#lukewarm feelings on Rhaenyra Targaryen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

summerkoya · 1 year

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the next right thing

She became the blessing he never wished for, his damnation. She became the living, breathing proof that Aemond Targaryen carried his heart outside his body.

But when has any of that ever been powerful enough to endure a conflict of principles?

Chapter 1

aemond targaryen x original female character , aemond targaryen x wife!oc

summary: Myria and Aemond welcome their new little dragon into the world

warnings: fluff, angst, childbirth (not explicit though)

(all characters portrayed are aged up from original ages in the book/show)

****

Myria sighed in relief as she sank in the comfort of the tub full of lukewarm water. She dismissed all the maids in the room, wishing to enjoy what she felt would be the last few days just between her and the baby, before they were born. Eyes closed, she placed a hand on her heavily swollen stomach, and delicately started caressing it.

“Ah, you can’t join us fast enough, my little dragon.” She whispered, with a smile on her lips. It was a bittersweet feeling, given that she did desire to cherish the end of her pregnancy, yet she was rather eager to gain once again freedom of her own body, instead of being bound by, not only Maesters’ orders, but her own scarce mobility due to her enlarged frame.

She was enjoying herself for the first time in a while, as she had been feeling nothing but extreme discomfort all day, everyday, when she heard the soft thud of the door being opened. The silence that followed afterwards was all she needed to figure out who it was.

“Hello there.” Myria muttered, as Aemond settled a stool right next to the tub so he could sit beside it. “Where are the boys?”

“They’re with the Septa.” He answered, gently resting his hand on her belly. “They were covered in dirt from head to toe after our ‘quest’, as they called it, to the dragonpit.”

“Thank you, Aemond.” She opened her eyes, and stared at him with a loving expression on her face. “You know how important it is to me that the boys spend time with us and are taught by us; raised by us, and these past moons the entirety of that responsibility has fallen upon you.” She placed her hand over his, skin hot as he had been training right before, and immediately felt the baby kicking against her abdomen.

“‘Tis the least I can do,” he murmured, in a heavy voice. It was weird, that not even feeling the baby’s kicks, something that usually guaranteed would put a smile on his face, managed to tear down the aura of unsettlement that surrounded him. She raised his hands, and held them against her chest.

“What is it, dear husband?” She asked, with a chuckle. “Have the two little monsters we have for sons terrorised you enough for the day?”

He bit down on his lips, as if he didn’t want to speak the words he was thinking, dreading they would become true because of it.

“The Velaryon are coming,” he finally muttered, dryly, “Vaemond has requested an audience to discuss Driftmark’s succession.”

Myria knew about the animosity there was between the two families. Although Aemond and Rhaenyra’s children were raised together in the Red Keep, he didn’t have many fond memories of their shared youth. The further the Velaryon kept away from both their lives and conversation, the better it was for his already short tempered and resentful persona.

“Oh,” she breathed, “I believed that matter was already settled. That both your father, and most importantly Lord Corlys had proclaimed Luke as his heir.”

“They did, yes. But I suspect that the King’s growing inability to sit the throne has built some courage on Vaemond, and now he’s pushing for the Driftmark seat again.”

“Under which pretexts?”

Aemond looked at her with an incredulous look on his face. As smart as he thought his wife to be, she did have plenty of painfully naive moments, on account of her foolishly trusting and kind nature.

“What?” She snapped, her tone got defensive. “Is it only because they don’t look like their father that their titles are being questioned?”

“Vaemond is just trying to protect his house’s lineage, dearest.”

“By calling Rhaenyra’s children illegitimate!” She complained, harshly pushing his hands away from her. That was precisely the reason why she hated whenever the subject of Rhaenyra and her children worked its way into their conversations, she knew it was an issue upon which they would never reach any sort of mutual agreement.

“You can’t deny… they do have a very strong resemblance to a certain late commander of the City Watch.” He sniggered, letting an all too familiar malicious grin claim his features. “She should’ve given more thought before bearing Strong looking children.”

Myria’s eyes started to swell with tears, and she protectively covered her stomach in a hug. “That’s a despicable thing to say, Aemond. Especially when she’s your sister.”

“‘Tis only the truth.” He continued to argue, and although he was usually the kind of person to savour a victory with no remorse and a smug expression on his face, he couldn’t help but to feel his gaze soften at the sight of such an upset Myria. He’d like to know which part of his words had caused that profound of a reaction on her, but he was never one good with emotions.

“I don’t like it when you make such comments, Aemond.” She explained in a weak voice, roughly cleaning up the tears streaming down her cheek. “This whole… obsession you Targaryens have with looking a certain way”.

Aemond felt his heart shrink in his chest, as a veil of shame started looming around him. What kind of man allowed himself to be the reason behind his beloved wife’s tears? The wife that had already gifted him two healthy, beautiful children and was enduring the hardships of having another in the way? No honourable one for sure.

“I apologise dearest, I didn’t know this matter distressed you this much.”

“So far I’ve been lucky, Aemond,” she whimpered, knowingly looking at her stomach, “for both Trystan and Griffin look like you, but what if this baby takes after me? What if the baby is born with my dornish looks, instead of a dragon’s? What kind of comments will I have to get used to hearing?”

Aemond felt a twinge of guilt on the depths of his stomach, given that he could recall a few instances when both him and his family had gloated on how much of a Targaryen both his sons took after. On how the dragon blood was a strong one indeed.

“None.” Aemond answered, almost shivering with fury at the thought of someone making such insinuations towards his wife. “If anyone dared making such remarks, I’d have their tongues.”

Myria, who had failed to realise their talk had reached such an intensity her husband had a murderous look on his face, decided to back down and let her lips curl into a soft smile. Besides, she had another difficult topic of conversation she needed to bring up, eventually. She had to preserve some of her husband’s patience for that.

“I apologise, my love, for speaking such dreadful words,” she mumbled, placing a reassuring hand on his cheek. “We shouldn’t let words born out of anger rot what it would have otherwise been a joyous moment, should we?”

Aemond took a second before nodding, and deemed the discussion over by once again laying his hand over her swollen stomach.

“Who do you think the baby will look like, this time?”

“I wish for the baby to look like you.” Aemond smiled subtly. “Girls always take after their mothers.”

“We don’t know if it is a girl yet.” Myria chuckled. “It could very much be another boy, you know. Will you be happy if that’s the case?”

“Of course I’ll be, I only pray to the Gods for a healthy child.” He explained. “I just have a feeling it will be a daughter.”

“But if it’s not?” She insisted, with a wary leer on her lips.

Aemond stared at her in confusion, failing to understand Myria’s persistence on the matter. He believed himself to be a good, present father to their sons. He cherished them deeply and, because words of love didn’t come easy to him, he made sure his actions were a testament of such affections. He wished for a daughter, sure, but he found it hard to believe Myria would ever think he wouldn’t adore another boy just as much. Besides, they could always try again.

And, as if she had read his mind, Myria turned her face towards him, letting a gloomy semblance cover her usually cheeky demeanour. “I too wish for a daughter, but I hope for you, my love, that indeed it’s one. Because this is the last time, Aemond. I do not wish to do this again. I’ve already given you two sons, and we have another babe in the way, I think I’ve already performed my duty. Even if this one is another son, I do not wish to get pregnant again only for the yearning of a daughter.”

The princess remained in silence, assessing her dear husband’s reaction, but there wasn’t any. He simply stared back at her, with a frivolous mien on his face.

“Are you mad at me, dear?” She asked, holding tight on his hands.

Aemond took a deep breath in, and then spoke: “If it’s indeed anger what you make out my feelings to be, rest assured they’re not because of you, dearest, for they’re directed at me.” He sighed, refusing to meet her eyes. “I’m sorry that you’ve felt as if having my children were a duty to you, rather than a choice. And I’m even more ashamed that you believed I would ever force that on you.”

“No, Aemond, please.” Myria said, straightening up. She stretched out towards him, placing her palm on his cheek, and softly pushed his face towards her, pressing him to look at her. “Our kids, all three of them, are a blessing to me. And they were born out of love, not duty, believe me. I am not telling you this because I fear you will force children on me, I am letting you know this will be our last baby so you can get used to that idea. I know you wanted lots of children, and I wouldn’t want you to feel as if our family was incomplete.”

Aemond reached for her hands, and held them against his lips, so he could leave a mellow kiss on them. He then placed them over his chest.

“I’ve considered our family to be complete the moment I married you, Myr.” He said, gently. “Don’t ever worry about that.”

And she knew he meant that, for he rarely called her by such a name. Maybe it was because of how flustered she felt, or how strongly she felt about her husband, or maybe it was just a coincidence, but right at that moment the baby started to kick again.

“Feel that,” she said, beaming, putting his hands over her stomach, “I think the baby is eager to come out. They’ve been kicking so much lately, and with such strength, I wouldn’t be surprised if I genuinely gave birth to a dragon.”

Aemond promptly looked at her, his face turning into a grin one could find in a child when they’re being asked about a subject they’re very interested in. “As a matter of fact,” he rushed to explain, not being able to conceal his excitement, “there’s a myth that Targaryens are first conceived as dragons when they’re in the womb, and eventually develop into humans, right before birth.”

“The matter is settled, then,” she chuckled, “neither a baby boy nor a baby girl, a baby dragon.”

“Īlva rūs zaldrīzes.” He affirmed proudly, to which the baby started kicking again.

“I think they like that.” She giggled. “But you better not say that word again, it hurts when they get this excited.” Myria groaned.

Aemond let a little smile cover his face, and drew his face closer to her stomach.

“Sagon sȳz naejot aōha muña, ñuha zaldrītsos.” (Be kind to your mother, my little dragon).

• • •

Aemond stayed with her until the sun set, and helped her back to their chambers, where their two boys were expecting them, jumping up and down all around the room in excitement.

Myria loved her children. More than anything in the world, more than anything she had ever loved before. But she couldn’t deny they were a handful. They were nice and kind boys, but very vigorous ones indeed. She didn’t have enough fingers in her hands to count the times she’d had to catch them mind air before jumping into something dangerous or forbidding them from waking up a very much asleep Vaghar. So when she saw their mischievous little faces smiling at them with a grin so big it went from ear to ear, she knew better than to ignore that.

“What have you been up to, little dragons?” She asked, awkwardly bending down and opening her arms so they could hug her.

“We have a surprise, mama!” Their eldest, Trystan, cheered. He was four years of age, and was very much Aemond’s twin. He had silvery blonde hair, and big, crystal clear blue eyes. Yet he had rather inherited her mother’s cheerful and loving character, much to Aemond’s liking.

“You do?” She asked, with panic in her eyes. Her boys’ surprises usually consisted of messes, mostly. “What is it?”

“Come see!” Griffin, aged two, grabbed her hand and started rushing her towards the fireplace. He too resembled his father, pale blue eyes and silver hair, except the latter one had a few hints of red, much like Myria’s.

She looked over at her husband with an inquiring look on her face, wondering if he knew which surprise the children were talking about. Did she need to brace herself for absolute chaos?

“Don’t worry,” he chuckled, placing a hand on her lower back to help her heavily pregnant body follow the rushing steps of the toddlers. “‘Tis indeed a nice, harmless surprise.”

And it surely was. She glanced over the fireplace, and found a golden, shimmering dragon egg laying over the flaming firewood.

“Dreamfire brought a fresh clutch!” Trys squealed in happiness. “Aunt Helaena let us pick one for the new baby! Now Rhaexar and Maelar will have a little brother!”

Myria smiled at the boys, and squeezed her husband’s hand. She knew seeing his children get dragons from the moment they were newborns must’ve been a bittersweet feeling for him. Both Trystan and Griffin’s eggs hatched within their cradles, and had grown into strong, healthy young dragons already. She knew he hadn’t been as lucky as a child. She knew how much pain it had caused him not having a dragon as early as his brother and nephews, and how much it had cost him to finally claim one. An eye for a dragon.

“That’s incredible, sweethearts.” She smiled, ruffling Trys’ hair. “Now, will you be taking care of it? Making sure there’s always fire burning under it?”

“I thought you didn’t let us play with fire.” The boy objected, with a playful grin on his face. He was a master in finding loopholes to help him get away with his shenanigans.

“And you’re still very much not allowed, but you’ll be the ones in charge of calling an adult to rekindle it if it's needed, alright?”

“Alright, mama.” The boys agreed, and then kept on loudly marvelling about the beautiful egg.

Aemond then proceeded to sit by the window, after intentionally pulling out a big book from the shelf, which catched the kids’ attention. Both of them ran towards him, and hopped onto his lap.

“Could you read it to us, father?” Trystan requested.

“All of it is in High Valyrian.” Aemond warned them.

“That’s alright.”

“Sure then, we’ll see how much you’ve been practising.” He teased them, with a devilish grin on his face.

Myria chuckled, grateful her husband was entertaining them, and seized the opportunity to prepare herself for bed. She leisurely changed into her nightgown, and undid her hair. She brushed her teeth and applied a few drops of perfume on her wrists.

After taking care of herself, she came back into the room, not surprised to find it in chaos once again. The boys were running all around the room, recreating scenes of the book as their father read them outloud.

Myria hated being the one to burst their bubble of fun, but she was eager to get a very much needed rest, and the boys would behave like demons the following day if they didn’t get any sleep.

“Okay boys, let me get you to bed now.” She called, but was unsuccessful in getting them to listen. “Trys, Griff, come on!” She asked again, with a tiresome frown.

“Boys!” Aemond was the one to notice her protests, and called them out sternly, which made them stop jumping all around the room. “Rȳbagon naejot aōha muña, and do as she tells you.”

Myria mouthed her gratitude and walked the boys towards their room, just across the hall. She set them in their beds , and slowly started to put out the candles inside the lamps around the room.

“Mama, will the baby be born tomorrow?” Trys asked her.

“I don’t know, bee.” She said, sitting by him. “Maybe, maybe not. Are you excited to have a new baby brother or sister?”

“Yes!” Both kids nodded enthusiastically. “Mom, can I name the new baby when it comes?”

“We’ll see about that, love.” She exhaled, too exhausted to argue with a four year old on why they couldn’t name the new baby ‘Balerion’. “Now, go to sleep. You need your rest to go spar with your father tomorrow, alright?”

“Alright mama.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Myria kissed the boys goodnight, and returned to her chambers, where she found Aemond undressing for the night. She walked towards him, and gently started to help him get his clothes down.

“So, that was what you were doing with the boys all afternoon, fetching the dragon egg?”

He simply hummed in response, but Myria was used to it. Her husband was a man of few words, after all.

“Sometimes I’m jealous of you three.” She admitted, as Aemond turned around. She placed her hands on his cheeks. “For having dragons. For being dragon riders. For having dragon blood.”

Aemond stared at her with apprehension, and put both his hands on her swollen stomach. “You are more dragon than any of us, my lady.” He replied, enjoying his wife’s caresses.

Myria’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve given birth to two dragon children. You have yet another one in your belly. You’ve been tending to Rhaexar and Maelar ever since they hatched, I would be surprised if they didn’t trust in you enough to let you ride them, once they’re older. And you already know, whenever you wish to go for a ride on Vaghar, all you need to do is ask. She likes you.”

“Hm, I know my darling.” She dreamily smiled, thinking about the times she had ridden the ancient dragon with her husband, and his strong grip on her waist and thighs as he sat behind her. “But I’m afraid that in this condition, the only place where I find some comfort is in a tub full of warm water.”

“I can call for another one if you wish, dearest.”

“No need for that, just come to bed with me.”

“As you wish.”

Both of them laid in bed, and as they were putting the candles on their nightstands out, she noticed something.

“Aemond.” She breathed, and reached out towards him. “You’re still wearing your eye patch. Here.” She gently undid the tie behind his head, and let the patch fall onto the bed, revealing a blue sapphire where her husband’s left eye should’ve been.

She stretched out and left a kiss right over his scar, as she always did after taking its cover away. And because words, especially those born out of sincere, loving feelings, didn’t come easy to him, he resorted to grabbing her by her back, pulling her close to him, so he could kiss her on the lips.

“Goodnight, my love.” She called, and after one last kiss, both of them fell into their pillows, closing their eyes, hoping it wouldn’t take long to find some sleep.

But that wasn’t the case for Myria. She was uncomfortable. If it wasn’t the position that bothered her, it was the fact that she felt too hot with the covers on, but too cold without them, or then it was the weight the baby made on her belly, which made her want to pee at all times. To make matters worse, every time she felt herself drifting away, into the blissful abyss of slumberness, the baby felt it necessary to kick, as hard as they could. Maybe she did truly bore a dragon inside.

She turned around to look at her husband, and felt a pinch of unjustifiable annoyance at the sight of him peacefully sleeping, with no uncomfort whatsoever depriving him of rest.

“Aemond,” she whispered into the man’s ear. She saw his lips press together into a line, and his eyebrows furrow into a frown. “Aemond, I can’t sleep.”

Judging from the way her husband’s breathing paced up and how his position shifted, she assumed she had awoken him, but he still refused to open his eye.

“Aemond,” she repeated, in a louder voice, “Aemond, I’m afraid your baby is very much awake and won’t let me find some sleep. Can you do me a favour?”

“Hm.”

“Talk to them in High Valyrian. That always manages to calm the baby down.”

Aemond grunted, and immediately afterwards straightened up, and placed his lips against her belly.

“Ivestragī aōha muña rhaenagon mirri ēdrugon, zaldrītsos.” (Let your mother find some sleep, little dragon).

• • •

Morning came, and Myria felt as if a miracle had happened. She had been able to sleep all night long, and for the first time in months, she hadn’t woken up completely exhausted. She didn’t know how much time Aemond had spent talking to the baby in High Valyrian, for sleep found her as he kept on telling stories about grand cities and immense dragons. By the time she opened her eyes, Aemond had already left towards the training area, most probably with both their boys following from behind.

She got up, and with the help of her maid got dressed for the day. She and Helaena would visit the King in his chambers, hoping to break her fast with him as they did every other morning, and then spend the rest of the day relaxing in the bath.

But by the time her meeting with Viserys was put to an end, she knew she had some issues to discuss with her husband. Pressing ones. Myria knew the wise thing to do would be to remain silent, to avoid putting herself in danger, but the blood of the dragon growing inside of her ruled over her, making her fiery, volatile, and determined. Hence her hurrying towards the training yard, against her wisdom.

She spotted Ser Criston Cole right away, sparring with some nobleman’s son, but she couldn’t find Aemond and the boys at first. That is, until she glanced towards an isolated corner of the patio, where she saw three silvery heads, side by side. Aemond was kneeling down, explaining something to the two little boys.

They were each holding small swords, ones most probably Aemond had requested were made for them. Their father was teaching them how to properly hold the handles, and they were fairly focused on him, until they spotted their mother walking towards them.

“Mama!” The boys’ faces lit up with delight.

“Hello darlings!” She tried to bend down in order to pick Griff up, but felt a strong throb on her stomach as she was doing so. She let out a faint “Ouch!”, and bolted back up with a smile, to avoid worrying Aemond.

“Is everything alright?” Her husband asked, not being fooled by Myria’s cover up.

“It is. I just hadn’t realised I am already at that stage where I can’t bend down comfortably, don’t worry.” She lent him a reassuring smile. “Am I interrupting something?”

“We were just having some fun, right taobi?”

“Mama, kepa said that we could sōvegon isse Vaghar later if we behaved!”

“You’re more than welcome to join us, if you wish.” Aemond’s smirk reached her eyes.

“Actually, my prince, I was wondering if you wished to go for a walk in the gardens with me, if that’s alright.” She hurried to ask, with a knowing look on her face.

“Of course, my lady. Cole!” He screamed, looking for the knight.

“Yes, my prince?”

“Could you keep on training with the children? I’ll escort my wife to the gardens.”

“Certainly, my prince. Princess.” He added, bowing his head towards her. “Come here, you little monsters.” The man addressed the boys with an affectionate expression on his face. Although Myria felt as if there was something off about Ser Criston, she couldn’t pretend he didn’t absolutely adore her children. And he had always been not only a friend, but a father figure to her husband, and she respected him for that.

The couple left the yard, and walked towards the beautiful, blooming gardens. If Myria weren’t in her condition, she would spend most of her day there, gardening, with the kids. She had always adored being surrounded by flowers and trees and insects, and there were few activities she enjoyed better than taking care of them. But the swollen belly made such a task an impossible one.

As a matter of fact, if it wasn’t for her husband's strong grip on her waist, she wouldn’t be able to walk down the stairs that led to the grounds. Aemond rather enjoyed that outcome of her being with child, if truth be told. He would never admit it, but he liked having excuses to touch his wife like that, and always seized the opportunity to let his fingers linger around her for far longer than it would be considered appropriate to do in public.

They walked on silence for a few minutes, admiring the beautiful flowers and the stunning views of the ocean, until Myria raised her voice:

“I visited your father today, I broke my fast with him.”

“That’s nice.” Aemond lied, forcing his lips into a smile. Over the years, he had grown resentful of his father and he wasn’t fond of the apparently great relationship his wife had with him.

“He didn’t know Rhaenyra is coming tomorrow.” She said, dryly.

“Hm.” He nodded, glancing towards her.

“Apparently no one in this family thought it necessary to tell the King his daughter and grandchildren are coming.” She added, in a condescending tone, feeling fury starting to boil in her blood.

Aemond abruptly stopped on his tracks, and Myria would’ve tripped forwards if he hadn’t grabbed her by the waist, rather harshly. She felt another pinch on her stomach, but because of the adrenaline she was feeling, she didn’t find it hard to ignore it.

“And what exactly do you want me to do about that?”

“And I didn’t even get to explain to him the reason they’re coming, because the moment he seemed to start understanding what I was talking about, a maid came rushing and drowned him in milk of the poppy.” She added, through gritted teeth.

“I don’t think it’s your place to be informing the King on such matters, my lady.” He answered, eyebrows furrowing into an angry frown.

“And I couldn’t help but wonder,” she ignored him, “who would try and hide this away from the King? Who indeed would want to avoid having your father speak on such matters?” She continued, raising her voice.

“Careful.” Aemond whispered, discreetly looking around, worrying for his wife, for not even their titles would be able to protect her if such words were heard by the wrong ears.

“And then I realised: why would they not want your father ending once and for all these treacherous claims? What’s in it for them, if Rhaenyra’s son is declared unworthy of the Driftmark throne? And what consequences would that bring to other claims, by extension?”

Aemond shortened the space between them, and gently placed his hand over Myria’s mouth.

“What are you implying, my lady?”

“I think you know exactly what I’m implying, Aemond.” Myria hurled back, firmly hitting his hand down. “I know your whole family, yourself included, like to think of me an idiot, but I am not. And I listen to the whispers, we all have. Everyone knows it’s been moons since the King last attended a council meeting, let alone sat the throne, and who’s been ruling in his name. And if one is to believe in whispers, then very corrupt conversations are being held right now, as we speak, in that very same room.”

“You could get your tongue cut off for making such allegations, did you know?”

“I don’t blame your mother, I don’t think she’s taking any part in it. But I think you know very well about the Hand’s intentions, for when the inevitable happens.” She sneered. Myria spoke words of truth yet her lips were laced with poison. “And I believe you condone them.”

Hearing those words, spoken in such a reproaching manner by his wife, was the final straw for Aemond. He felt his nostrils flare up with fury, and decided she was no longer worth the kindness of being reasonable. She chose to anger the dragon— then she could face the consequences.

“And would it really be that bad, huh?” He roared. “That a trueborn Targaryen sat the Throne?”

“Rhaenyra is a trueborn Targaryen.” She argued back.

“Her children are not.”

“Even if Laenor weren’t their father, they’re not Targaryens because of him, they carry the dragon blood because of her. And Jacaerys won’t inherit the throne because of Laenor, he will inherit the throne because of his mother, the legitimate heir.”

“There is not one place in the whole realm where bastards aren’t stripped of all their titles. Explain to me why this is any different.”

Myria was about to answer with rage, when she felt a scream get caught up on her throat. She felt as if water were running down her legs, and she lifted the skirt of her dress to find a pink, gooey liquid covering her thighs. She looked up towards Aemond with dismay in her eyes, which managed to make him forget about any sort of anger he might have had towards her at the moment. He ran towards her, just in time to prevent her from falling as another cry left her lips.

“Wh—what’s wrong, dearest?” He asked, worried.

“Nothing is wrong I— I just think the baby is coming.” She answered, with a smile caused by both joy and pain.

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve done this two times already, Aemond, I’d know if something were wrong.” She clinged on his arm, as another sharp ache invaded her body. “This simply means we’re going to meet our baby soon.”

“That is good news, my lady.” He grinned.

But not everything went as smoothly as they believed.

• • •

It had been hours since Aemond called the Maester, and some more since night had already fallen upon the castle, and the baby had yet to arrive. The prince could hear his wife’s screams from the hallway, and each one of them felt like he was being pierced through the heart.

“What is wrong, Maestre?” He asked the old man, concerned.

“Nothing, young prince.” He replied, with a shrug. “It’s just a long labour, that’s all. So far, Princess Myria has been blessed with rather quick, smooth labours. This one will simply be more challenging, my prince.”

Another bawl broke the silence, and Aemond felt his heart sink on his chest.

“Isn’t there anything you can give to her?”

“When the time comes, we’ll provide her with the milk of the poppy. But I’m afraid it’ll be a long time before it comes to that. I trust you will be in the chambers with her, as you were the last two times?” The old man asked, with a bitter look on his face. For some reason, he had always been disapproving about Aemond’s decision on being with his wife during her labours.

He straightened his posture, and put on a threatening mien. He didn’t like it when being questioned.

“I think that’s your cue, my prince.” The Maester backed down, as Myria’s screams reached them once more.

Aemond rushed towards the door, and he opened it to find his wife holding onto the bed frame for dear life.

“Here,” he said, offering his arm, “lean on me.”

“What is wrong, Aemond?” She grunted, pressing her nails against his flesh as another contraction hit her. “And why is it that you two find it righteous to speak behind my back when I’m the one agonising? When I’m the one bearing the pain of being in labours?”

Aemond hid a smile, for he would be lying if he said he wasn’t fond of the fire that seized over his wife whenever she carried one of his children. Ever too kind and gentle of a woman, it was rather amusing seeing her snap like that. Aemond liked it when she was fiery. He found it alluring.

“The Maester says nothing is wrong, we are simply unlucky it’s a long labour. We can only endure it.”

“Easier said than done.” She grunted with a muffled voice, given that she was harshly pressing her face against his chest to avoid screaming her lungs out. “And why is it exactly that you aren’t groaning in pain with me?”

“My lady?” He asked, confused.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she scoffed, with an insolent look on her face, “I just heard you said that ‘we’ have to endure it, so I seem to have made the mistake to assume that ‘we’ were indeed suffering the same torture.”

Myria felt a contraction so agonising, she couldn't help but to cry out tears of pain while leaning towards her husband. She pressed her forehead against his chest, bending down, while he caressed her arms.

“If I could take any of the pain away, I would, dearest.”

Hours kept passing by, and it wasn’t until sunrise that the midwives declared the baby would arrive briefly. She was sat on the bed, Aemond holding tight on her hand, and so it started, the moment Myria dreaded the most.

It was known that pushing was the most dangerous part in any birth. Myria thought about the baby she wouldn’t get to know, her boys, and everything they would be losing if something happened to her. She felt her chest hastily pounding with panic, and her skin breaking out in sweat. Her vision became blurry, and she had trouble hearing what was being said to her.

Aemond seemed to be the only one to detect her panic, and so he softly grabbed her chin, and forced her gaze into his. He gave her a nod, one filled with encouragement and love, and the barriers of reality became solid once more, as her senses came back to her. Nothing could happen to her as long as Aemond was there, we would never let any harm come her way.

Two excruciatingly long hours later, Myria sobbed in relief as she heard a baby’s cry. Her face was covered in sweat, and she felt as if she were about to pass out. But the babe was fine, she was relieved to hear.

“It’s a healthy, strong boy, Princess.” The midwives chanted, as she was handed the newborn. She cried tears of joy as he was placed in her arms. The baby had a very fine layer of golden, copper blonde hair and beautiful brown, honey eyes; a spitting image of her.

She looked up towards Aemond, beaming. He pulled himself closer, so he could leave a kiss on her forehead, an action which everyone took as a signal to leave, and let the new parents enjoy some privacy.

Myria urged him to sit by her side, and she handed the baby to him. He delicately took him in his arms, despite how many times he had already carried his newborn children, he never got past the feeling of them being the dearest, most fragile thing in the world, and started rocking him gently.

“Don’t you wish he was a girl?”

“No.” He said, with a very subtle smile on his lips. “He looks like you.”

“Does that upset you?”

“It is a blessing he is as beautiful as his mother.” He said, smiling broadly at her. The kind of smile she was rarely granted, the one he reserved for special occasions such as their children’s births, when he felt each of their first kicks, or when their dragon eggs hatched. So she tried to soak up as much of it as she could, and decided to seal the moment with a kiss on his lips. She wouldn’t dare to say it— for she knew her husband felt uneasy about showing affection, but she hoped he could understand the words hidden behind that kiss. Avy jorrāelan. I love you.

She could feel a smile on his lips, and, even if she needed any further proof that he had understood what laid underneath it, she got that as he mumbled his next words:

“Thank you, Myr.”

She bit on her lips, to avoid any sort of doting words coming out of them, and left one final kiss on his cheek, before returning her attention towards the cooing baby. Whether it was normal for newborns to do so, she didn’t know, but the baby boy wouldn’t stop energetically kicking his legs.

“You’re a strong one, huh, ñuha zaldrītsos?” Myria commented lovingly. “No wonder I felt my insides bruised!” She giggled, laughter laced with overwhelming affection.

“He’s very much welcome to bruise me, now, for a change.” Aemond chuckled, as the baby hit his chest with his legs. “‘Tis only fair, my lady.”

“I quite agree.” She smiled. “He’s precious, isn’t he?”

“Hm.”

• • •

They enjoyed a few hours of privacy, doting on their newborn, before they decided it was time to bring the children so they could meet their baby brother. Aemond entered the room, with the two boys bouncing up and down with excitement. As soon as they spotted the little baby in their mother's arms, they began rushing towards the bed. Aemond bolted towards them just in time to pick them up before they could hop onto their mother.

“Boys, what did I say on the way here?” He scolded them. “You’ll have to be gentle towards your mother these days. No crushing her.”

“It’s alright, bees, you can come, but carefully.” She said, staring lovingly at them. “Come meet your baby brother!”

“Is it a boy?” Trys squealed in excitement, sitting by her side, while Aemond laid Griffin down on her other side.

“He is.” Myria ruffled the boy’s hair. “Do you want to hold him?”

“Yes, yes mama, please!” Trystan perked up with enthusiasm.

“Be careful with his head, alright?” She said, settling the baby in the boy’s arms. For such a wild child— he remained unusually still, which was a testament on how much he cherished his new baby brother already.

“Alright, mama.” Trystan answered, delicately holding his head, and Myria could feel her heart expanding at the sight of them together.

“I want too!” Griffin complained, climbing onto his mother’s lap.

Myria grunted in pain, still pretty sore from the birth, pretty sure the Maester would advise her against such gestures, to help the stitches cure quicker. She noticed Aemond was about to pull Griff away, but she motioned him it was not needed. She could handle it.

“You’ll get to hold him too, after your brother, my love.” She soothed him, leaving a kiss on his temple.

“Mama, can we name him Max?” Trystan blurted, out of the blue.

“Where did you get that from?” Myria chuckled, with her eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s from one of the books father reads to us before bed.” The little boy explained.

Myria looked over at Aemond, since they hadn’t discussed names yet. She was planning on letting him choose, especially since he had very kindly allowed her to pick the first two in traditionally dornish names.

“Ser Maxen Uller of Hellholt.” Aemond nodded, smiling softly at the toddler, proud of the little boy’s attention to his teachings. “Esquire of Princess Nymeria during the war. Grand name fitting of a grand warrior.”

“Does that mean we can name him Max?” Trys asked, eyes filled with hope.

Myria looked at Aemond, and shrugged. She quite liked Max. And, truth to be told, as the high from meeting the baby started to wear off, she began to feel tired and sickly, and not at all fitted to endure an hour worth of name discussion. So she looked at Aemond, and nodded.

“Prince Maxen of House Targaryen it is, then” He announced, cheerfully.

****

a/n: please forgive any mistakes, english is not my first language! i had this idea for a fic ever since i first watched the show, about aemond marrying a dornish heiress, and finallt got around writing it. i hope you enjoyed this! thinking about turning it into a series

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universe-of-heart · 9 months

Text

The House a Dragon Built

A Rewritten History of Fire and Blood Masterlist

Ocs in fic

Author's Note: So this broke me out of a long writer's block. This is a new passion project of mine with the encouragement (and ocs) of my friend @dreaming-of-illusory-flowers so if you have any questions, you can ask either of us lol. This is a Fix-It au!! No Dance of the Dragons! I will put an explanation of Jae Briarwood at the footnote of the chapter for yall to read so there's a little more information. Hope you enjoy!! Moon phase border by @samspenandsword, MDNI banner by @cafekitsune

Word Count: 8.5K (Yes I know that's crazy) Footnote is around 400 words

Warnings: Same warnings as the show basically. I would rate this explicit just as a general rating, just to be safe. So 18+ pls and thank you. This part covers the first half of the first episode semi-vaguely, semi-in detail. Covers the tourney, so there are fights, and also there is more content involving Aemma just before the birth

The Old King was dead and his grandson finally sat the Iron Throne. Jae remembered the day in the throne room when the old king had the Great Council choose his grandson as his heir, how their fist had clenched behind their back when his name was said and not Rhaenys. They remembered custom, remembered tradition, but the look of pain that crossed her face before the mask fell back into place would never be forgotten. The Queen that Never Was and the one no one would let forget. And her cousin didn’t seem to notice.

However, Jae could not say Viserys was a bad king; the fact that his moniker had quickly become known as the Peaceful was not lost on them. It was refreshing to be without wars during a king’s reign, to enjoy the flourishing kingdom and the joy of a growing family within the Red Keep once again. It was something sorely missed after the death the House of Dragons had been plagued with in such a short amount of time. However, it seemed as if the plague didn’t wish to relinquish its control of the family just yet.

Jaeda should have realized that a calm kingdom had to be counterbalanced elsewhere. For the peaceful king, it was within his own chambers. His wife, as kind and lovely as she was, struggled. They had only had one child survive past infancy and to every lord that had experienced the previous line of succession, they viewed the small family with a sense of anxiety and contempt in their stares. To them, the king and queen’s beloved child was a disappointment.

Their child was a girl. And the kingdom had made it abundantly clear they would not have a queen named heir.

And yet, Princess Rhaenyra was the realm’s delight. She was also her family’s advisor’s delight; Jaeda found herself tutoring the princess herself more often than not and Jayse found himself teaching her the broadest skills of defense he was allowed. He often defended that the princess would have to learn to hunt eventually; it was a tradition of the king to have a great hunt and his daughter was never one to sit idle with her elders fiddling needlepoint and tea. The girl was a dragon as much as her hatchling was, the same fire burning in their twin souls, and she would no doubt burn the world around her if she felt the need to.

The latest pregnancy had been hell on Aemma and Jaeda couldn’t help but feel an ache in her chest every time she smiled tiredly at the advisor. It was her last try for a boy, just to please her husband and kingdom, and it seemed like even the unborn child knew it, too. It had made the last few months pure misery for the poor queen, her nights were usually spent soaking in lukewarm water despite her claims that hot water wouldn’t harm either of them. Targaryens never burned, never boiled, and her baby would be the same. Even still, the maesters and septas wouldn’t allow it. Jaeda remembered how much she hated the feeling that she was powerless to help. Childbirth had never been pleasant for her.

Rhaenyra moved the game piece across the board, steepling her fingers in front of her as she watched the woman across from her. The table had been dragged out into the gardens within sight of the weirwood where Lady Alicent sat under the limbs with a book in her lap. The three of them often found themselves there now that the weather was agreeable, either studying history or testing skills of strategy on a playing board. In fact, Rhaenyra went very few places without Alicent, the back of her dragon and the sky the only places Jae had noticed her leaving the lady behind, but even then the princess had begged her friend to join her. They’d become close companions, she mused to herself with a smile playing on her lips. Closer than most ladies would be with their princess in the same situation.

Jaeda moved her piece and heard Rhaenyra release a heavy breath through her nose. It nearly sounded identical to when her dragon snorted in annoyance. The princess’ move had been good in strategy, but Jaeda had been playing far longer.

“Your mind seems distant, Princess,” her fingertip circled a knot on the wooden table, head tilting with a certain interest she always held. “What troubles you?”

“Nothing specific.” Her silver braid slipped over her shoulder as she shifted to reach across the board. “And yet, just about everything.”

Jaeda knew the princess was nervous for her mother. The entire kingdom seemed to be holding its breath with the quickly approaching day the baby was due to make an appearance into the world, as if they knew what hung in the balance the same way the queen’s family did. For the kingdom, it was the line of succession. For the family, it was Aemma herself.

“Any news from your uncle, darling?” She decided to change the subject, drawing her mind away from the shadow looming over the keep. Her uncle casted a similar shadow, however, it was smaller at the moment and one Jaeda could actually cast light on to make it disappear.

“Only in the way I haven’t had news that he’s died,” Rhaenyra sighed, resting her cheek on her fist. “Father has said he is to return before the tournament, but you know how he tends to be.”

“He will be there,” the advisor soothed. Even if I have to drag him from the brothel’s bed myself.

Rhaenyra flashed her a smile laced with sadness. To be an only child in the line of the Targaryens was a rare thing and a lonely thing. Jaeda often thought the princess lucky to have Alicent as her companion, though she could see how the distance in her family hurt her. Each fractured relationship sent a spiderweb of cracks down the family line and the princess had the unfortunate luck of being at the end of that line. Distantly, Jae considered how well a trip to Driftmark would fair. Being near her cousins would do her good.

Jaeda heaved a dramatic sigh, catching both the younger girls’ attention as she stood from the table. “I will have to call this a forfeit on my part, Princess.”

Alicent chuckled from under the weirwood, tucking a scrap of fabric between the pages before she closed her book. Rhaenyra’s eyes danced with a mixture of confusion and mischief as her father’s advisor made a show of looking toward the direction of the sun, musing over her thoughts, and tapping her chin. At the end of it all, she turned to the princess and smiled with a look of mischief to match her.

“If you hurry, I do believe you can fit a flight with Syrax in before the Small Council is called to order.”

The princess nearly went scrambling across the courtyard, grabbing Alicent’s arm as she passed her to drag her with her. Jae simply chuckled, cleaned up the game on the table, and set off back within the winding halls of the Keep.

The Keep was ever busy, people milling about endlessly on their own individual journeys, some carrying supplies from one end to the other, some walking side by side discussing their daily lives. It had all become background noise to Jaeda, the environment fading away as she stalked down the halls to check on the queen. The colors on the walls all bled together, a mix of grey and the black and red of tapestries until they swirled into a singular color.

Jayse swung his sword quickly against the shield of the knight training with him, the world coming into clear focus around him. He ducked when the knight swung, a wide arc angled too high above his head, and the poor man went crashing into the dirt with a thud when Jayse’s shoulder connected with his chest. A few of the other knights jeered from the sidelines, one telling the man now struggling to his feet he’ll have better luck next time. He won’t, but the thought was what truly counted.

“Ser Westerling!” Jayse called out, the commander acknowledging the man with a slight incline of his head. “Have you seen the princess yet this morning?”

“Can’t say I have, Lord Briarwood,” the older man adjusted his seat on his courser, hands resting on the front of his saddle.

Jayse peered up at the sky, brows furrowing in thought. “‘Bout the time she goes to the dragonpit to fly Syrax, isn’t it?”

Ser Westerling muttered something under his breath before having two other kingsguard mount up to follow him. The rest of the guards went scrambling, causing the lord to stifle a laugh at the panic caused by such a simple sentence. Perhaps if they spent less time peacocking for the maids milling about with the younger ladies of court, the princess would not suddenly go missing from the stone walls of the Keep.

Though, Jae supposed that was their fault.

Putting his training sword back in the rack and passing off a few other training garbs to a younger squire, Jayse began his walk to his quarters to change into something less sweat-stained and marred with dirt. A few ladies and lords bid him a greeting, each in passing and never more than a brief word and glancing look. Such was the way of court, more often than not, far too many people with far too little time if it wasn’t the king. Though, he mused once within the walls of his chambers, many of them would be preoccupied by the upcoming tournament being held in honor of the king’s next - and last - child. Even without it being said, everyone in the kingdom had come to the understanding that this had to be the last, no matter which sex it was to be.

Part of his heart wanted it to be a girl, just to see the look on the face of the Hand himself.

“Slowest brother of mine, are you going to visit the Queen before the Small Council?”

Jayse looked up from the fastenings of his gambeson, smiling at the sight of his sister leaning against the doorframe with a weary look. “And send the maesters and midwives into a fit at the sight of a knight within the Queen’s quarters? Wouldn’t miss it for the world, dearest sister.”

Jaeda’s eyes narrowed, though a grin grew across her lips to match his. “You sent Westerling after Rhaenyra, quite a good idea.”

“It’s almost as though I thought of it.”

“Mm,” she hummed, a knowing look sparking in her eyes before she turned away, the world now in a sharp focus around her. “Don’t doddle, you know how I hate it when Lord Hightower looks at us when you’re late.”

“Only when I’m late?”

She threw a grin over her shoulder. “Dearest brother, I am never late.”

Jayse grumbled under his breath, falling silent as the door shut behind her.

A young maid dropped a small curtsey as she passed Jaeda on her way to the council room, already anticipating the presence of the king and his Hand to be there. She already knew she would be asked the whereabouts of the princess the moment greetings were exchanged and no doubt Otto would have something to say on the matter, but it was nothing new; it all fell into the daily routine she’d grown accustomed to.

“Lady, Briarwood,” the guards at the door bowed slightly before pushing the door open for her. A quiet word was said by her, a brief thank you and good morning before the sight of the table became her view.

At the head was the king, Viserys, deep in a familiar and friendly conversation with the two men at his table. Not all had arrived yet, as expected, though she had no doubt the Grand Maester and Lord Beesbury would be arriving sometime soon. The only one she held little hope for actually making an appearance was their commander of the City Watch. Poor Prince Daemon. He surely would not be missed at the council table.

“My lords, my king,” Jaeda dropped a small bow, just enough to be respectable to the station of the men before her while also maintaining hers. “I trust you haven’t been having too much fun without me?”

Viserys’ expression was happy and pleased and she couldn’t help the smile that played at the corners of her lips. “Jaeda, my dear, it’s a delight to see you.”

Otto Hightower inclined his head, giving her his usual tight-lipped smile that never sparked at his eyes. “Lady Briarwood.”

Corlys gave her a brief, troubled smile and she knew that something would be brought up at the council. “My lady, pleasure as always.”

“Same to you, Lord Corlys.”

She sat across from the Hand, Lord Hightower, and she knew it vexed him from the way his hand on the table flexed and then moved to fidget with the heavy sphere that sat within a marbled ring. Hers was placed by one of the kingsguard stationed around the room; a dark, swirling sphere of red and black that curled together into the color of blood, marred only by a streak of white that cut through the side like a serpent’s pupil. Or, perhaps, a scar, old and faded and pale against the cloudy expanse behind it. Her fingers curled over the top of it, shifting it until the white slash faced upwards. An eye watching the space above.

The conversation continued, small jokes passed from King to Hand and Master of Ships and to her every now and then. Jayse had joined them since then, bringing news that the Queen was well but quite ready for the babe to finally enter their world and leave her. Viserys chuckled at that, eyes softening at a spot on the table. Jaeda knew that look accompanied thoughts of his future; wife holding a son, Rhaenyra placed safely at both their sides until she came of age for her own union. His son as king, continuing the line of peaceful kings, fulfilling a prophecy only two of them knew. It sounded like a wonderful future of love and contentment.

That was half the reason Jaeda felt a growing pit in her stomach, sharing a look with her twin as he took his place behind her.

As expected, Grand Maester Mellos and Lord Beesbury arrived about the same time, though Lord Strong arrived before, and that was when the council well and truly commenced.

Though, commenced was a strong word for what exactly began.

It was more jokes, more stories, along with a growing agitation brewing in the seat of the ship master. All knew the king simply wanted to focus on King’s Landing now, that his sole focus was on his unborn child that he was set on being his heir. And still, the world outside kept on without him and would continue to do so as much as he ignored it.

Another round of chuckles gave way to the heavy sigh at the end of the table, Corlys finally taking the attention for himself. A modest ask when the entire point of the Small Council was for the king to hear about these types of matters, though all acted as if that use had been put out of practice in the early years of the Old King’s rule.

“My lords.”

Corlys sounded tired, strained and burdened with his news of the Free Cities. Newly named the Triarchy, they had traveled to Bloodstone to wipe out a group of pirates that had made the Stepstones their home as of late. Jaeda hummed thoughtfully, turned fully in her chair as she watched the map unfurl on the empty place at the table. She knew the King would not bite at the thought of a war beginning; it was not how he wished his reign to go. No matter how many of his advisors may advocate for a war to simply end tensions, she knew he did not wish to send men to their deaths, though in the end, it was inevitable and unavoidable. Men would die one way or another at the end of a sword - either on a battlefield or in their own streets while their children screamed.

She blinked, feeling Jayse’s hand on her shoulder grounding her back to the topic at hand.

“They call him ‘The Crabfeeder’.”

The door creaked open and the princess hurried through, trying to make herself smaller and hidden from the council members. Smaller wasn’t the way of the Targaryens, however, so she simply readjusted, trying to appear as if she’d never been late before, that this was the exact time she was meant to be there and not a moment sooner.

“Rhaenyra, you’re late.” Her King father wouldn’t let it pass, however, and Jaeda chuckled as the princess shot her a look, pressing a kiss to her father’s cheek.

“A king’s cupbearer must not be late. It leaves people wanting for cups.” His tone was teasing and gentle, a smile playing on his face the entire time.

“I was visiting mother.”

Viserys sniffed, brows furrowing slightly. “On dragonback?”

Rhaenyra huffed out a laugh. “Ask Lady Jaeda.”

The king sent his advisor a look as she simply smiled, Rhaenyra stopping at her cup first.

Lord Beesbury went on to comment about Daemon’s absence and his City Watch and again Jaeda lost her focus. Otto had been suspiciously silent and Jayse behind her had been paying enough attention for both of them. So, instead, she stared at the Hand, trying to pick apart his thoughts from within his head, her fingers skimming the surface of the orb in front of her. When the Hand was silent, she knew he was plotting and she was determined to discover what it exactly was.

Jaeda had never been thrilled at the idea of Otto Hightower becoming Hand of the King even in Jaehaeyrs’ reign. Viserys’ own father had been named Hand just before the man now in front of her, though that had only lasted the better part of a week before he had passed. She refused to believe it a coincidence and had kept her eyes and ears trained on the current Hand since his place in court had been announced. All that was left to do was wait.

“The Crown has heard your report, Lord Corlys.”

Jaeda bristled. Report, not request. A plead for aid by the Crown and yet they acted as if the Sea Snake had merely stated the weather or worse - he asked for a second helping of a meal. He looked from Otto to his King, as if trying to see if the sentiment was shared. A second great sigh was heaved by the lord at the foot of the table and Jaeda’s nail tapped at the marble plate under her sphere.

“Shall we discuss the Heir’s Tournament, your Grace?”

“I would be delighted.”

“The king is a fool if he is so blind to turn away from his kingdom.”

“Evermore the fool to ignore his pregnant wife.”

The door swung closed behind Jayse as his twin stalked her room. Every council set her on edge and the two of them often held their own sort of council in private after. While he stood at the door, ever her guard, she sat before a mirror to tug at the pins in her hair.

“The queen will die,” she murmured, catching her brother’s eyes in the mirror. “She’s lost too many.”

He hummed in thought. “Meanwhile, the princess fills the role of the perfect heir.”

“The kingdom won’t want her.”

“No. She’s missing the one thing they believe an heir should have.”

“Don’t be crude,” she chided, standing with her hair spilling down her back and shoulders. “But we know it’s the reason they passed over a better heir towards the end of Jaehaeyrs’ reign.”

Jayse hummed again. “Every moment I spend in the Small Council, I miss Princess Rhaenys more and more.”

“Perhaps we should change and advise Driftmark instead.”

There was a humorous tone to her voice as he held the door open for her to pass through and he couldn’t help but chuckle as he followed.

“Westeros would burn to ash the moment we left.”

Jaeda hummed. “Just like home.”

“Have you seen to the king’s injuries lately?”

The conversation turned as they melted back into the business of the Keep, where people milled about them and they couldn’t speak as plainly as they wished. While neither was afraid to speak their mind to the King, very few others deemed it appropriate of an advisor and knight to discuss the king in such a manner and the twins would prefer to keep their current record as spotless as they could. No hidden riddles could be passed outside the heavy doors of personal chambers and conversations had to veer away to more mundane discussions.

“The maesters have asked for my knowledge of herbs to make a strong tincture for the ones that refuse to heal. Though, I fear that natural remedies will only do so much.”

Jaeda’s hand folded over her brother’s arm, bumping their shoulders together. Jayse ducked his head slightly so only she could hear him.

“Then, perhaps, we will have to see what unnatural remedies will do.”

It was early the next morning, too early, that Jaeda found herself back in the council chamber, glowering at Daemon from across the table. Her brother was stood behind the prince at the moment, stoic-faced as the King and Hand made their entrance and everyone but Daemon and her stood in respect. He looked oddly pleased with himself, unable to sit still and the hint of a smile playing on his lips like a cat who finally caught its master’s bird. The expression fell into one of challenge, daring Otto to continue his thoughts and looking all the more like a predator staring down its prey as the Hand sat beside Jaeda.

The prince was a mess. The smell of blood flowed off of him in waves and it would take patience to sort out his hair after the helm and chaos of the night had blown it every which way.

“Carry on. You were saying something about my impunity.”

“Don’t be difficult,” the advisor scolded, leaning back in her chair. She looked the most at ease out of everyone at the table, though a simmering fire burned behind her eyes that still remained locked on the king’s brother.

“I’m simply asking for the Lord Hand to continue his conversation, I fail to see how that makes me difficult.”

Her eyes sparked and Daemon leaned back from the table.

“Darling, I wouldn’t push your luck tonight.”

His armor creaked as it met the backrest of the chair.

Daemon and the king’s advisor were often far too similar to get along. Many at court had once joked that they had to have been engaged somehow; it was seemingly the only reasonable explanation as to why he plagued her so often. However, since they’d both been given a seat at the Small Council, many saw it for what it truly was, with both twins.

Jaeda acted as the brother’s older sister and they fell into line accordingly. Viserys valued her insight endlessly and sought her out for multiple matters, mundane and extravagant. Daemon seemed to be driven by the sole mission to have her attention, regardless of what consequences followed. The baby brother in every aspect. Jayse was no exception to the family dynamic and Daemon growing up would challenge him endlessly. If there was ever a sword in one of their hands, everyone knew the other was clashing steel against it. It had been that way for years. However, Daemon just couldn’t seem to grow past the years of sword fighting.

Otto cleared his throat and Daemon’s eyes snapped back to him, the predatorial gaze returning after being scolded like a child. “You are to explain your doings with the City Watch.”

The prince bristled. It truly was no secret that he hated the Hand of the King, a feeling he shared with Jae entirely, and it felt as if the entire Small Council heaved a sigh as the battle began at the table. Because it was always war with Daemon; it was as deeply entwined with his soul as his dragon was. It seemed fitting, honestly; the Blood Worm and his bloodthirsty rider. A pair created within the Seven Hells themselves.

“Your new ‘Gold Cloaks’ made quite the impression last night, didn’t they?”

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Jayse muttered, catching how Jaeda’s brow quirked over the prince’s shoulder. Right. Now was not the time for that.

Later, however…

“The City Watch is not a sword to be wielded at your whim; they’re an extension of the Crown.”

Daemon leaned forward against the table again, turning to stare at Otto. The man spoke with enough contempt that he was halfway convinced he could threaten him with treason. If his brother was more often on his side, he might’ve been tempted further. He still wasn’t fully blind to how quickly he’d fallen into the role of Hand after his father’s death; how eagerly he gave council both publicly and privately to Viserys. Otto wasn’t like Jaeda. Otto Hightower was a man too often pushing his own agenda under the guise of the Crown.

Daemon loathed him.

“The Watch was enforcing the Crown’s laws. Wouldn’t you agree, Lord Strong?”

The attention shifted to Lyonel Strong, who looked like he wished to be anywhere else. Jaeda wondered in slight amusement if he had mentally traveled back to Harrenhal.

“My prince,” he sighed, preparing himself for a back and forth that always occurred with the second prince, “I don’t think-”

“We are not here to argue whether you were enforcing laws, Daemon,” Jaeda rubbed at a spot above her left brow, as if the mere discussion gave her a migraine. Perhaps it did, it was Daemon after all. “We are here to discuss the monstrous brutality demonstrated and encouraged in our streets.”

“‘Monstrous’?” He nearly laughed, a not entirely sane humor glittering in his eyes. “Nobles from every corner of the realm are right now descending upon King’s Landing for my brother’s tourney. Do you want them mugged, raped, murdered-”

“Daemon.”

“And, forgive me,” he turned towards the Hand, tone the slightest bit sharper, “but you mightn’t know this unless you left the safety of the Red Keep but much of King’s Landing is seen by the smallfolk as lawless and terrifying.”

“You aren’t exactly helping to improve that outlook with the way you carry about.” Her hand was resting on her sphere again. The prince nearly relaxed; that posture for her was often one of disinterest or at least detachment from the subject at hand. However, the look on her face said otherwise.

And then her nails tapped sharply against the smooth marble and he knew she was only holding it to keep herself from grasping his throat from across the table.

“Our city should be safe for all its people,” he continued, looking to his brother for some support on the matter. Any support at all. Viserys glanced at Jaeda who watched him the same way.

“I agree.” That one sentence broke much of the tension, Daemon’s own shoulders dropping ever so slightly within the metal walls of his armor. “I just hope you don’t have to maim half my city to achieve this.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of the prince’s mouth. “Time will tell.”

Jayse smothered a scoff.

“We installed Prince Daemon as commander to promote law and order,” Lord Corlys, for the first time since the council rejoined, spoke on behalf of the rogue prince. “The criminal element should fear the City Watch.”

The prince nodded towards the Lord of the Seas in as much appreciation as he typically showed others. “Thank you for your support, Lord Corlys.”

“If only the prince would show the same devotion to his lady wife as he does his work, Your Grace.”

Jaeda couldn’t control her eyes rolling. “Spare us another argument over marriages, Lord Hightower, tis not the time or place for such discussions.”

“The prince has a duty and has yet to fulfill it in a manner befitting his station-”

“And you would know what befits my station, Lord Hand?” Daemon questioned, voice raising.

Watching from behind the prince, Jayse wondered if Otto had blinked once since he began staring down Daemon. Jaeda’s head tilted back in barely contained annoyance, biting back a groan that threatened to upset the flimsy façade of decorum the council now wore like a curtain. More than likely a sheer curtain, based on the nervous shifting of the kingsguard around the room.

Otto’s hand curled into a fist on the table, though his expression remained stoically cold. “Lady Rhea is your wife, a good and honorable lady of the Vale-”

Daemon gave a lopsided smile in response, deeming the conversation merely a joke. “In the Vale, men are said to fuck sheep instead of women.”

Viserys’ head dropped with a sigh before he looked at his advisor.

“I assure you, the sheep are prettier.”

Jaeda’s chair scraped against the stone loudly, the wood creaking as she stood and picked up the orb from the marble plate. “If we are no longer discussing the actions of the City Guard, I believe the council has finished its duty for the morning. My King, any closing words before I threaten both your brother and your Hand for using the Lady of Runestone as a Cyvasse piece in a disagreement?”

The chamber fell silent for only a moment. In that moment, the king looked half relieved, Daemon looked ever so pleased to get a rise out of someone, and Otto looked as though he would help her strangle the prince himself. Viserys nodded and her sphere rested back on the marble as she remained standing, awaiting a dismissal.

“This council has, at great expense,” the king pulled his brother’s attention back to him, still smiling to himself, “bettered the City Watch to your exacting standards. Enforce my laws, but understand, any further performances like last night’s will be answered.”

“Understood, Your Grace.” Daemon stood, then looked at his brother’s advisor as he gathered his gauntlets and helm. “Do you require an escort, my lady?”

She just sighed, turning to walk through the old wooden doors. “Not the type you require, my prince.”

Jayse slung his arm over the prince’s shoulder as he began to stalk out of the room. The knight knew the prince’s penchant for blowing off steam always included liquor, women, or fighting, sometimes all in one night, and considering how the entire meeting was about the amount of bloodshed within the kingdom already, well. Perhaps a guard for the prince was needed.

The next day started just as early for Jaeda. One of the queen’s maids had rushed into her chambers, telling her the queen had requested her presence before the bustle of the day’s events began. Jaeda felt her heart sink for a moment before she was following the young girl down the ever-winding halls to the queen’s quarters. She could hear the memory of the queen joking a moon ago that perhaps she should begin referring to them as her dungeon; she hadn’t been able to leave them in so long, they might as well have been.

The first thing Jaeda was hit with upon entering the chamber was how heavy the air was. It was a pressure no heat could compare to, weighing like armor on her shoulders the moment she was past the threshold and saw the queen half bent over with an iron grip on the foot of the bed. She was standing at least, that was good. Moving would help the birth go quicker. As long as they didn’t lay her on her back.

“My queen,” her voice was soft as she came to her side, reaching to hold her hand tightly.

Aemma reached blindly for her husband’s advisor - her friend - and managed a shaking, wobbling smile. “Jae,” she breathed, “it is today.”

“He’s impatient, it seems.”

The laugh the queen let out was shallow and faded into a sigh. “It seems. I-I want to see Rhaenyra before…before.”

Jaeda nodded, her other hand reaching to cup the queen’s elbow. “Is it only labor pains so far? It hasn’t fully begun?”

From the lack of blood on the white gown the queen wore, she could only assume it was only the beginning pains of labor wracking her body. The five previous births had instilled a primal fear and anxiety into both of them, neither truly knowing how any of them would end. It was always tears, always another scar on the heart. And still, there was always another.

Aemma shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line as another wave of pain passed through her. “At least the lords will not have to fear the tourney being for nothing.”

“If you can still joke, there is nothing to fear.”

The door creaked again and Rhaenyra leaned through the doorway before moving past some of the maesters and maids. “Mother?”

“Darling,” Aemma’s tone sounded relieved as if the presence of her daughter made her labor all the easier. “Darling, come here.”

Rhaenyra flanked her mother’s side across from Jaeda, brows drawn down in worry. It made her look older than her ten and four years and Jae felt another pang in their chest at the sight. For a moment, their vision shifted and it was Rhaenyra clutching their hand, begging for it all to be over.

Aemma’s thumb soothed over the lines between her daughter’s brows. “Today, my love, I want you to enjoy the festivities.”

“I would rather stay with you.”

The queen just shook her head with a kind smile. “You are allowed to enjoy it even while I am here, my darling girl. I want you to.”

Rhaenyra frowned again before her mother’s shaking hand cupped her face and pressed her forehead to hers. “As soon as they are over, I am coming to see you.”

“And you will tell me all about the fights and who wins. I must know which knight will be your favorite.”

Finally, a small smile appeared on the princess’ face as she pressed a kiss to her mother’s cheek. “In excruciating detail, I promise.”

Aemma laughed breathlessly.

Reaching the door, Rhaenyra looked back at the two still standing at the bed, nodding to her father’s advisor before leaving. Aemma’s demeanor shifted again, falling against the structure of the bed more in support.

“Your Grace-”

“Jae, please,” she pleaded, halfway between a joke and truly begging.

Jae let out a short laugh through their nose. “Aemma…I worry for you.”

“This is the last one, I’ve made Viserys promise me. No matter what happens.”

“That is what I fear. The ‘no matter what’.”

Aemma hauled herself to stand upright again, stumbling slightly as it felt like fire dripped from between her legs. Her grip on Jae’s hand changed as well, now holding it tight enough to bruise anyone else’s hand. Jae was different, however; it barely felt any different.

“Oh, gods be good,” the queen whispered, a pool of fluid forming at her feet.

Suddenly, there was a flurry of robes around the both of them, just outside of Jae’s realm of concern as they simply held onto Aemma. They couldn’t shake how final it all felt.

No matter what. This was the last one.

Jae pressed a kiss to the queen’s silver hair, brushing it away from her face. “No matter what happens, I will protect your family. Rhaenyra will be safe.”

“Thank you.”

It was the last words the queen said to her before Grand Maester Mellos shooed Jaeda out of the room. The last image of Aemma being guided back into the bed seared into her mind.

Just outside the door stood Rhaenyra, arms crossed over her stomach in a way that mimicked an embrace. It was one of the moments that Jae’s well-structured walls they’d put in place all but crumbled from years of neglect. The current house of Targaryens had wormed their way into the old Valyrian’s very soul, the queen and princess most of all.

It was a family they dreaded losing after centuries of detachment.

Jaeda pulled the princess into her side, arm wrapped over her shoulders as they began the long walk back to Rhaenyra’s chambers to dress her for the day. There were no words of comfort that would make a difference to her.

No matter what.

The stairs to the royal box felt endless, especially in a tight stay, and Rhaenyra made a vow to herself she wouldn’t allow anyone to lace it so tight again. However, she’d been in a hurry, had rushed the kind handmaidens that had been dressing her, and had all but bolted from the seat before her mirror the moment the last pin was in her hair. Jaeda had walked with her out to the tournament grounds, but her being missed from the box wasn’t as worrying as the princess. She gathered herself behind the chairs before picking her way quietly and calmly as her father’s voice rang over the entire field of people, announcing how special this occasion was now that her mother had begun her labors. Jaeda glanced over at her as she ducked to run to her seat, falling into it beside Alicent with very little grace.

Jayse laughed beside his sister and Jaeda smiled, brows still creased in silent worry.

The crowd erupted in deafening cheers. It felt less like a celebration and more like a war cry to her.

“May the luck of the Seven shine upon all combatants!”

The king and princess exchanged a look as he sat back down, though he cracked a small smile when she adverted her eyes. She was late, yes, but it would be fine. He knew how important her mother was to her.

The crack of lances echoed with each hit, the ringing of armor following soon after. It was dizzying and filled to the brim with crackling anxiety as each house’s boys and men raced toward each other on horseback with the intent to unseat the other. Quite a few were bold enough to ask a few of the ladies in the box for their favors, wreaths of leaves and flowers woven into circlets that slid down the lance onto the arm of the knight.

It was every bit as amusing as it was sobering, watching these men play war with each other.

Alicent and Rhaenyra studied each crest on the shields as they jousted, muttering between each other as they pointed out the houses that did the best. An Arryn there, a Baratheon there, even a Tully and Tyrell and Greyjoy had appeared and fought for their place in the Heir’s Tournament. Neither had expected it to be nearly as fun as it was and yet both remained enthralled in their own little space together, the princess’ hand resting on her lady’s arm.

“What house is that?” Rhaenyra pointed to the knight that had just unseated a knight of house Tarly, his shield of green with the archer standing proudly still on the ground by his challenger’s horse. “A mystery knight perhaps?”

Alicent hummed softly. “No, a Cole, of the Stormlands.”

The princess made a noise as she nodded. “I’ve never heard of House Cole.”

A Baratheon knight soon came to ask for the Princess Rhaenys’ favor, boasting that he didn’t truly need the luck, but requested it nonetheless. Jaeda bit the inside of her cheek to keep from snickering at the princess’ face as she turned back to her husband, conspiring in whispers only they could hear.

And when the knight was unseated in a rather embarrassing way, his feet nearly meeting his helm as he toppled ass over head, well. He simply deserved it for calling her the Queen who Never Was.

The knight of House Cole was reigned back in, banner removed from its stand as another squire placed a bright red banner where it had stood. It was an unfamiliar sigil, a blonde-haired figure that looked like the Maiden herself draped in a red dress that bled into the fabric behind her. Above her head was a golden loop crossed over itself and connected in a way you could trace it forever if you wished. The knight that rode past the banner held a shield with the same house symbol, though even many of the older members of court now whispered over which house that was. Perhaps a new one?

Alicent frowned, absentmindedly picking at her fingers. “Now, that is a mystery knight…”

Rhaenyra covered her hand with hers. “A new house could make this quite fun.”

Both girls tilted and turned their heads to try to glimpse what the knight looked like under his armor and when they couldn’t, both leaned back into their chairs with a sigh. It would make sense with the armor trying to protect the knights as best they could that no sight would be visible without moving the visor.

Still, it was disappointing.

The knight rounded his horse, settling into the saddle as a squire handed the lance to him, letting him rest it on the stirrup of the saddle. The mystery knight sat quietly, calmly, as his opponent was announced and armed opposite of him, shield glimmering dark blue in the sunlight. The white bird swooped downward as the shield came up.

The start was called and the horses bolted.

Another crack, another knight fell, and the Maiden’s knight lifted his shield as the crowd cheered.

Drums announced Rhaenyra’s uncle as he raced past the man draped with the symbol of House Targaryen. The mystery knight fell into the line of other knights as they all awaited a chance to go against the City Watch’s commander. Jayse wondered how many of them were pissing themselves at the idea of it.

The king watched with a content smile as his daughter laughed to herself, watching her uncle preen on the top of his horse as he watched each knight closely. This was the peace he craved, even amongst such chaos and “wanton violence” as his Small Council had called it. The kingdoms needed this, he thought. Just a moment to live and experience the strength of the men that lived within it and protected it.

Daemon’s lance lowered at Otto’s son, Gwayne Hightower, and the King and Hand exchanged a look. Jaeda smothered a smirk as she rested her cheek against her fist. He truly did make a sport of getting a rise out of his brother’s hand.

Rhaenyra reached for her friend’s hand again, Alicent now chewing at her nails out of fear for her brother. It was one of the reasons she had been dreading these games, even in good fun there had been blood drawn. Knowing Daemon, it was anything but good fun, if fun at all.

Daemon looked up at the stands, a smile on his face as he found the narrowed eyes of Otto Hightower. That was all he needed. He snapped his horse into action and the fight was on.

The first contact of their lances had them both shattering against their shields, Daemon leaning back over the back of the saddle at the force. He wasn’t unseated, though, and he was able to pull him back up before his horse circled back around the fence and another lance was thrown into his hand. The next pass saw Daemon leaning down, his lance used against Gwayne’s horse instead of the knight.

The horse tripped, folded, and nearly landed on top of the boy. Alicent jumped, grasping for Rhaenyra, and Otto found himself nearly out of his seat. The horse stood, other men came to help the stunned and injured Hightower boy, and Alicent looked to her father. Nothing could be done at the moment and the fact he was alive was enough for now.

Daemon trotted his horse in front of the stands, smiling up at his niece and her companion as they leaned against the fence around them.

“Nicely done, Uncle.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He looked to Alicent, who still wore a thinly made mask of neutrality over the worry. “Now, I’m fairly certain I can win these games, Lady Alicent. Having your favor would all but guarantee it.”

Rhaenyra gave her uncle a look as Alicent fetched her green wreath, nervously dropping it down the lance. “Good luck, my Prince.”

Daemon grinned, turning his horse away before looking at his next opponent. However, he frowned and snapped loudly as a squire carried a red banner with black dots across it.

“Bring the Maiden Knight out instead! If he wishes to join the Great Houses, let him prove it!”

The crowd cheered again as the banners were changed and the mystery knight reappeared, though didn’t fall back into line when the lance was given. Instead, he too also rode up to the stands where the princess still stood with her friend, stunned at the demand Prince Daemon had given.

Rhaenyra looked down at the knight, catching the sight of green eyes behind the spaces in the visor. She smiled at the thought that there was finally a feature to pair with her image of the knight in her mind. “Do you wish my favor, ser?”

The Maiden’s knight nodded, bowing slightly on horseback. Still, he didn’t speak and the princess wondered if that was part of the game. Still, she hummed and fetched her ring of red and black, missing the fact her father was no longer seated behind her.

The wreath slid down the lance, resting just above the curve that protected his hand.

“I wish you the best of luck, my Maiden Knight.”

The knight tilted his head before lifting the lance to press the favor against his helmet, just about where his lips would be.

When Rhaenyra turned, Jaeda was watching her and her father was missing. Ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut, she smiled, returning to sit next to Alicent. No one else had left the stand and a part of her reasoned that perhaps her mother had asked him to be beside her or the babe had been born quickly and safely and he was to be the first to meet his new child. Especially if it was the son he wanted.

The first pass had the mystery knight’s lance splintering in his hand. Rhaenyra reached for her necklace with a gasp, worrying her fingers over the grooves of the Valyrian steel. Lances were changed quickly, horses turning to face the other again before bolting down the path again. The mystery knight adjusted his shield, the image of the blonde maiden flashing briefly before it was a blur of red and gold.

The next pass, Daemon twisted from the hit, foot caught in the stirrup still. His body hit the metal rail, grinding horribly against the back of his armor that sent chills through Rhaenyra and rattled in her teeth. The necklace was held tighter between her fingers and she leaned further in her chair as her uncle tumbled off his horse and rolled.

The crowd was deafening as the Maiden Knight dismounted, Daemon screaming for someone to bring him his sword. The Valyrian steel sang as he drew it, swinging around to face the knight with a snarl. Now that he was off the horse, the princess noticed two swords were attached to his belt, one on each side, and she wondered if he used both at once. He only drew one, leveling it with Prince Daemon with a tilt of his head.

Did he want to do this?

Daemon’s first swing hit the red shield, glancing off of it as his dragon shield rose to hit the knight’s helm. He was quicker than he thought he’d be, moving smoothly in his armor as his sword rose again and again to hit the prince’s shield. The corner cracked and splintered, though a good hit to the outside edge of the knight’s own shield sent him off balance for a kick to the side, sending him sprawling. That couldn’t be it, could it? The crowd roared, echoing in the steel helmet.

She didn’t want it to be it.

The knight twisted, sweeping his leg before throwing the shield at the prince, scrambling to his feet in the same movement. The shield caught the prince’s helm and stunned him for the moment it took the second sword to unsheath. The princess gasped and felt Alicent reach for her, but it wasn’t out of fear. It was out of amazement, out of awe.

Daemon dropped to his knees, shield shattered next to him with two swords at either side of his throat. A silent order to yield met with an equally silent denial until his eyes glanced up at the box behind the knight. His niece, watching with wide eyes, Jaeda sat with a stony expression, and his brother nowhere to be found.

Dark Sister dropped to the dirt and the swords at his neck left, leaving both of them heaving for breath in their armor. Someone announced the victor behind them, shouting how the knight of the Maiden had made the gods and his family proud. He didn’t care a thing about that, however, all he cared about was seeing who had dared to make a fool of him like that.

When the knight turned, Daemon rose, grabbing the top of the helmet and pulling. The crowd that hadn’t stopped screaming suddenly fell silent as bright gold curls fell down to the knight’s shoulders, weighed down by sweat and sticking to her face.

Her face.

In the crowd, her brothers and mother pushed away from the others, no doubt journeying to meet her where her armor would be removed and she would once again be faced with her reality.

Fallon Lannister turned to face the prince, smiling through her gasps for air. Despite it all, she was proud. She’d unseated and beaten the Rogue Prince of Westeros. No matter what happened after, she would always have that to her name. She turned again, looking up to the princess who now stood to see her clearer. Fallon took great effort in bowing, arms out as she did, before grinning up at the girl who had given her her favor.

“It seems the Princess’ luck is all I required!”

Rhaenyra laughed, turning to her father’s advisor before she noticed how many people were leaving. Important people. Small Council people. Except Jaeda.

Jaeda, who just looked at her with a neutral expression, but eyes that filled with sorrow.

Rhaenyra dropped into her seat.

When she returned to the Keep, she didn’t even ask what had happened. The look from Jaeda had been all she needed to know.

It was the last one, no matter what happened.

Born to a noble Valyrian family nearly 300 years before the Doom, Jaeda was never meant to survive. She was a cursed dragon's birth and was a test subject on artificial life used by her father. She was hidden away due to her more draconic appearance for most of her childhood and teen years. Jaeda was able to explore only through books and experiments of her own. She was able to hone her magic abilities to glamour herself to be able to hide her scales, horns, wings, and tail. With her draconic appearance gone, Jaeda was able to fit in Valyrian noble society. As she aged, Jaeda discovered her gender fluidity and transitioned magically into a more masculine form, Jayse. While switching back and forth between genders, Jayse felt like home while Jaeda felt like the strong stone walls protecting it. When the close family friends, the Targaryens, moved across the Narrow Sea, Jae followed some time after. Jae, knowing that they were moving to a less accepting world, started the experiment their father could never finish. To fit in once again, Jae made a magical construct to pass off as a twin so they could peacefully exist as both of their genders. The construct could not exist without their magic nor without a part of their consciousness at all times. Just like Jae, the construct's gender could be changed at will, much like a glamour. When they settled near Dragonstone after the Doom, Jae was one of the last surviving noble families of Valyria. During the Conquest Jaeda assumed the role of an advisor to Aegon and his sister-wives while Jayse assumed the role of protector. Switching fluidly between gender and roles, the "twins" had almost everyone convinced they were two separate people. As the conquest proceeded in Aegon's favor, Jae had decided to change their surname to something more Westerosi as a show of faith to the newly conquered kingdoms. Jaeda and Jayse of House Briarwood were seared into history. When Aegon was crowned King, Jaeda officially stepped into the role of the King's Advisor, separate from the Hand of the King. Jayse did not step up into an official protection role, but rather a more informal one. However, he still kept a watchful eye on the new royals. And these roles were theirs for the centuries to come. The Lord and Lady Briarwood remained unchanging as the Targaryen Kings came and went. Advisor and the Watchful Eye.

#my writing #rhaenyra targaryen x oc #rhaenyra targaryen x harwin strong x oc #harwin strong x oc #a rewritten history of fire and blood #jae briarwood #fallon lannister #house of the dragon

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