed.

Sena held her tightly, feeling a lightness in her chest at long last. “I have so missed you, Helaena. We will never be apart again, I swear it.”

Helaena kissed her cheek, gripped her hands. “I will make sure you have the most beautiful wedding ring in the known world. I swear it.”

Aemond made a sound of protest, lying between them. “Perfectly capable of doing that myself, thank you,” he grumbled.

“Shut it,” Helaena said.

“Stop ruining the moment, ñuha prūmia,” Sena chided.

The Prince lay back on his pillows with a playful scowl and shook his head at them. “I do not think I deserve you three,” he said, gazing at them all with a happy smile.

“Four,” Helaena corrected, cradling Sena’s tummy gently.

“You will never have to earn our love, sweet boy,” Alicent said, watching the three of them with a misty, joyful look. “You earn it just by being you.”

Sena laid herself down next to her Prince, her betrothed, the father of her babe and kissed his shoulder.

The only fear in her was that she felt so light she might float away.

-----

The rising sun was just breaking over Blackwater Bay when the small congregation convened. In the depths of winter, there was a distinct chill on the air in Vhagar’s cavern, and Sena was grateful for the heavy robes covering her from neck to wrist, shoulder to ankle. The journey down the sloping, rough-hewn hallway had been difficult for Aemond on his cane, but he maintained with gritted teeth that it was worth it to keep the little ceremony secret.

Sena and Helaena helped Aemond down to sit on a boulder, Sena gripping her betrothed by the elbows until he was down, and allowed him to catch his breath. “Vhagar?” She called, and the large dragon still looked a little disgruntled with her temporary cohabitant, Vermithor curling at the mouth of the cave. Nevertheless, she looked to Sena, looked to her struggling master, ready to obey. “Māzigon kesīr se gaomagon zirȳla bāne?” She asked gently of the dragon. Come here and keep him warm?

After long years spent together and watching Aemond grow from boyhood, Vhagar had a certain fondness for her rider and shuffled closer, coiling her tail around the rock the Prince sat on. Aemond’s strained breathing softened as his dragon kept the cold at bay with her fiery blood and warm breath. Sena pushed his hair behind his ear, unbound today, and kissed his forehead.

Helaena was watching them with a distant look on her face. “Dragons mate for life,” she murmured, “no matter the size of the clutch.”

Aemond looked up at Sena and gave her a wry grin. “It will be a large clutch of eggs if I have any say in the matter,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “When I no longer have a kingdom to run, I’ll give you all the hatchlings you desire, my Prince,” she said. “But until then, you’ll have to make do with one.”

Helaena giggled. “Do not worry, Sena. As soon as he is getting up for a crying babe five times a night, his ambitions will lessen.”

Aemond scoffed in protest. He did not care for the implication that he would be anything but the most energetic and dedicated of fathers, but the ladies laughed. “Come, Aemond,” Sena said, squeezing his shoulder. “It is to be a busy day, we should perhaps get started.”

Helaena turned and looked around. “Will you be okay to stand, brother? I can do it here, if that is better?”

Aemond shook his head and rose with a grunt, one hand firmly on his cane and the other gripping Sena’s for steadiness. “No. No. Sea air and sun, we shan’t do this any other way.”

They came to the mouth of the cave, standing on the edge of a cliff that overlooked the bay, and with Sena commanding a little help from Vermithor, they lit a brazier.

What came next was so sacred, Sena felt entirely bewitched in the moment.

She had stood witness to her father and stepmother’s ceremony, of course, but nothing compared to actually being in it. Holding Aemond’s gaze in her own, his face uncovered, sapphire eye back in place, with only Helaena and the dragons to bear witness as they spoke their mother tongue.

Helaena had been overjoyed to be asked to officiate for them and had learned her words well. She spoke softly and slowly, her voice enchanting and she gently pressed a shard of dragonglass into Aemond’s palm.

Their blood brimmed from their cut lips, their cut palms as the brazier burned. When their blood joined between their palms, the sun fell on Aemond’s fine features, making his white hair shine silver, and Sena could have sworn there was never a more beautiful being in the entire world.

Helaena spoke the final, sacred words and Aemond met her halfway in a kiss that tasted like iron and eternity.

And they just stood like that for a moment, holding each other, their growing child cocooned between their bodies.

Once they returned to the red keep, the rest of the castle was only just starting to stir. Aemond kissed her gently at the door of her childhood bedroom. After today, there would be no more separate rooms for them, and it sent a thrill through her to think of it. “I’ll leave you here, before my brothers come to hunt me down,” he said with a smile. “See you soon, wife.”

“See you soon, husband,” she said with a little thrill, and watched him until he was out of sight, proudly noting he had not put his eyepatch back on when they had come into the keep.

Once they were back in Sena’s childhood room, Helaena helped her out of her robes and headdress and into a gown of rich, deep blue. Strategically chosen for its meaning of peace, secretly chosen for its resemblance of a glittering sapphire.

Helaena dabbed sweet, smoky perfume on both Sena’s wrists, on her throat, behind her ears and then began to twine her curls into braids. Her maiden cloak was a deep, consuming black with a fiery red three-headed dragon clawing at her shoulders. A few errant curls framed her face and her mouth was left bare to let the cut on her lower lip heal, but it made no difference, as once she was ready, she could not take her eyes off herself in the looking glass.

“My beautiful friend, finally my sister,” Helaena said, leaning down to meet her gaze in the reflection. She lay her hands on Sena’s shoulders and Sena reached up to take them in her own. Even the stitched, healing stumps of her right hand could not mar the beauty she saw in the mirror, staring back at her. If anything, it added something, showed what they had both done, what they had sacrificed to be here. “Thank you for including me this morning.”

“It only felt right,” Sena said. “From day one, it was you, me and Aemond. I only wish you could come to the ceremony in the sept, I’m rather afraid to face them all alone.”

“Not alone. Aemond will be there,” Helaena gave her a watery smile. “I wish I could come too, though.”

Sena nodded. “Too much too soon, isn’t it?”

“I just… could not bare to have everyone staring at me. And Jaehaera,” she said softly.

“You have been so brave today, Helaena. We’re all so proud of you,” Sena said, and squeezed her fingers. Helaena kissed the crown of her head.

There was a light knock at the door, and a page made himself known. “The sept is ready for you, Lady Regent,” he said.

Sena inclined her head to him as her stomach twisted with nerves and she stood, rounding the dressing table.

“Wait!” Helaena squeaked, and Sena turned back to her, alarmed. “Wait. Your crown.”

Sena scoffed, so anxious had she been to go and get married before every lord and lady in the Kingdom that she’d nearly forgotten. She sat herself back down and watched in the looking glass as Helaena crossed to the mantle and returned with the golden crown of the Conciliator.

Jaehaerys’s crown still rested heavy on her brow, but Sena considered it a good reminder of the weight of the responsibility on her. As she did every time she donned the crown, she sent up a silent prayer that whatever Gods were listening - whether they be her mother’s, her father’s, or Aemond’s - would give her the strength and wisdom to wear it.

Then, she kissed her goodsister farewell and followed the page from the room.

The city’s largest sept, atop Visenya’s Hill was already brimming with lords, ladies and knights from each corner of the Seven Kingdoms when they arrived. The only major exception was House Baratheon, Lord Borros having made some weak excuse about not being able to be absent from Storm’s End for a wedding and a coronation. In truth, he still smarted over Prince Aemond’s spurned betrothal, but that was a problem for another day, Sena said to herself with a resolute firmness.

Sena walked the length of the Sept, standing on her own without an escort. She mounted the marble steps and took her place by Aemond's side, her husband casting her a jubilant smile. Daeron mounted the steps and together, the two brothers helped her remove her maiden cloak. Sena looked out over the Sept and the gathered worshippers, could name nearly every face in the crowd at this point, from her own family to Lord Benjicott Blackwood, Lord Ormund Hightower, Lady Sabitha Frey and more, all assembled for the nuptials of Aegon’s Regent.

In the front row of witnesses, King Aegon III took pride of place. He was to be coronated in the Dragonpit a week from today and Sena noticed with a pang that the circlet of Valyrian steel and rubies on his brow was very nearly too large, slipping low over his brow. He was too young right now but she hoped when he was a man grown he would understand why she had put it on his head in the first place.

To his left, seated in a wheelchair was the last king, Aegon II, looking impressively put together for once. He caught Sena’s eye and sent her a wink that made her begrudgingly smile. The high collar of his black doublet hid the burns on his throat and clavicle, but he was weaning himself from the milk of the poppy at his younger brother’s insistence, day by day. To Aegon the Elder’s left stood his mother. Queen Alicent beamed up at Sena, ready to finally call her daughter.

To Aegon the Younger’s right was his mother. Rhaenyra was resplendent in crimson red, brow adorned with a circlet of gold and rubies that befitted her station as Queen Mother and had once belonged to Queen Rhaenys the Conqueror. Then was… Prince Daemon.

Sena stopped looking then. She had laughed in his face some weeks ago when he had asked at dinner if he would be escorting her in the Sept, like she was some prized bovine in his possession that he was finally deigning to hand over ownership of to Prince Aemond. What stilted communication they had had between them had ceased and they had not spoken since, but she could not tell if her father’s pride was hurt or if he was secretly relieved.

Once Daeron had carried off her maiden cloak, she turned back to the High Septon who stood above them. To her side, Aemond felt her nerves and reached out to grab her hand, giving her a little squeeze. “Breathe,” he reminded her and she had not even realised she’d been holding it. He looked positively beautiful, the silver fastenings of his black doublet that he preferred today replaced with bronze, just for her.

This ceremony did not quite hold the same magic she had felt that morning. The sense of wonder and eternal binding was replaced with sickening anxiety, with everyone in the realm watching her and the crown weighing heavy on her head. At least that was how she felt until Aemond stepped away from her and took a cloak Daeron had ready for him, placing the heavy mantle over her shoulders, two dancing bronze dragons on her back. Then, Sena’s heart surged, her head feeling impossibly light, and they stood together at the altar, husband and wife, cloaked in black and bronze.

When Aemond kissed her, she took his face in her hands and held him to her as long as she dared, applause and cheering echoing raucously in her ears. When they parted, Sena took her husband’s hand in hers and turned them to the Sept to face the witnesses. They stood tall, daring anyone to doubt their dedication to their kingdom, their family or each other ever again.

After the applause quietened down and Daeron’s voice had grown hoarse with cheering, Aemond and Sena walked arm in arm down the steps, Aemond leaning his weight on her as much as he could without it being obvious.

At the foot of the steps, they turned to the altar with the fewest candles at its base - the altar of the Stranger. There were six unlit pillars lined up ready for them and Sena lifted one of the half-melted candles, letting the flame spread from wick to wick as the nobility looked on.

King Viserys, Ser Otto, Jacaerys, Lucerys, Jaehaerys, Maelor. She counted them out under her breath.

Just as they were about to turn away, Aemond stopped her and pulled a fresh candle from below the altar, setting it aflame from the six she had just lit and setting it down. She raised her eyebrow in question at him and he pressed a kiss to her hand. “For Lady Rhea,” he said and she smiled at him as a tear sprang to her eye.

Once in the open carriage outside the Sept, Aemond breathed a sigh of relief, wincing a little as soon as he’d brought his weight off of his bad leg.

“Are you well?” Sena murmured, only loud enough for his ears. “It has been such a long day for you, love-“

He quietened her with a kiss. “And I would change nothing about it. Wedding you in the tradition of our house, just us and Helaena and the dragons, then wedding you again for every last noble and knight and peasant to see we belong to each other? I’ll do it all again, if you wish it.”

That made her laugh and she leaned over in the carriage, kissing his cheek. “I think I have been married enough for one day, my love,” she said.

“For an entire lifetime, I should hope, my Princess,” he quirked a brow at her and she laughed once again.

As their guests spilled out of the sept and the procession readied to pull away, Daeron halted their progress and boosted himself up the step of the carriage, leaning over them with a wild grin on his face. “Brother, sister,” he said with a glint in his eye.

“Daeron,” Sena quirked an eyebrow. “What mischief are you up to?” She asked, eyeing the brothers and then- was that Addam Velaryon behind Daeron, giving her a shy smile?

Daeron gave her a wounded look and pulled a small box from his doublet. “Just following an older brother’s orders,” he said with a devilish wink and passed the box to Aemond. “Congratulations, Visenya, Aemond.” He gave them another sweet smile and dropped back down to the ground, hurrying off with Addam to their horses as the procession set itself into motion.

“What in the Seven Hells was that about?” Sena asked, laughing heartily as the carriage rolled forward. The streets were lined with smallfolk celebrating the official end of the war and they began cheering as they laid eyes on their King escorted by his Kingsguard, then the Princess Regent and her new husband. Sena leaned into Aemond’s side as hundreds of pairs of eyes watched them.

“The fool was supposed to give it to me in the Sept, but I suppose this works too,” Aemond said, a grin on his face. “Better, maybe. Just you and I.”

Sena gestured around. “We’re hardly alone, Aemond.”

“Well, alone as we’re like to get today,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “Shh, just- stop bickering with me for one second and come here, insufferable woman.”

Sena laughed heartily and turned towards him, allowing him to take her left hand in his and pulling it into his lap. “Insufferable wife,” she corrected.

“Darling, insufferable wife,” he said, running his thumb over the back of her hand, then opening the box. “A token of our union. From your devoted, bullheaded husband.”

Sena’s breath caught in her throat. A sapphire glittered on a band of smokey, dark metal, catching the light every way it turned. “Aemond.”

“The band was your predecessor’s wedding ring, when she married the Conqueror. We have no smiths who can craft Valyrian steel, but I found one in Braavos who can rework it. I just had the ruby removed, replaced with a sapphire mined on Tarth…” he trailed off, watching her face carefully with his serious gaze. “Do you… like it?”

Before she could stop herself, she practically seized him and pulled him against her in a searing kiss. The crowds of smallfolk around them roared and Sena laughed happily into the kiss, Aemond holding her chin in one of his hands, his tongue flicking over the cut on her lip. “Devoted, bullheaded husband… ñuha prūmia, I love it,” she said, kissing the cut on his own lip. “Put it on for me?”

Aemond gave her a nervous smile. “I hope I got the size right,” he said as he took her left hand again, pulling the ring from the box. “I knew Helaena would stick her nose in and argue with me about it if I asked her to borrow one of your rings for size, so I might have guessed.”

Sena laughed. “Fool,” she said, watching as he slipped it snuggly onto her finger. “I would have worn it on a chain if I had to.”

He looked down at the glittering, irregular sapphire on her finger and grinned. “Fits perfectly. Look at that.”

“I shall,” she said, “every day for the rest of my days.” He gave her the softest, sweetest smile. “Now I just need to dream up a ring for you.”

They were the last two to enter the great hall, set up for a subdued banquet given the circumstances, but a merry one nonetheless. When they make their entrance, everyone in the hall stood for them, applauding as they made the long walk to the high table. Aemond’s cane clicked on the flagstones and a bright blush bloomed in his cheeks. Sena held her head high so the crown did not slip but gripped her husband’s arm in hers with all her strength. He felt it and leaned into her, reassuring her with his presence.

At the foot of the plinth that the high table sat at, Sena swept into a deep curtsey before the boy king and Aemond bowed at the waist. Little Aegon thanked them politely for their obeisance, as he was prompted to by his mother, and Sena helped Aemond up the steps and to his seat.

When she finally sat, her head was spinning. Under the golden crown, the weight of her dress and her cloak, she felt ready to pass out. She pressed a kiss to her little brother’s head. “You’re not terribly bored, are you?” She asked him.

Aegon considered it for a moment then gave his blonde locks a shake. “It’s okay, Mother said you are serving lemon cakes for dessert,” he said with a little smile. “You look pretty.”

Sena smiled at him and Aemond grazed his fingers over the back of her neck, evoking a little shiver. “Doesn’t she just, nephew?”

The entire high table had been carefully arranged to show the end of their family’s division to the realm. Aegon III sat at the centre of the table, with his mother to his left hand and his now-Princess Regent sat to his right. To Aemond’s right hand was Lord Corlys to act as a buffer between the Prince, Princess Rhaenys and Prince Joffrey, then Prince Daeron, who was doing a good job of charming Addam and Alyn Velaryon. Queen Alicent was sat on Rhaenyra’s other side, speaking as easily and amicably as they could manage. Little Jaehaera was at her grandmother’s side, then Aegon II, then - unluckily for them - Sena’s sisters.

She had apologised to Baela and Rhaena profusely ahead of time for seating them where she had. But in truth, she could not think of anyone else who would have been able to keep a tight leash on their father, who sat moodily on their other side, taking in the proceedings with something between stark disinterest and open malice. Sena gritted her teeth. How she wished she could have a glass of wine right now. Or, come to think of it, maybe the entire flagon.

“You’re tense,” Aemond murmured in her ear, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand where she gripped the arm of her chair. The servants were bringing out the food now and everyone around them was filling up their plates, but Sena felt so anxious she could not truly stomach it.

She gave him a look. “Can you blame me?” She asked and caught his hand in hers.

He smiled. “No,” he said. “But please try to relax. We have an entire room of spectators to save face in front of. Nothing can go that badly.”

She cast him a mournful look. “If it were up to me, we would have had a small dinner with our sisters, Daeron, maybe your mother and that would be it.”

“Well, Baela is looking at me right now as though she is ready to eat me, so I would still have my objections to that,” he murmured low in her ear and Sena surreptitiously glanced up to see Baela was indeed glowering down the table at her new goodbrother. “Besides, if it were up to me, it would just be you and I and a bottle of Arbor red. And that’s all. Not even any clothing.”

She smirked at him and shook her head. “Well, I cannot drink the Arbor red, so you must be confident you would still be able to perform after drinking it all by yourself,” she said with a wicked grin. “I like confidence in a man, even when it is utterly foolhardy.”

Aemond shook his head with mirth. “I would take you up on the challenge but I intend to remember my wedding night. Every detail, Princess.”

The title still sounded so strange to her ears and she fought the urge to correct it even as it sent a thrill through her. “We have the rest of our lives, I suppose,” she said.

He raised their joined hands to his lips and kissed her. “We do, don’t we?” He said. “Now, pass me your plate. I know you struggle to eat when you’re tense but as your husband, I am going to politely ask that you keep our daughter fed and growing strong.”

She shook her head and laughed but passed him her plate, watching as he started loading it up with the best cuts of meat, a reduction of foraged snowberries and potatoes roasted in goose fat. Okay, maybe she could eat. “It could be a boy, Aemond,” she pointed out.

Lord Corlys gently broke in and Sena found herself hoping desperately he had not been listening the entire time. “It could be, but fathers have a sense for these things. I called both of mine correctly and all the grandchildren,” he said proudly, raising one snowy eyebrow at her.

Aemond tensed a little at the mention of Lord Corlys’s grandchildren but Sena squeezed his hand and smiled warmly at her cousin’s husband. “I suppose I have seen too much already in my life to laugh at the claim of a sixth sense among fathers, my lord,” she said.

Lord Corlys laughed. “Imagine what you will be prepared to believe in when you reach my age, Princess Regent.”

Under Aemond’s watchful eye, Sena dug into her wedding feast and the second she had actually managed to force down a bite, some of the nerves in her stomach abated. Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Fine food, treasured company, a band of musicians playing merrily. After she had eaten, she looked out across the hall and managed to catch the eye of Lord Cregan Stark, her Master of Laws, who inclined his head warmly to her. She smiled and nodded back. It was pure luck and force of will that he was even still here, so desperate was he to return to the frozen north, but Sena was beginning to suspect that had more to do with the dark-haired maid of House Blackwood sat to his right than it had to do with her skills of diplomacy.

Aemond followed her line of sight and grimaced, causing Sena to smirk. She leaned in to her husband and spoke in his ear, “I don’t understand why you don’t like him. You know every hour I manage to keep Cregan Stark from running back to the frozen north is a victory, Aemond. My small council are practically holding the realm together.”

Aemond raised an eyebrow and gripped her hand. “You are holding the realm together, dearest. And Lord Cregan is far too handsome and spends far too much time in your company for me to like him.”

She laughed with her entire chest. “Lord Cregan does not have eyes for me, beloved, he is hopelessly transfixed on the Blackwood girl,” she told him, giving his arm a reassuring pat. “Besides, even if he did, there has only ever been one man for me, and I have already tricked him into being mine for eternity.”

“My love” Aemond said, “it was I who tricked you.” He hooked a finger under her chin and pulled her in for a lingering kiss.

Unfortunately, a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye broke the spell and caused her to turn her head. She saw the exact moment her father rose from his seat. The meal was winding down and the front benches were being pushed back to make room for dancing, but some of the din eerily quietened as Prince Daemon got to his feet.

Sena braced herself and Aemond squeezed her hand. How she wished her father was not here. How she wished she did not have to invite him. But they were trying desperately to sew a war-torn realm back together, and that would not be done without uncomfortable truces.

Daemon rounded the high table and stopped before the King, inclining his head to his young son. Aegon smiled at his father happily and resumed eating, missing the thick tension that had settled over the family. Then, Daemon looked to her. Their eyes held each other’s for a moment, and Sena straightened her back to hold the crown of the Conciliator high. “Princess Regent,” her father said, giving her the barest nod of obeisance.

“Father,” Sena greeted coolly.

He drew breath as everyone around him seemed to hold theirs. “I thought with my goodson’s health, you might need someone to begin the dancing with. Prince Aemond will need to conserve his energy for the bedding, after all.”

Sena gritted her teeth and valiantly resisted the urge to lunge at her father with her butter knife. In truth, she had not thought of how she would open the dancing, had just hoped someone would eventually take the responsibility off her hands, maybe Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys or Queen Alicent and Prince Daeron. Because it was true, Aemond was in no fit state to dance. He had struggled enough with standing in the sept for the ceremony.

Sena met Daemon’s eyes, tried to read into the murky violet. There was a slight shuffle in his walk these days, a pronounced tremor in the fingers of his right hand that could have only been a result of the brain bleed, but otherwise, he remained as unreadable as ever. “In truth, father, I had not considered it.”

Daemon quirked an eyebrow. “Well then, let me do the honour, as father of the bride,” he said, then turned his gaze to Aemond, “if my goodson consents.”

“You address the Princess Regent, and a grown woman besides,” Aemond said in a grating tone, “she does not need my consent to do anything. Address your request to the correct person, Uncle.”

Daemon turned back on his daughter and smirked. “Sena.”

“Kneel,” she said calmly. “Kneel and address me as befits my station and I will dance with you.” He glared at her, and the entire hall was watching them now. She lowered her voice. “I wear your brother’s crown, father. Kneel to it if you cannot bring yourself to kneel to me.”

Under the table, Aemond was gripping her knee, lending her a little of his strength as she fought to keep from trembling. Daemon eyed his daughter, then shakily lowered himself to one knee. He bowed his head, slowly and reverently. “Princess,” he murmured. Then raised his voice so the whole room could hear. “Princess Visenya, Princess Regent and Protector of the Realm. Will you do me the honour of giving your father a dance?”

She rose from her seat, her maimed hand resting on the slight swell of her belly, and Aemond watched her warily. She grazed her fingers over his shoulder, willing him to know she would be fine and rounded the table, bypassing her Hand and Prince Daeron’s worried look. She came round the front of the table and took in her father’s bowed form.

Had he always been so small? Had he always been just a man at the end of the day? Barely as tall as Aemond, barely taller than her. His hair short at his left temple where she had struck him and the Maesters had tended to him. His eyes were ringed by dark shadows and deep lines. His right leg trembled where he kneeled on it. “Rise, Ser,” she commanded, loud and clear for all to hear. Her father obeyed, bringing himself back to his feet, standing the step below her. She offered him her hand - the one he had not maimed, adorned with a sapphire set in Visenya the Conqueror’s band of Valyrian steel. He took it and led her to the floor.

As if unsure what to do, the musicians were a little slow to take up a tune. Daemon’s hand felt like a lead weight in hers, icy cold and heavy. When the band kicked in, he drew her into his arms and began to spin her around with what grace he could muster. The whole hall watched with bated breath, none more disquieted than the high table. Prince Daemon pulled his daughter in for a spin and in the closeness of the hold, he whispered, “Everyone is staring.”

Sena raised an eyebrow, eyeing the scar on his neck so as to avoid his violet gaze. “Can’t imagine why.”

“I fear I have not given you enough credit, daughter,” he said as they faced each other, spinning around with their hands palm to palm. The lyre was drawing out a solemn melody. “By your age, all I had done with my life was champion my brother at our grandfather’s Great Council, and I did not even get the title of Prince of Dragonstone for that. You… have done well. You have risen far. You are finally starting to wear that name of yours well.”

She shook her head at him. “I am not a Visenya the way you meant for me to be when you named me,” she told him, their hands intertwined. “I am not here because I covet power or a crown for my babe’s head. I am no Conqueror. Visenya is my name now, father. And I intend to make it mine, just as I made Sena mine.”

Her father nodded thoughtfully and spun her so they were facing the high table. Sena’s gaze caught on Aemond’s and her breath caught in her throat. Would there ever come a day where he did not make her falter, her heart fluttering?

“Do you know why we call you Sena?” Daemon asked her.

She looked away from her husband to give her father a confused quirk of her eyebrow. “It is a shortened version of my name.”

Daemon shook his head. “No, do you know why we started calling you Sena?” She shook her head. No. It had just always been that way, for as long as she could remember. Because no child could bear the name of her legendary forebear, especially not one as gentle-hearted as she had been.

Daemon gave her a small, lilting smile. “When you were a year old, I took you to court for the first time, to present my child, my blood to the King,” he said. “I had little interest in you, as I’m sure you will be shocked to learn. I pawned you off on the Queen so my brother and I could start drinking.” He spun her once more, and when he pulled her back to his chest, he caught her hands. “The Queen had three children at that point, the youngest only a week younger than you. He could not say your name properly. He babbled it in that way babes do. Sena was all he could manage. And by the time my nephew had all the other children calling you Sena, well… it stuck. We started calling you that too.”

Sena’s heart was in her throat, and she turned her gaze to the high table, not caring for the dance, her eyes brimming with tears.

Aemond was still watching her. Beautiful Aemond, with lavender eyes and a soft, rasping voice and lips so sweet she could get drunk on them.

“So,” her father continued. “I guess, in a way, this day was inevitable. You were always meant for each other. And I was the fool trying to sail into the wind.”

Sena watched her husband, barely registering her father’s words. Aemond raised his goblet to her, giving her a soft smile. “No,” she said, barely audible. “Today was not inevitable. Today nearly did not happen, a thousand times over.”

Daemon pulled her back into the dance, into the final melody, spinning her round and round. “Do you doubt that you were meant for each other?”

She shook her head. “No, we were meant for each other,” she said. “But today… today was not given to us. Today we had to earn.”

Daemon had nothing to say to that, just bowed to her deeply as they finished the dance and escorted her back to her seat. As they left the floor, the spell around them seemed to break, and other couples took to the floor. Married lords and ladies, friends, allies, Lord Cregan and Lady Alysanne. Sena felt safer as soon as she was back in her seat, and she pulled Aemond’s hand into her lap, her heart swelling with her all-consuming love for him. He gave her a slightly confused look, but squeezed her hand anyway.

“One more thing,” Daemon said and in truth, Sena had not even realised he was still there. He walked back down to his seat at the table, on the far end beside Baela and Rhaena, and drew something from below the table.

Fear surged through Sena for the barest second and she felt Aemond stiffen beside her. But the sword was still sheathed, and Daemon lay it on the banquet table before her. He nodded to her. “It is probably my son’s to award as he sees fit, in truth, but until his coming of age, I think there is only one Targaryen suited to wield her.”

There were tears in her eyes as she let go of Aemond’s hand and reached for the ruby-studded, cool hilt. “I have no sword hand,” she pointed out to her father. “No thanks to you. I am hardly fit to wield her.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow and held up his shaking hand. “And I cannot swing a sword without nearly severing my own foot, so neither am I. No thanks to you. Your namesake wielded her, my grandfather wielded her, then my father, then me. It is less about what we do with the blade itself and more about what we can do with the promise of it, Visenya. Take it.”

“Father-“ she breathed.

“It’s a gift,” he said, and every one of their family was watching them with wide eyes. “You will learn how to use her again with time and practice. Same as you learned all the rest by yourself… with no one to guide you.”

She lay her right hand on the scabbard and drew Dark Sister with her left. The sword was weighty and unwieldy in her weaker hand, but Daemon was right. She would learn. She always had.

“Thank you, father,” she breathed, turning the sword over and over in her hand.

Daemon nodded and left her without a further word.

-----

“No, Princess, you promised.”

Over the past three years, Sena had grown used to the slight nagging tone in her husband’s voice as he urged her to take a break. He was not wrong, she had promised, she just wished he would not point it out in front of her entire small council. Maegor’s Holdfast was eerily quiet with most of her family already having left, Vermithor and Vhagar had been saddled for two hours at this point and Sena had begged off leaving at first light because there was just one more thing she needed to speak to her council about. Aemond sat to her right as her advisor, giving her a hard look right now, and Princess Rhaenys to her left, a small smirk on her lips. The rest of them avoided her gaze as she gritted her teeth. All except for Alys, who had always enjoyed the married couple’s bickering as long as she’d known them.

“It’s just- this trade deal with the Summer Isles is important,” she complained, a little childishly, shuffling the papers before her and avoiding Aemond’s eye.

“You’re running an entire country, love, it’s all important,” he said with a note of exasperation in his voice, “but so is the King’s tenth nameday and the first major gathering of our family in the three years since the coronation.”

Sena bit her lip. That was precisely why she was a little reticent to go, the thought of so many Targaryens in one place setting her teeth on edge. It was ridiculous, because what had they fought for years ago if not precisely for moments like this? But Sena had found that the thought of family gatherings were a lot sweeter than the awkward, stilted reality of them. “Baela is not going, nor is Princess Rhaenys.” Baela, now Mistress of Laws after the departure of Lord Stark, shot her an irritated look as if to say do not bring me into this.

Aemond was not impressed. “They remain so you can leave for a few days. Princess Rhaenys has more experience than any of us and Baela will fly to you as soon as you are needed.”

Baela arched an eyebrow at her sister’s husband. “Is that the extent of my contributions at this table, goodbrother? Messenger?”

Aemond winced - he had not meant it like that - but Ser Alyn Velaryon, successor to his grandsire as Master of Ships, thankfully intervened, laying a hand on Baela’s wrist. “He only seeks to appease the Princess Regent that if her presence is needed, she will be fetched, ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

Aemond valiantly repressed a look of disgust. Sena knew he had little taste for public displays of affection if it was not him displaying his affection for his wife, but she was grateful he had learned to bite his tongue before her tempestuous sister. Even now, the two firebrands tended to throw sparks when they clashed.

Ser Criston Cole cleared his throat to speak. “Forgive me, Princess, but you did promise,” he pointed out, “and Queen Alicent did write me to say how excited Helaena is to see you.”

Okay, so they were guilt tripping her now? Sena groaned. “The realm will not survive my own small council mutinying against me, my Lords and Ladies,” she grumbled, glaring around the table at them all in turn. Lord Tyland Lannister was the only one not openly enjoying all of this at her expense.

“But it will survive you taking a week off,” Princess Rhaenys pointed out, levelling Sena with a hard stare that she still found difficult to refuse. “You have worked hard these last few years, Visenya. Now, go and take a break and remember what it is all for. Enjoy a little of the peace that you have created.”

Sena gave the Hand a look, then pushed back her chair with a scrape. “My Lords and Ladies,” she said with a nod.

There was a scattered chorus of farewells and she swept from the room, Aemond looking pleased with himself and hot on her tail. “Enjoy your holiday!” Alys’s distinctive voice called behind her, and Sena had to repress a snort of laughter.

As soon as they were in the air above King’s Landing however, soaring southeast on dragonback, the stress of the last few years seemed to melt away and Sena wondered why she had been dragging her heels at the chance to get away from it all for a little while. Ravens could still reach her at the country palace in the Reach that Helaena had lovingly dubbed Dragonhall. House Hightower had relinquished the summer palace and its earnings to the Crown as part of the nationwide effort at reconstruction after the war and whilst the surrounding farms and lands added handsomely to the Crown’s depleted coffers, King Aegon III had little need for another palace and had relinquished it to his future goodmother at the gentle prompting of Rhaenyra. Helaena loved the place, walked its halls and gardens dreamily, barefoot and far away from the smog and choke of King’s Landing for months at a time, with her daughter and husband close at hand and her mother visiting often. Her only regret was that it took her away from Aemond and Sena, but that was easily rectified by Dreamfyre, who slept soundly in a stable that had once housed twenty horses.

The King’s retinue would follow Sena and Aemond to Dragonhall by horseback, including the Queen Mother and the entire Kingsguard. The Regent and her lord husband were second last of the family to arrive then, the largest living dragons touching down in one of the orchards that had already been trampled by a dizzying array of fire breathers. Sena winced. They would have to rethink this in future.

Sena dismounted, pulled her gloves from her hands and approached Vhagar to help her husband jump the final six feet to the ground. Aemond’s hip would never be what it had been before the war, but he was no longer in a great deal of pain. He just felt the ache on cold, damp mornings which were becoming lesser and lesser as winter gave way to spring at long last. The only indication of discomfort was a little quirk of the corner of his mouth as he landed on his feet, and Sena kissed it away. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “For dragging me away. I needed it, even if I wasn’t exactly grateful.”

He smiled at her wryly. “You forget I know you, issa jorrāelagon,” he said, brushing her windswept hair behind her ear. “No thanks are required.”

“Thank the Gods,” came a man’s exhausted, pitiful voice. “You’re here! Please, show some mercy, take her.”

Sena turned around to see Daeron at the opening of the paddock and a small, blurry shape streaking towards them.

Aemond fell to his knees with a little grunt and opened his arms wide, a wild grin on his face, and the tiny, blurry shape crashed into him. “Kepa! Kepa!” She cried. Father! Father!

Sena’s heart melted in her chest as she watched Aemond stand and swing their daughter round and round, laughing joyously. He settled the little girl on his hip and smacked a wet kiss on her cheek, laughing when she grumbled and swiped at it with a “Yuck.”

“Tala, vūjigon aōha muña,” he said. Daughter, kiss your mother.

The little girl reached for Sena with grabby hands, hanging on Aemond’s hip at a precarious angle. “Muña!”

"Rhaea,” Sena kissed her daughter, laughing when she found the child’s face sticky. That explained why Daeron was so ragged and exhausted - he’d clearly been plying his three-year-old niece with sweets. She smoothed down the girl’s wild, tangled silver curls. “Have you been behaving for your grandmother and your Aunts and Uncles?”

Rhaea gave her a somewhat awkward look, as if trying to conjure up an answer that wasn’t an outright lie, and Sena and Aemond shared a knowing glance. Daeron stumbled up to them, giving them a look that said his niece had been doing everything but behaving. “Addam made the mistake of telling her he’d bring her up on Seasmoke if you both allowed it and she maybe hasn’t stopped mentioning it since?”

Aemond grinned. “I think I’ve owed Jaehaera a ride on Vhagar for five years now, so I guess we can maybe arrange something, brother,” he said. He looked down and saw his daughter playing with his hair, promptly pulling it out of her grasp. “When you’ve got clean hands, mayhaps, my lady?”

Rhaea gave her father an affronted look and stuck her bottom lip out so far it would have been impressive if Sena did not see it every single day. Daeron laughed. “You’re fighting with yourself there, brother,” he said, giving his niece a wink.

Dragonhall was bliss, pure and simple.

Sena awoke uncharacteristically late in the morning to find her husband had seen to their daughter so she could sleep longer. She came down to the dining room in her robe and kissed him as a thank you at the table, much to his family’s amusement. He was without his eyepatch, his lips tasted of jam and Rhaea uttered her new favourite phrase, yuck.

After breakfast, Rhaea ran and played in the gardens with Jaehaera, Joffrey and Viserys, two years returned safely to them by way of paying ransom to Lys. Rhaenyra had openly sobbed on the docks when she held her youngest son.

After Sena and Aemond had taken a turn of the gardens with Aemond’s mother, they settled on the grass to watch the children play as Alicent, Helaena and Rhaena took tea behind them. Sena leaned back into Aemond’s chest and watched their daughter run rings around her cousin and uncles, the older children in disbelief at her boundless energy. Aemond was smiling softly, combing his fingers through Sena’s hair. She caught his hand - the one with a bronze signet ring emblazoned with two dancing dragons - in hers and pressed it to her lips.

“Mm?” Aemond murmured into her hair. He had developed a sixth sense for when something was wrong with her.

She watched the children run, shrieking and playing and splashing pond water at each other and she sighed deeply. “I’m so sorry, Aemond.”

He leaned back and tilted her head towards him with a hand. His brow was furrowed in confusion. “What are you sorry for, darling?”

She swallowed hard. Watched their child - their only child - play at dragons and knights. “I know how much you wanted a large family.”

Aemond tensed against her. “Sena, do not ever apologise to me for that again,” he said sharply but not unkindly. “You cannot truly believe I bear a grudge against you for that, do you? If so, I have not done a good enough job as your husband.”

The day Sena had brought Rhaea into the world had been… traumatic, to say the least. There had been so much blood and somewhere in the royal archives, there was a hastily-drafted document with bloody fingerprints and her shaky signature signing the regency over to Princess Rhaenys in the event of her untimely death. Rhaea’s shoulder had been stuck on her pelvis and it had been long, long hours of agony, with her body getting closer and closer to giving up the fight with each push, each effort of the midwives and maesters to get the babe unstuck. She sighed. “I just… can’t help but think about how, if you had married the Baratheon girl, you’d likely have a son by now.”

He shook his head, barely repressing his upset at the very suggestion. “A son with a woman I do not love and could never love, not while you lived and breathed. Not while I had ever known you and loved you,” he pressed a firm kiss to her temple, attempting to pour the fierceness of his affections into her very mind. “The Gods have a plan for us all, my love. And their plan for us was to end the suffering of our family and foster a new era of peace for our daughter to grow up in. Peace we deserved but never knew in our own childhood. I would not change a thing.”

She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. In truth, she had no idea where this was coming from. She had had years to accept it. Maybe it was because she had thrown herself into her work, into piecing the realm back together to distract herself, and it was only now that she was taking a break that all the emotions were flooding to the surface? A month after Rhaea’s birth, Aemond had broached the subject while they were sat in bed together. He had been cradling their daughter to his chest and told her in no uncertain terms that his preference was for her to not have another child, not when the first had been so dangerous. The Grand Maester says it is just one of those things, some women have more difficulty than others. It’s not uncommon in our bloodline - our grandmother, my father’s first wife, your father’s second wife. We can talk about it, Sena. I know it is not my choice to make but I wanted you to know my thoughts. I would be utterly lost without you. You once asked me not to make you carry on in this world without me. Now, I’m asking you.

She had been so weak and so close to death when she had brought Rhaea into the world and even a month later, the agony of it all was still so fresh in her mind and her body that it had been a straightforward choice to start the regular moon tea.

“You won’t remember it, but…” Aemond said, his voice a croak against her hair, “on the day of Rhaea’s birth, one of the maesters asked if I had a… preference.” He choked out the word and it sounded dirty coming from his lips. “If they wanted me to prioritise my wife or my child. I- I threatened to gut him like a fish if he asked such a question again. Or at least that’s what my mother tells me I said, I don’t recall. She made me apologise to him after, thank him for saving the both of you.”

She rested her head against his, felt his steady breathing against her back, gripped his fingers in hers. “I’m sorry for scaring you like that.”

He laughed wetly. “Only you,” he said, “only you would apologise for such a thing. I have scared you like that before. I understand how you felt, now, carrying me back to Harrenhal and sitting by my bedside for weeks.”

“Six years,” she said. “Six years, and Aegon will reach his majority, and we can relax a little. We can even step away from it all if we wish, retire to the country, tame our wild-thing of a daughter.”

Aemond chuckled. “I don’t know what we expected. She has the best and worst of both of us, love. I would call her perfection, but I fear she would hear it and it would be entirely too good for her ego,” he said, watching the little girl play. “Maybe we can come here more often. You, me, Helaena and the girls.”

“I heard my name,” Helaena said, settling herself down on the grass beside them, cup and saucer in hand.

Rhaena smiled and sat down before them, spreading her skirts in a ladylike manor. “In truth, we thought you two looked awfully serious. We thought we had best intervene, remind you both you’re on holiday.”

Sena smiled, but the smile evaporated into a look of shock when Queen Alicent appeared at her other shoulder and settled herself down on the grass next to her son. “My Queen, you do not have to- we can get the servants to bring a chair-“

“I am four-and-forty, not an old crone,” Queen Alicent chided with a smirk and her daughter and son smiled.

“I more meant for your dress,” Sena said quickly, a blush rising in her cheeks. Aemond’s knees squeezed her where they bracketed her thighs. Nice save, he seemed to be saying.

The Queen looked down at her dress, a soft, dreamy blue silk perfect for the spring. She had long since cut green entirely out of her wardrobe, and in truth, Sena never saw Rhaenyra in black anymore. It seemed they were both trying to put their grudges and their mourning behind them and enjoy what was left. “I have long since learned there are more important things in life than propriety and preventing grass stains. Such as watching my grandchildren at play,” she sipped at her tea as Jaehaera chased after Rhaea with a pretend sword in hand, Rhaea flapping her imaginary wings manically.

There was a beat of contented silence before Helaena chirped, “what were you both looking so serious about? Honestly, I’m going to instate a no working policy at Dragonhall if you seriously all struggle to take a break this much.”

Sena grinned and Aemond shrugged his shoulders. “I was just telling my wife how blessed I am to have her and our perfect, mad daughter,” he told his sister with a glint in his eye.

Helaena laughed loudly and Sena wished she could bottle the sound and put it on her shelf for a rainy day. How lucky she was to be able to hear Helaena laugh freely and often again. “She is a little mad, isn’t she? Like her mother at that age.”

“Hey,” Sena balked, and her little family broke into laughter around her. “I wasn’t so bad.”

Alicent raised a perfectly manicured brow. “You were a daily challenge. It was a battle to get you into a skirt or scrub your face, listen to your septa, think of anything but swordplay. We can ask Rhaenyra when she arrives, she will recall it as well.”

Sena shook her head in protest but did not have a good rebuttal. None of it was false, after all. “And Rhaenyra loved me for it,” she pointed out defiantly.

“As did we all, darling,” Aemond said with bemusement in his voice. “Gods, if you grew up to be a Princess Regent, I dread to think what our Rhaea will accomplish.”

Sena groaned at the thought. “She’s going to raise Old Valyria out of the sea, I can tell.” She shared a grimace with her sister then turned to her best friend. “Any hints, Helaena?”

Helaena turned her lilac eyes on her niece and bit her lip a second as she thought. “Nothing,” she said after a moment. “She has a clean slate, as far as I can tell. Thanks to you.”

Sena smiled and rested back against her husband’s chest. She let out a deep, happy sigh, soaked in the sun on her skin and, after awhile, drifted into a light doze as soft voices chattered around her.

That was how the following days at Dragonhall proceeded. The King arrived with his retinue in late afternoon the next day. They all stood in the front courtyard of the palace to receive Aegon, completing the appropriate bowing and scraping, and then came Rhaenyra, hugging and kissing them all in greeting without exception. Sena’s father convalesced on Dragonstone still, attempting to remaster control of his movements and his mind just as Sena trained herself to wield Dark Sister in her left hand in every rare quiet moment she got. She had no doubt her father would one day return to the fold and guide his son as King and she looked forward to the moment with equal measures of fear and anticipation. But for now, they remained in their separate corners of the Kingdom and did their best to heal their wounds.

Sena was amazed to see for the first time how her family conducted themselves when there was no running of the realm to be worried over, no dynastic struggles to settle. Each morning, she lay in bed with Aemond dozing against her back and watched out of the window as Rhaenyra and Alicent took long walks in the gardens together. Sometimes they were chatting and laughing and sometimes they were not speaking at all, just remembering. But either way, they did it together.

The peace would be disturbed before long when the children would beg to go riding or practice sparring. Some mornings, Aemond and Sena would oblige them. Sena would oversee Aegon and Viserys sparring each other with wooden swords and Aemond would instruct his daughter and niece on the basics, play fight with them and always made sure to valiantly and heroically lose to his superior opponents. Other mornings, Daeron, Addam, Rhaena and Joffrey would take to the sky and race each other on their dragons for the younger children’s entertainment.

When Daeron and Addam thought no one could see them, the two men would kiss sweetly in the gardens. But they were not nearly as subtle as they thought they were, coming back from long walks among the groves with ruffled hair and rumpled clothing. Aemond and Helaena would just smirk and respectfully not point it out so as not to embarrass their little brother, and Sena and Rhaena would eye each other over the rims of their teacups knowingly, repressing a laugh.

On Aegon the Elder’s good days, when his mind was not so addled, Aemond would roll him out into the garden under the shade of a great oak tree, and they talked for hours. Sena had quietly asked Aemond one day what it was that they talked about, and Aemond shrugged. “Nothing and everything,” he said. “Our boyhood. Mother, father, the war. Everything that has happened. But sometimes, it is nicer things. He asks about you and Helaena. Jaehaera and Rhaea. I think he likes it here. He perhaps finds it a little boring at times but I think the peace is good for his soul.”

When Aemond was spending time with his brother, Sena would take to the library and pull out volumes of the books she had sent for from Oldtown as Helaena’s last nameday gift. A full set of encyclopaedias on the natural world, as comprehensive a study as there was to be found in Westeros, with full-page illustrations in vivid colours. They had been a damned fortune but worth every penny, she thought, as she sat with Helaena on the grass and studied them with their daughters. She read aloud passages on the properties of peppermint leaves and how to tell insects and arachnids apart. They would lean down close to the surface of one of the ponds and show Jaehaera and Rhaea the pond skaters, and the girls would pick roses in white, pink, red and blue for Sena to braid into Helaena’s hair. A crown that suited her better than any other ever had and, most importantly, made her smile.

Sena’s last night at Dragonhall before she was due to return to King’s Landing came dreadfully quickly. She was catching herself up on missives from Princess Rhaenys she had somewhat neglected when Aemond came into their bedroom after putting Rhaea down to sleep. Aemond gave her a fond sigh and took her by the hand, pulling her away from her writing desk despite her protests. Out on their balcony that overlooked the gardens, he pulled her down onto the soft chaise longue next to him. “Relax, please. Breathe.”

She drew in a dramatic breath to please him and allowed herself to melt into his side, laying her head on his shoulder. Their hands intertwined in their laps. “It’s just… a lot. I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologising,” he said and turned his head to look into her eyes. He had been without his eyepatch all week and Sena knew it would be strange to see him don it again tomorrow before they left. “It is a big weight you have on your shoulders, Sena. A job I certainly do not envy you. But my job as your husband is to keep you sane and help you whenever and however I can.”

“I could not do it without you,” she admitted. “Couldn’t do it without you fussing over me. Telling me to look at the whole picture, see the forest instead of just the trees.”

He turned her head with a thumb to look out over the gardens at the lines of rose bushes and the willow trees that swayed gently in the wind. “Have a look at them,” he said, and dipped his head to press a kiss to the corner of her jaw. “We planted the whole bloody forest together, dear. With our bare hands. Never forget it. Never forget how far we have come together.”

He moved his lips lower, to suckle at a sensitive spot on her neck as he brought one hand up to grip her thigh, and she said breathily, “Aemond.”

“Lay down,” he murmured into her skin. “Lay down, sweet girl, and let your husband show you how he loves you.”

He guided her down to the chaise longue with firm, steady hands and leaned over her. His hands pushed up her skirts and he took hold of her thighs, his thumbs stroking the sensitive insides. He watched hungrily as her breath quickened, lilac and sapphire eyes glinting in the torchlight. She attempted to reach up towards him, to touch his face and his hair but he pushed her back down gently. “Not tonight,” he murmured. “Touch yourself, pretty girl. Your hair, your breasts, whatever you like. Make yourself feel good. Let me handle the rest.” Then, he pushed her skirts up around her hips and dipped his head to kiss the inside of her thigh, dragging just the very tip of his tongue across her skin.

“Aemond,” she whispered like a prayer. “Why are you so good to me?”

He looked up at her over the bunching of her skirts and smiled, pulling aside her undergarments in a deft, well-practiced movement. He kissed the height of her pubic bone and his warm breath blustered against her skin. She shivered. He eyed her cunt hungrily. “The real question is why do you give this to me? Why are you so generous, letting me worship you whenever I wish, however I wish?” One long finger flicked out and parted her lips, catching on the edge of her hole and gathering slick before coming up to gently stroke that little bundle that made sparks fly behind her eyelids. “You give me my family back, my daughter, my entire life, and you do not think that is generous enough. So you give me your cunt, too. You must be some saint, so limitless is your propensity to give.”

Sena stifled a moan as he bowed his head to lick at her hole. “Yes. Truly selfless, Aemond. Laying back and letting you pleasure me with your quick fingers and your clever tongue. What a hard task it is for me.”

He laughed and the vibrations sent a shockwave through her, making her abdomen seize with pleasure. “Every moment spent worshipping you is a gift, Visenya.”

She shivered. He rarely used her true name, only when he was very upset with her or very turned on by her. She looked down and saw him rubbing at himself through his trousers with his spare hand. She sighed happily and leaned back against the cushions. Reached up and pulled down the sleeves of her dress, pulled down the neck. Aemond watched hungrily as she lifted her breasts from her gown. She had insisted on feeding their daughter herself and it had caused the skin of her breasts to stretch and sag, but Aemond had never seemed to mind, tracing the silvery scars as reverently as he did the multitude of other scars on her body and she did on his. Reminders of their power, their strength, their bravery. His lilac eye was nearly consumed by black right now as he watched her circle her nipples with her fingers, pulling and squeezing as they hardened quickly in the cool night air.

She should have maybe been ashamed - this was far too open a place to do this. Outside, on a balcony, where an ill-timed guard or servant could catch a glimpse or hear them or a family member on their floor or above could open their curtains at the wrong moment. But when she watched her husband in all his glory, tall and lean, his hair hanging freely about his handsome face, one hand on his cock and the other on her cunt, she could not bring herself to care at all.

He dipped his head and kissed her nub, running the tip of his tongue over her folds as one finger plunged into her, then another. She let her head fall back against the cushions in a breathy sigh. Squeezed her breasts as he brought his hand from his cock and pinned open her thighs to allow himself full access to her. “Good boy,” she moaned as he slipped his fingers into her past the first knuckle and gently started to crook, move, scissor them apart. His tongue laved just below her pleasure, building her arousal, watching her steadily for every spasm of pleasure, every breathy moan. “You’re so good to me, sweetheart,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to tuck his silver hair behind his ear.

He pulled away from her for a moment and she whined at the loss. “Don’t whisper,” he said, “don’t stifle yourself, don’t hide.” Then, he pulled his fingers from her hole to swap them for his tongue.

He mouthed at her hole then pushed his tongue past the resistant ring of muscle, and it was so wondrous that Sena threw her head back, unfortunately cracking her skull off of the arm of the chaise longue. “Ow!” She winced and Aemond pulled back hastily, his lips and chin glistening with slick and spit.

“Are you alright?” He asked quickly, worried he had hurt her, but when he watched as she rubbed at her head and dissolved into a fit of giggles, he smothered his own laughter in the crease of her hip. “C’mon, wife. Focus.”

That only made Sena giggle harder. “Focus on what? Coming on your face?”

He gave her a playful scandalised look. “Dirty girl,” he chided. Then raised an eyebrow as he filled her hole with his fingers once more, drawing a hearty moan from her. “You like that, don’t you? Riding my tongue, making a mess of your husband?”

She nodded and her eyes flitted shut as he pushed in another finger. The drag of the third felt divine and his fingers crooked inside her, pressing against a place that made her toes curl. “Mhm,” she moaned in the affirmative, grinding her hips against his hand, trying to find some friction for her pleasure on his palm. “Especially like it when you’re thrusting your tongue and your- your nose nudges me-“

“Well, then, your wish is my command.” With that, he plunged his face down into her cunt. His spare hand looped around her hip, holding her flush against his face and he lapped and suckled at her pleasure as his fingers pumped in and out of her. She let herself melt into the pillows, let her every sense be overtaken and devoted to Aemond working at her between her legs. It was pure ecstasy and she could see a little movement in his hips, see how he was grinding his hips into the chaise longue as he poured all his concentration into pleasuring her.

Aemond pulled his fingers out of her with a slick sound and before she could even whine and complain, he had replaced them with his tongue, grabbing her other hip and holding her down before his onslaught. The probing, thick muscle lapped at her insides as the wave inside of her gathered height and momentum. The juices that Aemond could not catch with his tongue dribbled down his chin and neck and between the cheeks of her arse. It was sticky and dirty and hot. And just as she thought she had reached heaven, he began to roll his movements, thrust his tongue, and his long, straight nose bumped against her nub repetitively. The rhythm was so perfect it was like he could read her mind, like the spasms of her walls around his tongue directly translated into his brain. Faster, harder, make a mess, make me forget every word but your name.

“Fuck,” she moaned, and it sounded tearful and desperate. She reached for a pillow to hold to her face, to drown out her sounds but Aemond reached up to grab it out of her hand.

He pulled away from her cunt. “Every time you try to hide, you bring yourself further from your goal,” he warned her as the wave inside her subsided from its peak. And Gods was he a sight like this, his lips red, his chin glistening, her slick dripping onto the collar of his jerkin. "Don’t hide, darling wife, let them hear you. Let the whole realm hear you. Let them know you are mine, and I am yours.”

She nodded desperately, her curls sticking to her forehead, damp with sweat and watched with all-consuming fire and hunger and he lowered his mouth back to her. His tongue plundered her, his nose rubbing her as he breathed harshly. He even spared a hand from her hip to slip down between her arse cheeks and thumb at the ring of muscle there, spreading her dribbling slick. Her hands flew down and knotted into his hair as she felt herself lose control, and she was grinding her hips up into his face, listening to his heavy breathing, watching the jerking of his hips against the pillows. She watched herself, watched her hips roll against his face in a jerky, desperate rhythm, watched her breasts jolt and bounce with their movements, watched her legs thrown over his shoulders, somehow urging him closer.

Her orgasm felt as thought it was punched out of her and she moaned loudly, her head falling back, her hair tangling wildly around her. “Aemond,” she whined and he groaned against her core, sending impossible shivers through her. Her juices gushed, her walls spasmed around his tongue and the sensation where she totally lost control - she could not breathe or moan or do anything but shiver against him - seized her.

She fell back against the pillows with a tired, happy moan, and Aemond pulled his tongue from her cunt, nosing and kissing at the dark, damp curls just above. “Come up here,” she moaned.

He grinned. “Do you mean it?”

It took her a second to catch on in her tired state, but when she did, something wicked glinted in her eye. “Yes.”

He did not need to be asked twice, moving up her body and straddling her chest. She helped him unlace his breaches and pull his hard, leaking cock free and then they worked at his erection together. He used her slick still coating his hand and chin to wet his grip on himself and positioned himself over her face which was red and sweating. He stroked himself hurriedly and she looked up at him hungrily, mouthing at the swollen, red head of his cock with bitten, plush lips, tasting the sweat on his skin and reaching up to fondle his balls. He grunted like an animal and tugged harder, faster. “Sena,” he moaned. “Sena, I’m going to-“

She pulled back as his hips snapped erratically and closed her eyes as his balls went tight in her palm and he coated her cheeks and tongue with his seed, warm and salty. He groaned loudly, gripping the back of her head with his spare hand and milking the last of his seed into her willing mouth. “You’re fucking perfect,” he hissed as she opened her eyes again, her cheeks glistening, looking up at him with innocent violet eyes. “Fucking perfect, you know that?”

She reached up and helped him through the final shivers of his orgasm, watched with wonder as his cock softened and his seed dripped from her chin onto her breasts. Gods, how she loved his cock. “That at least makes me worthy of seeing you like this,” she breathed and he moved back on shaking thighs so he could kiss his own cum from her lips.

“Fuck,” he sighed shakily. He looked around. Grimaced when he could see nothing to clean them off with, so he pulled off his shirt over his head.

“Aemond,” Sena scolded, but in truth loved to watch the ripple of his body, his slim waist and strong shoulders in motion.

He grinned at her as he wiped her cheeks, then his face, then cleaned up some of the mess on her cunt and his cock. “You’ll have to delay leaving for a further hour tomorrow, Princess Regent. I’m afraid I’ve left you in need of a bath.”

She laughed and settled back down into the pillows, pulling him down on top of her and wrapping her legs around him. “Mm, as long as we can take the bath together.”

He kissed her, his breathing still ragged. “Now, that sounds like a plan. How does an early morning ride sound, wife?”

She laughed and slapped at his shoulder but let him drag her into a comfier position, her back to his chest. He peppered her neck with little kisses and she sighed happily, relaxing against him. “Eighteen years,” she said with a little smile, closing her eyes and listening to his breathing. “That’s how long I have loved you.”

He kissed her bare shoulder, tucked her hair behind her ear. “We could make it eighty and it would not be enough, couldn’t we?”

She shook her head. “No, I rather think this is eternal. No matter what comes after this life, no matter what comes in this life, I fear you’re rather stuck with me, Prince Aemond.”

His laugh was boyish, high and sweet. “Then eternity shall have to do, Princess Visenya."

She fell asleep like that, half undressed, outdoors with a spring evening on her skin, nestled into and warmed by Aemond’s chest, Aemond’s breath.

He carried her inside to bed, took off her dress and tucked her under the covers. Once he’d rid himself of his own clothing, he crawled in next to her and pulled her against his chest.

Tomorrow would come, with all its trials and challenges, but tonight… tonight belonged to them.

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