"When sorrows come, they come not as single spies, but in battalions."
Shakespeare: Hamlet. Act 4, Scene 5.
Visenya Targaryen's screams could be heard all the way down to the Black Cells.
He knew it. He had tested that theory the day before. The sound of her anguished screams had made him flee, it nearly made him insane with worry. He had tried to escape the horrible wails, but they always found him.
Aemond's wife had been in bed for two days already. Her strength failing and her body giving up, yet, she was still trying to give birth to his son.
Aemond was sitting in one of the cells. The back of his head to the wall, hands curled into fists at his sides. He was going to spike the Maester to the walls if she died.
Last week his brother, Aegon, had come home from the Stormlands. Nearly dead. His armor was fused to his body, Sunfyre was bleeding and he had croaked something about an ambush.
Aemond had taken Vhagar and left. Left to hunt down Rhaenys Velaryon and her mount, the Red Queen, Meleys. He found them some hours later, the charred remains of Rhaenys still next to her dying dragon.
Aegon was bed-bound while his wounds healed, Aemond knew he was doomed. He had taken his place as Prince Regent and had been discussing a possible act of revenge when his wife had gone into labour.
He had never moved faster in his life. She was laying in their shared bed, sweat already pooling underneath her and contractions following in rapid succession. Her screams of pain had forced their way into his head and he could hear nothing else. Nothing but the anguished wailing as the Maester forced her legs apart.
"Aemond, I will give you a son" she had cried, grabbing onto his hand.
"I will love her just as much if she is a daughter, my love" he had said.
He had lied. He would not love it if it killed her. He knew that if this child tore his wife apart he would detest it. He would loathe it. He would curse it to the gods for taking his wife, for taking the only thing that still kept him sane.
Aemond paced as his wife's screams filled the Keep. He could not sit still, he could not stay here and do nothing. The Maesters had forbid him to stay with Visenya. His presence only stressed her, and for the babe to come she needed to be calm they had said. He had only growled and threatened to cut off the Maesters tongues if they denied him.
Yet, the guards still stopped him every time he tried to go to her. He was not even allowed near the room. The entire corridor had been sealed off by the guards.
His mother found him on the steps out of the dungeons when he decided to try sneaking past them again. Her face was streaked with tears and she could not stop shaking.
"Aemond, we need the Maester. It is Helaena. She flung herself from her tower," Alicent Hightower sank to her knees. Trying to keep herself together and stop the violent sobs escaping her as she reached for Aemond's hands.
Helaena had lost her youngest son and her twins a moon ago. Ever since she had pulled more and more into herself and had taken to staying in the Tower of the Hand. Not eating, not sleeping, not speaking to anyone. She had sent all of them away, screaming for them to leave her alone. Aemond had tried to reach her but he only found quiet, defeated catatonia.
Aemonds heart sank. He did not think he was able to feel more pain. His head was empty.
"Visenya needs the Maester. If you go in there now to fetch him it will kill her" Aemond said, still holding his mother's hands. "Send for the Grand Maester instead. I am going to her, if they try to stop me again, I will kill them."
Aemond ripped his hands away from his mother when she tried to keep him from going. He turned to look at her once more before reaching the stairs.
"Tell me what happens, mother. Discreetly." he said by way of departure.
Visenya's screams had changed. She only howled now, voice raw and throat likely bleeding.
The bed was covered in her blood, it ran down onto the floor and the smell of it made him ill. It smelled of iron, infection and disease. Her belly was still swollen with his child. It needed to come now. Gods be damned, but the hours passed and no child proved forthcoming.
"Do something for her!" Aemond screamed to the Maester when the third hour died, hands grabbing his frail shoulders and shaking him.
"My Prince, we are needed at your sisters side, I have exhausted my knowledge. The babe will not come. I shall leave the High Septon-" the old man began, words spewing out of him in rapid succession. The High Septon was only left if death loomed. Aemond would not have it.
He grabbed the Maesters face. Pulled it towards his, their noses nearly touching.
"She is my wife, you will do what I tell you. You will help her. If you refuse I will feed you and your entire order to the dragons. Alive."
"Wh-what has happened to Helaena?" Visenya croaked from behind him. She extended her frail clammy hand to his but dropped it half way. Helaena was her best friend. He could not tell her. Not yet. Not now.
Yet the Maester opened his mouth. Explaining Helaena's fate. She was still alive. But she would never be the same. If they tended to her now they would be able to save her life, the anguish of losing her children had broken her beyond repair just as the ground had broken her delicate bones.
Aemond could have killed him right then and there. He debated it. He really did. Visenya was already covered in blood, what problems would a little more cause?
Visenya's legs trembled, she tried to control her coming contraction and screamed. And Aemond could hear the sound of flesh tearing. Warm blood flowed over his hands, he turned around and stilled.
Visenya's breaths were shallow, laboured and painful. Blood was flowing from her in streams, dripping from the bed and continuing over the floor, covering the Maesters feet. Her breathing stopped as her eyes rolled back into her head.
"What happened?" Aemond screamed. Reaching for the Maesters neck.
"There is nothing more I can do, my Prince" the Maester repeated. Aemond grabbed his arm, half dragging him through his wife's blood.
"Tell me what happened!" He repeated.
"It tore her, the babe. I-"
Aemond left the room. The Gods would damn him. He would deserve it, they would all deserve it.
The fucking usurper. She had burned his brother, murdered his sisters children, almost driven her to her death and now she had killed his wife and their heir.
Aemond knew only darkness, pain, and anger.
Nobody stopped him. Nobody even looked at him as he ran for the armory. The guards showed no emotion and did not blink as he grabbed his swords and his dagger.
He marched into the Dragonpit and mounted Vhagar. Taking half the roof off when he forced her off the ground, giant slivers of rock fell to the ground and threatened to reduce the entire pit to dust. He did not care. The bitch on Dragonstone would pay for this. Vhagar's flames were black as night, capable of ending whoever decided to take her on. He would end Rhaenyra's life, then he would burn her murdering uncle and her bastard children right where they slept.
He flew over the Bay and the Gullet. If he was taking Dragonstone by force on his own he needed to be clever. He knew her armies had marched on Harrenhal to fight his brother, most of them were dead. He needed to draw the remainder of her guards out. He kept Vhagar high above the clouds, circling the summit of the Dragonmont, if he was to be successful he needed to get rid of the fucking dragon first.
Vhagar understood. She first descended on Caraxes. Vhagar's roars spurred the Wyrm into action and he whirled on them, trying to claw Vhagar to pieces to defend himself. It was of no use. Vhagar kept lashing out with her claws aiming for his throat and his eyes. She managed to claw one of them and Caraxes screams mixed with the thundering storm gathering on the horizon.
Aemond roared for her to keep attacking and then her massive jaws locked around the much smaller dragon's neck. She forced him to the ground and slammed him into the rock of the Dragonmont, teeth tearing his head from his body before the last pained scream left his throat. With the Blood Wyrm dead, his uncle had nowhere to flee if he appeared.
Vhagar flew down through the clouds again and unleashed her fire on the castle. Shattering windows and burning everything in sight. The guards got the worst of it. Aemond could smell their burning flesh and the excrement leaving their bodies, their wails of horror and fear of death marring through the castle yard, reverberating off the massive stone walls.
The terrified screams of the small folk mixed with the horror stricken panic emitting from Rhaenyra's servants. They did not stand a chance. They had nowhere to run.
The flames burned black, molten rivers of blood, guts, charred bone and stone running down to meet the sea. The wave of carrion hissed when it met the cold water, forever mixing the remains with the waves. Aemond laughed. A maniacal howling deep in his throat. They would all die, screaming in pain, just as his wife had screamed.
He saw her then. Rhaenyra. Standing in the middle of the bloodied courtyard. Cursing him.
Daemon was nowhere to be seen. Aemond had last heard he was at Harrenhal along with his dragonseed whore Nettles, and their armies. He had thought his uncle would be here to defend his family, he had to know Aemond was out for revenge.
Aemond smirked, and landed Vhagar in the midst of the remains. Flinging pieces of masonry and burnt remains everywhere.
"What have you done!" Rhaenyra screamed, drawing her dagger. His father's dagger. The crown upon her head forced her head slightly downwards, she had to strain her neck to keep her head angled to his. What had happened to her? She was but a shadow of her former self.
"You murdered my pregnant wife and drove my sister mad, you injured my brother. I will have my vengeance, and you will die" Aemond said drawing his blade. The steel sang against the leather of his sheath and he raised it, pointing it at her neck. The rain had started falling, the waters muddled the ground and soon rivers of blood and gore would rise up to his ankles.
"I had nothing to do with Helaena's fate! That was Daemon!" Rhaenyra pleaded. Trying to explain that it was Daemon who sent the mercenaries who murdered her children. Aemond did not care.
"It does not matter. You are the one who sent Rhaenys to ambush Aegon. He paid dearly for it, and so did she," he mused, still thinking of the charred corpse belonging to the Queen Who Never Was.
"If you kill me, war will follow, brother-" Rhaenyra warned. Stepping back.
Aemond raised his sword higher. Brother. She had never commented on their relation before, only when she knew she would lose.
"Who will follow you now? All they see you as is a maniacal queen bent on a thought of revenge that is not yours to fulfil."
"You killed my son!" Rhaenyra howled, eyes blazing and dagger raised.
"I told you, an eye for an eye." he said, simply. He had not meant to harm Lucerys beyond repair, but he had finally avenged the loss of his eye and decided it was punishment enough for her to lose a second child.
Aemond went for Rhaenyra. Visenya's screams still echoing in his head. She had killed his wife. She had killed his unborn child. She had to die screaming in the same kind of pain that roared within him. Rhaenyra tried to parry as best she could, yet, she only had a dagger. She relied on her dragon most of the time she went to war, and the beast could not help her now. Aemond had seen her fly to the Dragonmont, already mourning her dead mate.
Rhaenyra's steel dagger met his sword and the clang made his arm shake. He turned to her left and sliced his sword low, taking out a tendon in her leg. She screamed as her knees hit the ground, rain and blood covering her hands and her face as she tried to regain her balance.
Aemond was set on her demise, she had to pay for what she had done. And she did. Aemond took his time. He started slowly, only incapacitating her further to make her still. Then he kept going. Her blood coating his sword, running from her in streams mixing with the muddy waters beneath her.
When she finally drew her last rasping breath, Aemond severed her head from her shoulders with a swipe of his blade. Leaving the rest of her corpse for the crows already gathering on the walls.
He had managed to make her admit that her two remaining bastard sons were here too and he went for them next.
Aemond exited Dragonstone carrying four heads by their hair. Three of them were almost burnt beyond recognition, but the Queen's however, still wearing his father's crown was plainly visible.
Aemond impaled them on his second sword and dragged Vhagar off the ground. He was going to Harrenhal. He was going to find his uncle. Then he was going home to tend to his wife.
Much to his surprise, when he got to Harrenhal the massive castle was already burning. He only laughed, knowing half his work was already done for him. He could not escape an eerie feeling of dread as he flew over the God's Eye and decided he would keep his distance to the bottomless lake. If he fell into it he would drown, and no one would ever find him.
He dismounted Vhagar outside the castle walls and walked through the rubble, passing charred corpses and screaming men as he went. He drove his sword through a few of them just to help them on their way to meet the Mother and kept looking for his uncle. He had to be here somewhere.
He walked through gate after gate, listening for him. Yet, he only heard the distinct sounds of rope going taunt and the sound of necks snapping. He could see the newly erected, crude gallows on the level above him and he prayed for the remaining men, wishing them a quick death.
He found Daemon along with Nettles and Sheepstealer, readying to hang the last few men of Aegon's army. Daemons face met his when he noticed him walking through the last gate. Brow rising in question and anticipation.
"Have you come to save them? It is too late, nephew. It was too late for your brother too if I am not mistaken?" Aemond ignored the sting. He just walked closer to Daemon and lifted his sword in the air, blood still leaking from the heads impaled on it.
"Your wife," Aemond said and gesticulated with the sword in Daemon's general direction. "And her bastards, your children for mine."
"You do not have children," Nettles spat, her plain face angry and red.
"I would have had a son, if it had not been for him and his cunt of a wife." Aemond said, still waving his sword. "He killed my wife, I killed his. Now, I have come for him."
Daemon told Nettles to stay put. He drew Dark Sister from his side and attacked. Aemond just parried. Stepped around him every time he came at him and parried again. One hand holding the sword with the heads, the other holding his Valyrian dagger.
Daemon kept attacking, for a man who had just lost what was left of his family he showed little grief. Aemond noticed that he kept his body constantly between him and Nettles. Smirking Aemond threw his hand out, letting go of the dagger and watching it connect with Nettles' throat. Blood seeping out in a gushing stream. She used her remaining strength to claw at her severed throat, to no avail.
"I see your loyalties has shifted, Uncle. A dragonseed?" Aemond spat. Sheepstealer took off, leaving her dying mistress behind.
"You fucking craven!" Daemon spat, raising his sword and engaging.
"Fire and blood," Aemond replied and moved out of the way.
Aemond walked through the halls of the Red Keep a day later. Blood and grime still coating him.
He walked straight into the throne room and impaled the heads on the swords sticking up from the steps. He took a breath and sat down. The war was ending, Rhaenyra's army had defected after their defeat and Aegon still fighting for his life.
Aemond had still not seen his wife, he did not dare. He feared that if he saw her lifeless body the image would be burnt into his mind forever and he would never again remember her smile or her laugh.
Yet, he needed to see her. He needed to hold her, one last time. He slowly walked up the stairs to their rooms, carrying Rhaenyra's head. If he managed to show Visenya that he had avenged her, perhaps she would come back to him.
The room reeked of old blood and infection. He smelled it already from the outside. The guards said nothing as he walked through the doors. He almost lost his footing when he saw the empty bed. The bloody sheets still holding her shape, the pillow still indented from her head. He dropped his sisters head.
Aemond fell to the floor and wept. He cursed the Gods and the Maesters. He stopped thinking. He had to get the sheets off the bed, the smell of her blood made him insane. He started ripping at them, realising that the blood had seeped into the mattress, the stains would never come out.
He dropped the sheets and let them fall to the floor. The heap of fabric still smelled of blood and he tried not to gag. He heard someone enter the room and he stilled.
"I will take you to see her if you wish," his mother's voice said from behind him, carefully walking up to him and taking his arm, forcing him away from the bloody sheets. "She fought valiantly, my love. She was just too broken and too tired."
His mother explained they had delayed the wrapping of her body until he came home. He had little to say about what had transpired at Dragonstone and Harrenhal, and he knew he would face the consequences later. Alicent Hightower left him in the crypt, begging him to ask for assistance if he needed it. He had refused her, she was crying when she gave him the wrappings. The soft fabric smelled of lavender, just like Visenya had done the day he married her.
Her body was left on the stone table in the middle of the crypt. She was still dressed in the silk gown she had worn when she died. Her pale silver hair hung over the end of the table, brushing over the floor. Blood still coated her body, the dried flakes fell off when he touched her. Her arm was so cold, it felt like touching cold, unyielding stone. Her skin would never be warm again, it would never again react to his touch and he knew his life was over.
He placed the long strip of cloth around her feet and started wrapping, gently placing her legs together as he went. He had thought her too difficult to move, the stiffness of death had already set in but he managed, carefully lifting her up and moving the roll of fabric under her body and then over it, repeating the motions with quiet calm. The Maester had placed her arms around his dead son, he was already wrapped. He could only see a stray tuft of white hair peeking out through one of the folds.
Aemond removed the wrapped bundle when he got to her chest. It was customary to wrap the face of the dead too but he could not bring himself to do it. Her face was so still and calm, he saw no trace of pain or anguish on her lifeless features and he decided to leave the wrapping. He placed both his hands on her shoulders and gently shook her. Nothing happened, and he stilled. Something in his chest had cracked so violently he almost heard it.
Aemond stood in the crypt for hours. Just staring. At his wife and his child. His son had not even taken a breath before he had died in his mother's womb. He could have had a son. He could have had a wife. He had lost everything. How would he live his life now, knowing that his heart was to be burnt and its remains scattered to the relentless wind?
He only bowed his head, keeping a hand on his wife's face, trying once again to will her back to life. Nothing. He tried to control his shaking as he lifted her head and placed it in his lap, asking the Gods to give her back to him simultaneously cursing them for taking her.
The guards carefully watched Aemond for days. He did not speak, he did not scream and he did not eat. He stood by his wife until his legs gave out, and then he sat. He had thrown a dagger at the last person who had interrupted him so they decided to leave him there to grieve.
Aemond Targaryen, Prince Regent, walked up the stairs to the Tower of the Hand several days later. Asking the Gods to forgive him for his stupidity. He stepped onto the windowsill and followed in his sisters failed steps. He let himself fall out of the open window, reaching out his hands and trying to remember her face as his body descended closer to the ground outside Maegor's Holdfast. He wished for nothing but to be reunited with his wife and son when his body broke on the ground below, his cracked skull leaking blood and his hollow eye forever staring at something in the distance, too far away to see.
Aemond Targaryen was twenty when he died, his body was burnt along with his wife and child, the flames from Vhagar's maw carrying their flurrying ashes to the skies.