Chapter I: The Sea and the Dragon
Hello and thank you very much for reading and supporting Star Crossed! This fic is based primarily on the House of the Dragon but it will have strong elements from Fire & Blood as well as the development of my own headcanons and lore! The story begins three years before current time when Aemond and Viserra are both sixteen, nearly seventeen years old and will feature slight timeskips as is appropriate to the story.
The Sea and the Dragon starts off pretty quickly because I wanted to establish Aemond and Viserra's complicated relationship and the next chapters we'll explore their relationship further and the politics and scheming behind the scenes!
The song of the sea is obscured by the great walls of red stone that glitter the shade of brilliant rubies in the sun's light, and Viserra surmises that there must be hundreds of feet to part her from the glittering dark waves that clash against ragged stone and sandy beaches.
The Targaryens had cared less for the sea than the the skies even though the Velaryons had been counted among their most intimate of allies — the keep had been fortified to combat against threats from the sea all the while Castle Driftmark embraces the salty, wet welcoming of the narrow sea's cool waters.
The air beyond her windows is tinged with just the briefest touches of saltiness of the waters below, and instead stuffy with the lively business that goes about the keep and further stinks of kennels, stables, and men who did not consider it a duty to wash themselves.
Viserra had long missed the salty freshness just beyond her chambers' windows within Castle Driftmark, an inch of glass merely to separate her fingers from the sea's breath.
Only Seashine — her beloved, darling she-dragon who had been graciously allowed to accompany her to the court of King Viserys in King's Landing — could deliver her the brief comforts of the sea and of her home in their flights over Blackwater Bay.
Even the merest moment above the sea resolves her will and soothes the trouble of her seabound spirit — just as the Targaryens are very little without their dragons, the Velaryons are very little without their sea.
Viserra is very little different from her Velaryon ancestors and her contemporary family when it comes to this particular regard.
Even so, she peers from the long glass of her windows that overlook the dark, murkish waters of Blackwater Bay for connection to the freshness of this air is better than to be completely severed from the sea. The morning's air is cool against her skin, briefly refreshing her from the stuffed air of her chambers — as fond as she is of the candles that smell of sweetly rich vanilla, at times it is a far overwhelming sense for her.
Though she possesses certain gratitude that Queen Alicent had seen fit to assign her to chambers along the outer walls and not burrowed in the midst of the keep — Viserra believes that she would have been suffocated by the lack of freedom and the close proximity of people numbering in the hundreds.
Even now it feels as if the Red Keep is a castle that never sleeps.
The queen had done well in her arrangements of Viserra's lodgings as she stayed with the royal family, with a selection of quarters that are close in proximity to the outermost windows, and she is in rather closer proximity to two of the royal children — Helaena and Aemond. Being the eldest of the four children and the son, the queen had practically plastered Aegon in the chambers closest to the king and queen, and Daeron had just been a babe when he became ward of House Hightower in Oldtown.
Rhaenyra, her dearest companion and her good sister, had departed three years previously, accompanied by her little sons and the elder brother of Viserra — that sparkles of familiarity about this court had all but faded in the time that has passed.
A child of the sea now truly alone with the dragons of the Targaryens' lair and the vipers that reign in the name of House Hightower and Oldtown.
The sharpness of a sound that is heavy against the great rosewood door of her chambers catches Viserra in the midst of her morning contemplations just as the sun begins to warm her face. A repetition of the knock soon follows the sharp rapping against the door in a pattern that is familiar to only her ears — consisting of two preceding knocks and then a trio of quick paced knots to follow — it is a pattern shared with only one other.
Her curls whip behind her in a blur of silver gold, her Myrish lace trimmed skirts brushing about her ankles in her rush to unfasten the locks that bound her door securely closed after she has pushed her nimble body from the ledge of her window.
Hardly a reaction as her feet meet the cool marble tile of her flooring, focus solely pinned upon the great door of rosewood that is intricately carved with scenes of Aegon's conquest and the series of locks that serve as a semblance of protection.
Three clicks of locks being wrestled from their positions on the door before lithe fingers slide about the handle plated with silver gold in swinging the door open in revelation of the guest awaiting on the other side.
Prince Aemond Targaryen.
Her breath is light about her lips and fluid warmth swells beneath her cheeks for she remains clad within her lavish nightgown of Myrish lace and delicate Pentoshi silk that is like a stream of water against her skin. Fingers clasp at her daring neckline with Aemond stepping within the fold of her personal chambers and sealing the door behind him in movements that reflect his natural swiftness.
Viserra does not dare imagine the scandal should the prince be discovered within her quarters in the bright hours of the morning, and she is dressed merely within her sleepwear, not even a robe to disguise the skin of her shoulders. Aemond is dressed within the rich verdants of House Hightower and his tresses fall far beyond his shoulders in a shining sheen of silken white gold, kept long in imitating fashion of his uncle.
"Viserra." Amusement is laced to the singular word of his greeting and quirks his lips upwards in a display of his signature smirk, his hands carefully folded behind himself with each click of his boots against the flooring. "You did not try for a ride this morning? How unlike you."
"The wedding is this afternoon. I wouldn't have the time to go out to Seashine for a ride and come back all the way to the Red Keep to prepare myself for the ceremony." Her gaze descends to the emerald and cream colored flooring and her thoughts drifting over the slowness of the heat to dissipate from her cheeks.
"A flight on a dragon sounds far more entertaining than the dreary business of a wedding." Aemond's tone is mocking and dangerously soft, with no mind paid to the wedding to take place between his elder siblings Aegon and Helaena.
"I would think that you would agree with me."
"I pledge my support to Helaena during her wedding. I will not abandon her." Her counter statement soon falls through as her breath is stolen away from her lips, the distance between herself and Aemond drawing to a close with each languid step he takes in her direction.
"Yes. Well, that is quite admirable of you, for you have always been fond of Helaena."
"I also must consider my lady mother and my lord father. How would it reflect on them if I were just to be absent from Princess Helaena and Prince Aegon's marriage celebration?" Her words are just a hair above her breath, a flick of her pale lilac gaze drifting over Aemond's taut body — always in a position to pounce upon enemy and friend alike.
"Ah, yes. The Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys would not want to be further humiliated than they have been by those strong boys."
A singular glare is what eases him into silence, though his smug painted smirk remains lacing his lips and Viserra is in possession of enough awareness that she'll not be gifted a willing or a genuine apology.
It is a particular subject of soreness for House Velaryon, as all in the realm must have awareness that her elder brother did not father his boys though Viserra would not speak a word of his secret to this world of plagued individuals. Though the knowledge within the hands of enemies would be pieces worthless in value — Laenor, much like his twin Laena is not present upon this world anymore.
Her sister taken by dragonfire in the face of the violence of birth and the rapid approach of death and her brother taken away by the flames of a heated duel. Would her own fate be washed within the flames?
"It was a gesture of goodwill from my lord father to foster me here among the king's children. I will not sully his honor."
"You have always been the most dutiful among us children. Even from the first moment of your arrival." Aemond's words drop to utterances below his breath and his approach now has delivered him within her proximity — bodies barely a breadth apart and his breath is warm against her cheeks.
"I am a Velaryon in the house of dragons — I do not possess the freedom to roam as you will and emulate the image of a prince who prefers to be a rogue."
A clicking of his tongue in mock chastising soon follows as he raises a hand that has long been calloused by battle training and rides atop of his she-dragon Vhagar and brushes it across her lush bottom lip, the movement dangerously gentle.
Her skin is swallowed by kisses of fire that leaves her in a burning of pleasure, her body becoming molten heat when his forehead descends to meet her own in the briefest of caresses — and yet she feels aflame as she always is.
"Naturally you are always dutiful." Whispers that are spoken as caresses against her skin, roughly hewn thumb in adoration of her lips. "Except when it comes to one particular member of the royal family. You have a weakness."
"A weakness that you do not fail to exploit." Shuttering words between halted, heated breaths and a lilac gaze fluttering as the soft curve of her cheek is claimed by the caresses of the rough palm of his hand. "You have found the dutiful lady's one weakness and it is yours to play with now."
"You have yet to raise a complaint, my fair lady." Each word, further laced with mocking than the last and yet touched with a tenderness that cannot be any other emotion than genuine.
"As we have discussed — I am dutiful. I do not play games."
The tension held between the two has long thickened the air and Viserra is nearly upon the edge of suffocation as her breaths become heavy upon her chest and for Aemond it appears he does not escape either — despite the clever play of his words and his seeming possession of control.
A moment taken in the composure of themselves though Aemond does not part himself away from Viserra's side though his body has stiffened and he is all the more cool as a rock. Once more his hand drops away from the lushness of her lips but not without one more little caress and the departure of a longing sigh.
"You may not play games but I do have a gift for you. I will be quite upset if you reject this gift out of duty again."
A pale brow is arched and serves as her merest reaction before Aemond draws his other arm from the disguise of his back, fingers curled over a necklace that lays loosely upon his palm.
"I had no such idea that you possessed a keen sense for jewelry, Aemond."
A material of the most exquisite quality that shines a rich gray that is reflective of those stormy ocean days in the gleam of the sunlight that peers through the window. The material has been manipulated into the formation of an exquisite chain, a curious similarity to a necklace in the possession of her good sister — and at the cent of the necklace there is an intricately carved seahorse adorned with aquamarine eyes and matching scales.
The necklace is a fixation for her lilac gaze, an expression of observation making a painting of her features , taking note of each particular detail of the seahorse that would fit right upon her neck.
"You are a lady of Old Valyrian blood. Tell me." An urging under a softly whispering voice, but an urging nonetheless. "Tell me what this is constructed from."
Delicately does Viserra raise the necklace to the brief source of the sun's light through her window, gaze narrowing in her further observation of its properties. The shimmering gray is more akin to ripples of silver and dark water — a very particular trait in nature that is claimed by a singular material — and it appears that the seahorse even is constructed from those same waves.
"Valyrian steel." A shipper tinged with surprise and a gasp to part her lips, lilac gaze widening in her realization. "A necklace of Valyrian steel."
"Oh, don't be that way — you act as if all the Valyrian steel has been extinct from the world."
"But nigh an impossibility for even a Targaryen prince to find!"
"Are you calling your prince a liar, Lady Velaryon?" It is a dangerous sort of teasing that leaves his lips, the deep violet of his singular eye shining like a dangerous amethyst blade in the early morning's light. "That would be highly treasonous of you." His voice is lowered in its tone, a further emphasis upon his nature of volatility that is cloaked beneath his teasing charm.
"No. Of course not." Her gaze once more drifts downwards and there's a warming of her cheeks with the usage of her title. "Still it is very curious to me how you exactly came upon the necklace."
"A wise prince must always keep some secrets close to his heart." The prince muses, the sarcastic sort of smirk now curling into a smile that is touched with the rarity of genuine emotion — it is the kind of smile to pierce the brief moment of tension pon the air and ease her heart.
"Turn around. A lady should see and admire the jewelry that she is wearing."
Without a question to part her lips, Viserra pivots upon her feet and gathers her silver gold woven curls from the space of the back of her neck and grants Aemond a view of her neck that is unobscured. A breath is taken deep within upon her awareness of his lithely muscular body hovering just behind her, his hands unclasping the necklace.
Time seems to have been driven to a standstill for Aemond appears to take enjoyment in the proximity of their bodies, his breath warm against her barren flesh and his hands slow in their movements to fasten the necklace around her neck.
"Jewelry fit for a true member of House Velaryon."
The truth of his streaking words is not obscured to Viserra though she raises not a complaint to him, and rather fixates a silent gaze upon the necklace that sits high upon her neck though it is a few touches loose to be considered in the style of a choker.
The gentle glittering of the aquamarine serves well to complement the warm brown of her skin and she cannot help the thought that this piece of jewelry would wonderfully complement her gowns of turquoise trimmed with fine cream lace and threaded with silver — the traditional colors of her house.
"It's . . . beautiful." A stumbling over her words, her struggle stemming from her complete and utter admiration of the necklace rather than any true loss of speech. The question as to Aemond's possession of the piece is long lost in her admiring gaze of the mirror.
It is a reminder of the great turquoise waters that lash at the stony coast of Driftmark, of the air that flecks her skin with the salt of the ocean — and of the time that she had plucked a seahorse from the tide pool and proudly displayed it in her grimy little fingers to her lord father and her lady mother. The formation of tears are glimmering at the corner of her eyes and her vision soon becomes blurred with tears overcoming her vision.
The coolness of her flesh is met with the warmth of calloused hands and another source that draws the rise of fire within her in contrast to the cold touches of her tears — brief and heartbreakingly tender kisses that adorn the back of her neck.
"You are a true beauty of House Velaryon and you should be treated as such."
Though Viserra is the last surviving child of House Velaryon, she does not sit among the members of her house in their silks of turquoise and silver and blue doublets, but as she has promised she sits among the bride's party that consists of her many ladies-in-waiting, the ladies of House Hightower, and Viserra herself.
A promise to become broken does not suit Viserra's nature well and the devotion that they have paid one another through these years will not fade so easily into memories that will merely linger in the depths of their thoughts.
Though with ease does she spy the silver braids piled high atop of her mother's head, dressed within a pretty cream silken dress, and further accompanied by her uncle, Lord Vaemond. The lack of sighting of her father is a tear within her heart but it is an expectation that she's held ever since she had heard of Corlys's expedition back into the Stepstones in the renewal of tensions and the fighting.
The previous time she had set her sights on either of her parents had been at the sordid affair that had been her sister's funeral and shortly thereafter the funeral of her brother as well.
The memories that linger within her thoughts are fresh to her sight, as if it is merely yesterday in which Aemond had brought forward his claimation of the she-dragon Vhagar and in the next moments begin the taunting of her little nieces which had concluded with the loss of his eye.
Aemond had desired for no apology rather it had been an eerie sort of acceptance for him in the exchange of his eye for the dragon all the while his wound had remained fresh and dripping with blood that appeared like rubies beneath the fire's light.
Just as Viserra attends to the needs of Princess Helaena on the day of her wedding, she had tended to Aemond and his wound from the night a piece of him had been carved away.
"The wedding is so much more pleasant and decorated in the verdant and green of Queen Alicent's house." Lady Margaery Vyrwel possesses little motive in disguising her contempt of the kingdoms' ruling house, a noble lady in devotion to the Faith of the Seven much like their fellow houses of the Reach. "And a return to the Faith — how splendid."
"The good queen counseled him well after his foolish decision of an heir."
A vipress in disguise as a noblewoman in devotion to the faith, Lady Elinor Hightower extends very little hesitation in her own expression of criticism beneath the veil of a flimsy compliment. Much like her cousin, Lady Elinor dons the rich velvet green of her house and is adorned by golden jewelry that signifies her affiliation to the Faith.
"A return to the realm would do the realm some good. Less dragonfire and bastards and more leading by example under the Faith's rules."
"The king appears to be swayed by Queen Alicent and her children are exemplary of the fine Hightower raising if I should say so myself." Lady Elinor brags of the younger children, the smile pinching her sour cheeks the furthest from humility. "The eldest girl, however, is far too gone."
"Even if she did submit to the Faith after her great grievances against the Faith and her fall into sin — there will be no rest for her soul. The Seven Hells will host her gladly."
The insults lavished upon her good sister's name and discussion of her seeming like of morality are discomforts upon Viserra's hearing, fingers curling tightly into the blue green taffeta skirts of her gown with each word spoken through garishly painted lips.
In a sense of superficiality the women may express support for the Faith's doctrines, however in truth they are bound to their pride and behavior of righteousness — not at all the images of humility and piousness they claim to portray.
"Seat Prince Aegon and his soon to be wife Princess Helaena on the Iron Throne and they will return to the ways of righteousness as my cousin has raised them to be." Lady Elinor further proclaims, her words now half whispered and half spoken aloud for most of those in attendance of the wedding affiliate themselves with the queen.
Even Viserra has long considered herself to be ill in her skills to disguise the truth of her emotions, especially when words of irritation or general annoyances give rise to emotion that paints itself with ase on her features.
Luck takes her side on this day however for Viserra has been positioned just to the behind of Lady Elinor and Lady Margaery and they're little likely to shift their gazs to glimpse the face of the last remaining Velaryon child. Though her expression of outright annoyance and the tucking over her nails into her dress are not expressed without notes.
Of all that attend the royal court of Viserys, it is Aemond in possession of the keenest sense and he has actively taken himself in avoiding the pretty, little politics and the drama that has appeared to become emblematic of Viserys's reign.
Viserra knows not if it is a subject of comfort if her expression of nearly unadulterated annoyance falls under the ever watchful gaze of Aemond, even for a speckle of drama in this fair he considers to be 'dreary.' Or would he utilize this incident in further teasing and tormenting of her in encounters in the future?
There is a rise of her lilac hued gaz from the endlessly creased taffeta of the gown, her fingers displaying very little mercy even to one of the loveliest of her gowns. Aemond eyes her with amused interest, eyebrow quirking upwards in a discreet manner and lips softly twisted in display of his amusement — such teasing display is enough to draw further the heat behind her cheeks, now they are as if they are set aflame.
Very much his nature to lavish her with a gift in one moment and to be a dreadful tormentor in the following moment.
Viserra would tilt her head to feign ignorance of Aemond's presence but pauses in her movement as he raises a finger to his lips in a movement akin to shushing a disruptive child in attendance of a sept — he's all too keenly aware of the ladies' goading words and hypocritical gossip they fluff their gossamer wings with.
"Ignore them." His lips speak to her, the words beneath the cloak of silence. "They're empty headed and think only of themselves."
Although Viserra is of the belief that Aemond himself would not truly raise a voice to the rumors that these old noble weave from their poisonous tongue, the fact that he has a mind to reassure her in spite of their poisoned words touches her heart with a certain warmth. He'll not raise a voice to the slanderers of his elder half-sister or the words that may benefit his elder brother for Aemond is one of the most staunchly loyal followers of his mother, Queen Alicent herself.
The character of Aemond has long been a paradox to Viserra in the years she has been fostered at the court of King Viserys — a prince of roguish charm and intentions but embodying the thoughtfulness of knights that that is a rarity in these days — callous and seemingly cool hearted but ever warm and understanding when it comes to her.
"Gossiping during a wedding?" She mouths back, laughter quiet upon her lips. "How callous of them."
"If they truly upset you you need only say the word and I'll put an end to those gaggling geese."
The wedding ceremony between Prince Aegon and the Princess Helaena is an affair to resemble the sombreness of a funeral, for Aegon is half-drunk and the deep lavender of his lack of sleep most clearly paints beneath his eyes.
Helaena is a bride of very little words and even fewer emotions with merely a smile painted upon her softly pink painted lips upon Viserra's attendance at her side, and the merest of kisses pressed against the cheek of her brother turned husband. They would not be a couple woven into the great love stories of Westerosi romances.
Nevertheless it had been a match overtaken in celebration by King Viserys, Queen Alicent, the queen's father Ser Otto, and by most of the lords and ladies of the great nobility of the kingdoms, having granted the newly wedded couple with moments of joyous applause and words of congratulations.
Merely the singular expression of disapproval had adorned the features of Prince Aemond, lips twisted in the slightest of frowns, the glimmer of a glare darkening the deep violet hue of his gaze.
Aemond did once speak of his youthful desires of his betrothal to his elder sister in place of the ever growing incompetent and less than caring Aegon — though it's most obvious to Viserra that his pleas had fallen upon ears of deafness of his parents.
"Mother has arranged for nearly seventy courses for the wedding feast." The voice of Helaena is the voice of an eerily gentle lightness though on this day she does not speak of riddles and predictions — her collection of insects quickly hidden away for the day of her wedding. "My brother — my husband will be most interested in the wine."
"You are the treasure of House Targaryen and House Hightower, it's only natural that the realm would celebrate your wedding so."
Viserra keeps her tone softly warm and pliable, fingers gentle in their weaving of Helaena's braids before the wedding feast. Following the wedding ceremony Helaena had been most desiring her company in the royal procession towards the Red Keep where the feast is to be held — in her words, Viserra is most gentle in preparing her hair and she does not smell of the heavy perfumes that have Helaena grow ill from the stenches.
"Seventy courses is more than enough." A simple musing and Helaena does not possess the vanity to peer into the mirror for hours of her appearance for her wedding. "If I feas tand feast without a care in the world and an eye blind to the common folk. . . They would call me Unworthy."
Another puzzle of words to pass through her lips, though Viserra will not pass judgment upon the ever youthful princess as she weaves her platinum gold hair into braids atop of her head and further complemented by the emeralds woven between the strands.
"You are beloved by smallfolk and the nobility alike, my princess. You need not worry about what people may say of you. Besides, your brother would have their tongues."
"Aemond. . ." Helaena knows the name without thought to the reference, for Aegon, her brother and husband, cares little for his family and duty and cares more for the search of another maid to warm his bed. "A roguish blade if there ever was one."
"I am only too aware of the reputation that precedes him, Helaena. However, his callousness and cruelty will never take away from his care for you. He honors you above all else."
"He longs for a fight that is worthy of his mind and of his blade."
"He's found solace in the crossing of blades and Ser Cole's trained him plenty well." Viserra cannot help but graze her eyes over the beauty of Helaena's dress for the wedding feast — a daring gown of pastel pink that is threaded with silver dragons and complemented by layers of magenta and her sleeves are partially cut away in xposure of her shoulders. A dress that is the reflection of the progressive dressing style of the free city of Lys.
It is neither a reflection of House Targaryen nor House Hightower.
"He will take on a cursed flight that begins with kinslaying and it will end with kinslaying."
Her ominous words twist the serenity of the wheelhouse into an environment tainted with bleakness, for Helaena speaks of a future so obscured that darkness, Viserra did not dare think of a possibility. Though Queen Alicent may have her party of greens and Princess Rhaenyra her party of blacks in their spheres of influence at court, she could not imagine the break into true violence — a true act of war.
In the words of her very own mother, the realm has known merely of the warm summer sun against their bucks and the rolling green grasses and golden fields long parted from the wars of Aegon's Conquest.
And Aemond a kinslayer?
Perhaps a man of blunt words and tasing that borders upon cruelty at the expense of his victims but is he capable of raising a sword on a member of his own flesh and blood? War itself has not emblazoned itself within her sights though she knows of its cruelty and the desperation that would drive even the most righteous into horrific deeds.
Her lord father Corlys had assured her that much of an education in the art of war and her lady mother had been most insistent upon her development of self-defense capabilities and knowledge of battle skills and strategies — especially for a dragonrider.
Her mind becomes steeled against the darkened depths of her thoughts, for she has sworn the happiness of Helaena upon her wedding day — or at the least not be plagued with the reminders that she has been wedded to the elder of her brothers. A human delightfully plays upon her lips with a final emerald woven into the intricate coils of the white gold of Helaena's hair — particularly reminiscent of Princess Rhaenyra's hair upon her marriage to Viserra's elder brother.
"Let us not speak of such terrible things." Soft lips grac Helaena's cheek in expression of genuine affection. "Let us think of the celebrations and pray for the peace of the kingdoms. Do not think of things that will not plague us."