"The course of true love never did run smooth."

Shakespeare: A Midsummer Night's Dream. Act 1, Scene 2.

"Aemond?" his mother's voice came from behind him, soft cooing obscuring her voice. Aemond whirled on her. His son-
His eye focused on his mother through the blurry haze of grief. Her arms were wrapped around his child, wrapped in a woven velvet blanket. Gold and green. A small whimpering noise came out of Aemond. He rose to his feet and walked over to his mother, the cooing of the small babe addled his brain and his heart beat so hard against his ribs he struggled to breathe.
"She gave me a son?" he asked, not believing what he saw. He could only see his son's head, wisps of pale silver hair blowing in the draft from the open door.
"He survived her, I had the wet nurse tend to him," his mother said, her brown eyes filled with sadness and worry.
Aemond looked at the small child wrapped in his mother's arms. "He fought for his life, just like she did." She said.

The Prince stared at his son. He stared at how his violet eyes tried to find his voice when he spoke, he stared at how his tiny fist was wrapped around his mothers thumb. He stared at how his toothless grin seemed to widen when he walked closer. Visenya..

Aemond tried to hate him, he really did. Still, the second his sons violet eyes found him he smiled. He realized he would protect him with his life, burn down the entire world for him if necessary. He saw his wife in him, they had the same nose, yet the rest of his features were Aemond's. He recognised the small furrow at the tail of one brow, the shape of his cheekbones and the way his eye crinkled when he looked around. Aemond extended a hand and placed it on his son's head.
"She named him Aerion," his mother said, placing his son in his arms. Aerion.

Aemond wasn't surprised. She had been a daughter of house Velaryon. She would forever honor her ancestors.
"The Old, the True, the Brave," Aemond said quietly and tried to control his breathing. The smell of the room pained him, he still heard her screams in his head, he still heard her body break-

He bowed his head and placed his forehead against his son's, the small babe cooed quietly. Aerion turned his head to his father and his nose brushed Aemond's. He reached his small hand up and touched Aemond's cheek, grabbing a hold of a strand of hair while he was at it. His tiny fist closed around it and he tugged lightly. Aemond only held his son closer as he aimed for the door.

"Sweet boy, let me tell you about your mother, Visenya," he began, as he walked out the door and down the hall.
"She was the daughter of the Sea Snake, little one," he said, and smiled when the little boy stared at him with clear eyes.
"Yes, I know! That Sea Snake!" he exclaimed, feigning surprise at his own fortune.
"She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life, and she hated me."
Truly, she had. She had told him as much once, and her dagger had narrowly escaped his head when he told her he knew she was lying. She had fought him every step of the way. Aemond had always known he was not an easy person to love and neither was his wife. Yet, she had given up fighting a moon before they were married. She had told him then, that she had loved him since she was a child.
He smiled at the memory, he smiled knowing that he held the last living piece of her in his shaking arms.

Aemond did not want to see his wife. It was bad luck to bring new life so close to the Stranger. So he kept walking the Keep. Over and over, floor after floor. Talking to his son. When his legs gave out he sat.
Aemond did not put his son down until his arms threatened to stop betray him. He quickly walked back to his room and placed his son in a nest of soft pillows, still swaddled in the green and gold velvet. Aemond kept watch as he removed his bloody clothing and crawled into the bed too, placing his son against his chest and closing his eyes.
"I will keep you safe, little boy. Nothing bad will ever happen to you. You are the son of the dragon and by fire and blood I swear, I will keep you safe." Aemond smiled as Aerion's tiny fist closed around his thumb and his eyes drifted shut.

Aemond was ripped from his sleep hours later by his mother lifting his son from his arms.
"Your wife still needs you, we waited for you. We can wait no longer."

His mother explained they had delayed the wrapping of her body until he came home. 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. The Queen left him to tend to her last remaining grandchild.

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 a piece of his heart died with her.

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 folded over her chest. She still wore the ring he had given her.

Aemond stilled when he finished wrapping her neck. 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.

"Please, come back to me," he whispered to her lifeless form. Aemond Targaryen wept, and the Stranger laughed in his face.

Aemond stood in the crypt for hours. Just staring. At his wife. Named after the warrior Queen. The brightest jewel that had ever graced the salt-washed castle of High Tide.
He wrapped her face. He refused to break tradition. He gently folded the wrappings over her eyes and kissed her forehead for the last time.
"I will live for you," he said and looked at her, "I will live for our son. Everything I do is for you."

Aemond stood in the throne room later that day and stared at the festering heads still spiked to the swords on the stairs. He should have them removed. He should have burned them.
He felt like calamity after calamity came crashing down on him and he had no idea what he had done to deserve this.
"He died?" he asked the quivering Maester at his feet.
"Yes, my Prin-" Aemond raised a brow. "-my King." The Maester added and excused himself.

Aemond waited until the Maester had left him before he pushed off from one of the massive stone pillars. He took one look at the Iron Throne and groaned. He had said it years ago. He had fucking said it. To Ser Criston Cole. In the alley behind one of Aegon's frequent haunts.
"-it is I who should be-" King.

His brother had cared little for politics, meetings, training or the histories. His brother would never care again. Aemond rubbed at his forehead with a fist. His entire life had changed in the matter of three days. He had no idea what to do. His head spun.

If his little nephew had lived, Helaena would be Queen Regent until he came of age. But Jaehaerys was dead. His brother had no living children. The Maester was right, the Iron Throne was his. By right and by blood.

Aemond looked up to the ceiling. He had an heir. His bloodline lay secure in the life of his son. The blood of the dragon and the ancient blood of Valyria would endure.
There was no more war. No more turmoil, no more bastards and no more ridiculous claims he had to listen to.

The Dowager Queen sat in her usual chair when Aemond let himself into her chambers. She didn't turn. She kept swaying his sleeping son in his arms, keeping her chin on top of his head. Aemond knew grief when he saw it, he knew his mother. She hardly showed her emotions in public, but now-
"Do you remember what I did for you when you lost your eye?" she asked, only looking at Aerion.
"Yes, mother," Aemond said. He remembered her fury, her despair and her disbelief. Aemond had realized then, through the haze of pain and anguish that there was nothing in this world his mother would not do for him. There was nothing she would not do for her children. Aegon had had his faults, Aemond knew that, but he was loved deeply.
"I would do it all again. All of it. If I had not I would not have this, I would not have him." Aemond saw a tear run down her pallid face, and as she sniffled Aemond walked over to her and knelt by her side. He took one of her hands in his and forced her to look at him.

"She is gone, her children are gone. Her bloodline is ended." Aemond said.
He knew it pained her. His mother and Rhaenyra had been friends once, before his grandfather's scheming placed his mother in the hands of the Old King.
"Did you love him?"
"I did. I just did not love him enough," Alicent muttered under her breath. He knew she had forced herself to do her duty. Alicent cradled his son closer to her chest and looked at him.
"He gave me you. Despite everything, he gave me my children,' she said and smiled. 'I was pregnant with you during Rhaenyra's wedding feast,"

Aemond knew the story. Some of the oldest serving ladies still talked about it. They still talked about Alicent Hightower, interrupting the Princesses wedding feast, clad in a bright green dress, walking past hundreds of people. The whispers had not stopped until the Old King rose.
"The beacon on the Hightower, do you know what color it glows when Oldtown calls its banners to war?" she whispered to him.
"Green." Aemond replied.
"I hope it never glows again. Promise me it will not glow again. Promise me, Aemond," she placed a hand on his cheek and moved her thumb over his cheekbone, "I can not handle another war."
Aemond rose from her side and held his hands out for his son.
"As long as I live, it will not glow again."

Aerion lay closely tucked to his sisters chest as King Aegon Targaryen was reduced to ash in the Dragonpit. Helaena didn't move a muscle. One hand was wrapped around her nephew, the other held on to Aemond's wrist. He stood completely still, looking on as a broken Sunfyre closed his fiery maw. Aemond found himself wishing Aegon had died in the battle. To see him as he had been, bloody, broken and crippled had pained him, it pained Helaena more. It pained her so much she had refused to see him. Aemond knew why. To see him only reminded her of what she had lost, it only served as a reminder of her dead children and her near demise.

"He will haunt me forever," Helaena said quietly as she turned her eyes away from the crumbling ashes.
"I know." Aemond whispered and wiped away the stray tear on her face. "Things will change now, I swear it. You shall not want for anything. I will protect you," he said as her forehead met with his chest. He gently caressed her back with a palm as he walked her out of the Pit and back to the Keep.
Things would change. Never again would he tolerate tears marring his sister's face. Never again would he endure seeing the broken remnants of his family in pain.

King Aemond Targaryen, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Protector of the Realm and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms was crowned in the Dragon Pit on the 22nd day of the fifth moon in the 131st year after Aegon's Conquest.

His mother placed the blackened crown worn by his brother on his head and proclaimed him King. The cracked rubies of the crown that had once been Aegon the Conquerors glinted in the light from the sun as Aemond stood and named his son, Aerion Targaryen the Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne.

A wind blew in from the sea, tousled his hair and the faint scent of lavender made him take a breath and close his eye. The King smiled and tucked his son closer to him.
"Your mother is watching you, little one. Never forget that."