A Fair Exchange
Disclaimer: I do not own Aemond Targaryen, Rhaena Targaryen, or any of the other characters created by George R. R. Martin. Neither do I have any claim over his work in Fire and Blood or the adaptation created by HBO. I do not earn any profit from this.
Summary: When Aemond Targaryen takes her mother's dragon, it doesn't immediately occur to Rhaena Targaryen that she can take something from him, too. A dragon for a heart sounds just about fair.
Author's Note: I'm parking the Aemond/Alys Rivers fic for now, hahaha. This one would just not stop nagging until I'd written it. Let's begin with one tweak—what if Aemond had reacted differently to the suckling pig incident?
The first time Rhaena Targaryen had met Aemond Targaryen, she'd felt kindly towards him. They were cousins, after all, and unlike his drunken older brother, he hadn't attempted to kiss her at their first meeting. He'd bowed and pressed a kiss to her hand, his expression grave, and while she couldn't remember his exact words, she remembered that he'd been sorry about her mother's death.
Perhaps that was why she'd been so hurt and angry when he'd strutted back into High Tide not twelve hours later, fresh from bonding with Vhagar. The quiet, sympathetic boy had gone, and in his place was someone almost feral with triumph.
Rhaena has thought about him now and then, mostly in relation to Vhagar. Her father brings her egg after egg from his trips to the Dragonmont, but despite his patience and her near-desperation, none hatch for her. She has attempted thrice to bond with a riderless dragon, to no avail. A part of her cannot help but hate Aemond for taking Vhagar and leaving her to what feels like perpetual disappointment . . . but the rest of her grudgingly understands him, too. She knows, perhaps even more than he, what it feels like to be without a dragon in a family famed for the connection.
When he offers his hand to her and asks for a dance, she reaches to take it before freezing, the impulse towards scorn warring with the absurd desire to make peace. She looks into his one eye and sees not mockery but an earnestness that makes something flutter inside her.
"I—"
Mortifyingly, the words will not come. She would reach for her wine, but even her hand will not obey her now. It floats but a few inches over Aemond's, and when he reaches up to close his fingers over hers, her own fingers curl tight.
It had begun as a perverse notion. Later, Aemond will wonder if his ill intentions are why the gods have decided to punish him.
Though Jacaerys Velaryon had undoubtedly enjoyed dancing with Helaena, it had not been lost on Aemond and Aegon that he had taken their sister to the floor as a warning. Aemond does not even blame him. Aegon had been outrageously crude and insolent, as was his wont, and were they in the practice yard rather than feasting with their elders, Aemond would not have blamed Jace for pummeling Aegon into the dirt. Aemond does not appreciate the threat, but he understands it.
When he sees Lucerys Velaryon smirking at him from across the table, Aemond even understands the appeal of the gesture. The look on Luke's face when Aemond takes Rhaena Targaryen's hand and leads her to dance is priceless.
He has thought little of Rhaena since their last meeting. When they were children, she had simply been the plumper and shorter of Daemon's twin daughters—and the dragonless one. By all accounts, she is still dragonless, but there is little of the pudgy girl who had tried to attack him in the willowy, graceful woman in his arms. As Aemond stares at her face, he cannot understand why Aegon would turn his attentions to Baela, when Rhaena is clearly the fairer prize.
"Where have you been all these years?"
The bluntness of the question does not occur to him until he has asked it. Rhaena's brows lift, her eyes rounding, but her even reply is bereft of any of her apparent surprise. "On Dragonstone, my prince. With my father."
Another woman might have added "of course" and rolled her eyes. He cannot see any condescension in Rhaena's smoothly placid expression . . . and yet he can sense it. His fingers tighten on her waist, around her hand. Aemond wants to snap at her for being insolent, but the fact that she gives nothing away makes him pull her closer than the dance should warrant. He wants to hear her breath hitch, to feel her blushing, stuttering protest.
When she flows into his arms like water, her hand slipping from his shoulder to rest over his heart, something trips inside his chest and a sense of doom unlike any he has ever experienced swoops down into his gut.
For someone so brisk and usually lacking in patience, Baela Targaryen takes infinite care when it comes to hair. It is a fact that Rhaena has always benefited from since they were children. She closes her eyes, lulled by the slow, gentle sweeps of the brush through her hair. It has been years since they last saw each other, but like magic this ritual takes them right back.
Whatever else might happen in the day, this time is for them.
"Had you seen Aemond before tonight?"
And for talking about things that they dare not share with anyone else.
Rhaena opens her eyes and meets her sister's stare through the mirror. To her relief, there is no judgment there—only worry.
"You know I haven't."
Baela's brows dip into a frown, her mouth tightening. Rhaena knows that she is holding back what she wants to say because she knows that Rhaena already knows the words fighting to leave her lips.
You need to be careful of him.
He's planning something.
We can't forgive him for taking Vhagar.
She reaches up to take Baela's wrist and squeezes tight, love for her sister brimming inside her. She smiles even as she lowers her eyes to hide the fact that they are burning. It feels like a betrayal not to speak, not to share with her sister and give name to the fear that plagues her, too.
The truth is, Rhaena isn't sure it matters whether she is careful, what Aemond's intentions are, or whether she can ever forgive him for taking Vhagar. Something is unfolding, with a suddenness and certainty that terrifies her. That it had begun tonight, of all nights, tells her that it is either the gods' caprice or simple destiny.
Either way, it is beyond anyone's control.
Author's Note #2: Ohoho . . . yes, sometimes it happens just like that, folks. Feedback is love!