Excentryke's Musings

Title: Violet Eye
Author: ExcentrykeMuse
Fandoms: House of the Dragon / Twilight Saga
Pairings: Aemond/Bella, Aegon/Helaena
Word Count: 7k
Warnings: violence (canon), incest (canon), dynasties, language (canon), infidelity (canon and slightly non-canon), illegitimacy (canon), really, just watch House of the Dragon, Season 1
Prompt for Fanny who asked for Aemond/Bella (who is of the House of Dayne), where they meet at a Tourney

Violet Eye

Her violet eyes flashed in the Capital’s heat.  They were a mainstay of the House of Dayne.  Only Targaryens had eyes like the Daynes—and the Targaryens—the Targaryens were dragons.

Bella’s great aunt several times removed, Lady Dyanna, had been a Targaryen princess.  She had been prized for her violet eyes and for her Dornish connections.  Now King Viserys sat on the throne with his second wife, Queen Alicent Hightower.

The Hightowers made Bella’s brother Lord Bellagon uneasy.  He never spoke of it, but Bella could tell how his eyes shifted whenever they came up in conversation how much he disliked the greens’ influence on the House of the Dragon.  Everyone had taken the knee to Princess Rhaenyra before the young Targaryen princes were born, including Bella and Bellagon’s own father, but there were whisperings of what it would be like to have another Targaryen king on the throne once Viserys was gone.

Bella looked over the banquet hall where Prince Aegon was sitting with his sister-wife, Princess Helaena.  He certainly was paying more attention to the servant girl than to his wife.  He was also lost in his cups.

Disgusted, Bella turned away from him.  Prince Aegon would not be a worthy knight in this week’s tourney.

“The blacks have not arrived,” Bellagon whispered into Bella’s ear, before he ripped off a piece of bread and dipped it in oil.  “It is time soon enough for the tourney.”

“They have another day, surely,” Bella answered back just as carefully, not wanting to be overheard by the other lords and knights.  “The festivities do not begin until after the zenith tomorrow.”

Bellagon grunted.  “They are cutting it close.”

Bella often wondered about her twin brother, Bellagon.  When she had climbed out of a Volturi tunnel under her prison cell, she had not expected to find herself in a fantastical land of dragons, knights, and bloodlore.  She further had not expected to find herself in the basement of a keep in the deserts of Dorne, nor had she anticipated a servant recognizing her and taking her to the daughter’s chambers.  The next day she began her life, already integrated into the House of Dayne with a family and history she knew nothing about, having to piece her way through and find her way in a culture and family she did not know.

Bellagon had already been head of the household, their father, Isabeau, having died two years previously.  Bellagon had a scar through left eye that sealed it shut, crackled, sunken in and ruined.  Bella wondered the story behind it.  Although she had been in Westeros for nearly three years, she still wasn’t certain what had happened to her brother.

A tourney fight?  A thief in the night?  A childhood prank gone wrong?  She was too afraid to ask him and show her ignorance.

“They shall be wanting a marriage,” Bellagon was now saying, dipping his bread back into the oil.

Bella had been perusing the Targaryen princes again and turned back to her brother in confusion.  “Who will be wanting a marriage?”

“The greens,” Bellagon told her.  “I divine it is the reason for this tourney.  It is so Prince Aemond can look around at the ladies of the court and have his choosing.  There is no other Targaryen princess for him to wed.”

Glancing back at the high table, Bella took in the second prince.  He was certainly tall, with a patch over his left eye, with long silver hair like any other Valyrian prince.  “What happened to his eye?” Bella whispered to her brother, leaning over but never looking away.

At the mention of it, as if he had heard from across the crowded room, Aemond looked up with his one good eye, a deep amethyst, and caught Bella’s gaze. 

She dropped the olive she was holding, she was so surprised.

There was no hint of curiosity in his look, simply boredom.  However, behind that, behind all the layers of artifice, was a sense of deep longing and deep loneliness.  It was so pointed that it made Bella’s heart ache, the familiar wound aching that Edward had left in her chest when he had abandoned her in the woods behind Forks. 

“What is it, sister?” Bellagon asked, leaning toward her and following her gaze.

Bella glanced at him, taking in his own sunken eye (he refused to wear a patch over it), and whispered, “He’s so sad.”

Bellagon snorted.  “Prince Aemond?  The king’s son?  Sad?”

“Hush now,” Bella urged, laying her hand on her brother’s arm before looking back up at the prince.  He was still regarding her carefully, his expression blank but with that emotion hidden deep underneath it.  “I can see it in his eyes.”

Bellagon snorted again.  “In his eye, you mean.  He has only one.”

Bellagon did not like shows of weakness in others.  It’s what made his own injury so mysterious to Bella.  It was somehow a point of strength.  She really must learn its origins.

They were still glancing over at the prince.

“Perhaps he will tell you,” Bellagon now decided.  “He seems interested enough.”  He dipped his bread back into oil and dropped it within his mouth, chewing.  “I am not certain I want to lose you to the Capital or this incestuous horde.  Still, the Royal Family—”

“Our own great—great, great—great,” Bella was thinking, “aunt married into the Targaryens.”

“And look where it got us,” Bellagon sighed.  “Absolutely nowhere.”  He shoved his ale aside.  Turning to Bella seriously, he now said, “I would be careful, sister.  I know you need a husband.  You are of age, but I had thought to keep you closer to Dorne.”

“Where is closer than the Capital except for Dorne itself?” Bella wondered to herself, now picking up her own small glass of ale.

Bellagon looked her over and glanced over at the greens.  Prince Aegon was still making merry with one of the serving girls.  “I do not like the way the other prince acts in public.”

“No,” Bella agreed carefully.  “He should be more circumspect.”  Taking a sip of her ale, she quickly set it back down.  She did not care for the taste of it.

After the feast, Bella and Bellagon wended their way back to their accommodations.  Bellagon did not wish to practice his sword fighting in the courtyard and his squire had all of his preparations well in hand.  There was nothing that needed doing before the tourney next day.  There was nowhere to go, no one to see.  There was only wandering their way through the castle and back to their shared rooms.

They were rounding the corner to one of the side stairs, when a shadowy figure emerged, surprising them.  His hair caught the light, a glint of amethyst off his gaze, and Bella recognized it as Prince Aemond.

“Lord Bellagon,” the prince greeted, fiddling with his cuff as if he were bored.  “Well met.”  His single eye turned to Bella with just a shiver of curiosity.  “I see you have brought your kinswoman to cheer you on.  Surely she is not your bride.”

Shifting nervously to the side, Bellagon told him, “No, not my bride, my prince, but my sister, the Lady Isabella.”  He reached out to take Bella’s hand and lead her forward slightly in introduction.

“Well met,” Aemond greeted, his eye carefully taking her in from head to foot, from her long dark hair, to her violet eyes, to her thin frame.  “You are as beautiful as the Lady Dyanna.”

She nodded her head in thanks.

Aemond hesitated a moment, still playing with his cuffs.  Then, he asked, “Does the Lady Isabella enjoy gardens?  Surely she does not see much of them in Dorne.”

“No, not much of them,” Bella agreed, speaking for the first time.  She glanced at her brother and received his nod of assent.  It seemed speaking to the prince was worth a possibility if not an entire future in the Capital.  Turning back to the prince, she told him, “I should be most happy to see them.”

Aemond indicated that she should follow him off the stairs, and he led her out into the hall in the obvious direction of the gardens, Bellagon following at a respectful distance.

They were silent until they came out into the gardens, the competing scents of the blooms overwhelming Bella for a moment.  She stood in the doorway, holding herself up against the stones, just breathing in and trying to accustom herself to all the floral odors.

“It is quite intoxicating, is it not?” Aemond asked from where he hovered a few steps ahead of her.

Taking in a deep breath to calm herself, Bella replied, “Our desert flowers are nothing like this.”

Reaching out his hand for her take, Aemond led her further in.  “This is nothing to Highgarden, of course,” he told her.

“Of course,” she echoed, not entirely certain where Highgarden was.

“—but I have always liked the gardens, especially as they overlook Blackwater Bay.”  Aemond, however, wasn’t looking at the gardens.  He wasn’t overlooking Blackwater Bay.  He was gazing at Bella.

She blushed lightly, the horrible stain covering her cheeks, going down her chin, and stretching down her neck.  As she was wearing Dornish fashion, her shoulders and her upper chest were bare, a slight hint of her cleavage showing, and the blush stretched all the way down there, much to Bella’s embarrassment.  She always hated how she blushed.

Aemond, though, couldn’t keep his eye off her.

“My sister,” Bellagon said, stepping forward to enter the conversation, “is very accomplished at playing the harp.”  He gave Bella a look, as if to tell her to be more conversational, and then he took several steps back.

Bella glanced at Aemond hesitantly.

He was gazing at her unabashedly back.

It was true, Bella played the harp.  When she had appeared in Dorne three years earlier, she had nothing to spend her days on but reading and needlepoint.  After devouring the small library at Dorne and learning everything she could about the Seven Kingdoms and after improving her needlepoint to the point where she was embroidering tapestries for the keep, she had picked up a harp she had found in her bedchamber.

It had been difficult to play.  However, she had stuck with it for over eight months, and by the end of it could play passably well and could accompany herself in a song.  She spent several hours in the evening listening to the troubadours in the hall and she taught herself their songs, memorizing the verses and the turns of phrase.

“I did bring it,” she admitted carefully, not wanting to put herself forward.  “I am certain there are much more qualified musicians.”

“I should like to hear you play,” Aemond told her, offering his hand and leading her through the flowers.  “Do you sing as well?”

Bella blushed again.  “I do,” she admitted.  “Not as well as I should like.”

“Do not let her dissuade you, my prince,” Bellagon added, stepping in again, seeming to approve the match the more and more Bella spoke with Aemond.  “She is a veritable songbird.”

Sending her brother a look, Bella did not dispute this, but allowed Aemond to lead her further into the gardens. 

“I study philosophy, history, and politics,” Aemond was now telling her, much to Bella’s interest, “when I am not with the tourney sword.”

“Are you to compete in the lists?” she inquired, looking up at him shyly.  “On horseback perhaps?”

“I don’t give a shit about tourneys,” Aemond said harshly, surprising Bella.  He took a deep breath and looked out at the deep of Blackwater Bay.  After centering himself, he qualified, “Nonetheless, it is expected that I compete—useless distraction though it is.”  He paused again, Bella remaining silent.  “I hope I can wear your colors.”

Bella hesitated.  Bellagon always wore her colors.  It went without him even having to ask.  If she gave Prince Aemond her colors—it was a statement of intent.  A statement of intent on his side, and a statement of intent on hers as well.

She looked up into Aemond’s bright amethyst eye and pondered him for a moment.  He was attempting to show no interest in her answer either way, as if he did not care.  But there was a slight vulnerability in his gaze that she picked up.  Licking her lips, Bella looked down at her hands.  “It will have to be violet,” she told him carefully.  “I always give violet ribbons.  I’m wearing none now, I’m afraid.  I wasn’t expecting—”  She flashed up her violet gaze and held his.

“I shall ask in the lists,” he told her, taking her hand and lifting it up so he could kiss the back of her knuckles.  Holding her gaze for a long moment, he then nodded to Bellagon and departed.

Bella didn’t even realize she was holding her breath until the wind toppled out of her.

“Steady,” Bellagon warned as he grabbed her arm to keep her upright.  “I know a prince’s devotion is startling to any young woman.”

“Do you think anyone noticed?” Bella asked desperately.

“That you nearly fell off your feet or that the prince noticed you at all?”  Bellagon asked this wryly.  “They noticed the second of it, for sure.  You can keep nothing secret in the Capital.  The place is full of spies.”

“Spies,” Bella murmured, not liking that at all.

“Indeed, spies,” Bellagon repeated.

They walked out to the wall and looked out over Backwater Bay, the small ships coming in and out of the harbor.  The brother and sister were both tall and slim, Bellagon with broader shoulders, Bella with a thinner, more winsome frame, but both with dark hair as deep as a moonless sky, skin as pale as moon tea, and eyes as violet as any amethyst stone.  They made quite the pair in Dorne and were often remarked upon.

“You will soon have to get married,” Bella warned, now that she was thinking about it for herself.  In Westeros women either married or became spinster aunts with nothing to look forward to in life.  “We are twenty-one years of age.”

“You should have been married six years since,” Bellagon agreed.  “No, I know I need to take a wife, but the idea has never suited me.”

Bella sighed.  “If I might be gone, you will be all alone in the keep with little Belladonna.”  Donna was their nine-year-old sister whom they had left in Dorne.  Bella was essentially raising her and if there was now interest in Bella—someone else—Bellagon’s future wife—would be the one who should see to Donna’s education and her upbringing.  Bella couldn’t take Donna with her.  It wasn’t the common practice.

“Little Donna,” Bellagon sighed. 

“Little Donna,” Bella agreed.

Bellagon was certainly correct.  There were spies in the Capital.  Within two hours of Bella having walked with Prince Aemond in the gardens, Queen Alicent sent for her.  Bella was a little afraid, but she brought her harp with her in case she was asked to play.

The queen was beautiful, with near auburn hair and piercing green eyes.  She was dressed immaculately in her house colors—green—a crown on her head, and she was sitting in front of a little tea that had been arranged for them.

“Lady Isabella Dayne,” she greeted as Bella curtseyed to her deeply.  “I hear my son has taken a liking to you.”

“Prince Aemond has been very kind.”

“Prince Aemond is not kind,” Alicent told her outright, “not even when he wants something.  You should be well to know that now, girl.”

Nodding, Bella set her harp aside and took the seat that was offered to her.

Alicent looked her up and down.  “You are certainly comely if a little old.”

“My brother has seen no reason to marry me off.”

Nodding her head to a serving girl, Alicent considered this.  “I suppose you are the lady of his keep, as Lord Bellagon does not have a wife himself.  I suppose that will have to change.”  She sighed and snapped her fingers.  A wine goblet was placed in her fingers.  “Did Prince Aemond ask for your favor?”

“He did, my queen,” Bella told her.

“Good, very good,” Alicent decided.  “The House of Dayne is a fine house.  Your brother is not a courtier, but then again, neither was your father before him.  It is not required of a match.  What does your brother say?”

Bella blushed a little at this, the horrible, staining blush.  “He told Prince Aemond that I could play the harp.”

Alicent glanced at the instrument.  “And I see that you brought it with you.”  She turned to the serving girl.  “Send for the princess!” she commanded, “she shall certainly care to listen.”

Taking a sip of her wine, Bella waited while Princess Helaena was fetched.  Queen Alicent continued to drink her wine and take in Bella, regarding her as if she were a prized mare.  Bella supposed she was, in a way.  If the tourney was really being held to find Aemond a bride, and since his notice seemed to have landed on her, she was what was being purchased.

The princess was a young woman with the same silver Targaryen hair, the same amethyst eyes, the same slim frame, though a little doughy from childbirth.  She was shy, but came and sat by her mother and listened attentively while Bella played for the royal mother and daughter.

As she was plucking the harp, she looked up to see Prince Aegon in the doorway, looking in curiously, having been drawn by the music.

He was gone by the time Bella played her final chord.

By dinner, the entire court was catching glances at Bella and Bellagon as they ate at their side table, whispering together.  “Oh, there goes another one,” Bellagon said, referencing a lady who had cast a jealous look at Bella.  “She does not like you.”

“There is nothing to dislike,” Bella argued, taking a sip of her ale.  “Prince Aemond might find me too shy for his tastes on the morrow.”

“He might like a blushing maiden,” Bellagon countered back.  “He certainly seemed to.”

Aemond was certainly looking at her now over his cup of wine, his one violet eye shining in the lighted hall.

“The princess still isn’t here,” Bellagon remarked, drawing her attention away, “nor the prince consort.”

Considering, Bella wondered, “I wonder if Prince Jacaerys Velaryon will compete.  Is he old enough for a tourney?”

Bellagon’s sunken eye caught the light.  Bella wondered, again, at what had happened.  “Mayhaps not,” her brother agreed.  “He may be too young.”

“Then perhaps they will not come,” Bella reasoned, “as Prince Daemon is past his tourney years.  They do not participate in court—at least,” and now she caught Bellagon’s one good eye, violet to violet, “that is what I have heard from you and the other knights at Starfall.”

Bellagon seemed to consider this.  “Then they shall not be here for the wedding, if there is to be a wedding at all.”  He wiped up some blood from his meat with his piece of bread.  He often used bread for dipping, whatever he could find.  It was a trait Bella did not share with her twin here in the Seven Kingdoms.  “Odd, if the princess will not attend her brother’s wedding.”

Bella leaned in, still holding her cup of ale.  She was not particularly hungry.  “We do not even know if there is to be a wedding.  Neither do we know if I am to be the bride.”

Chuckling to himself, Bellagon countered, “If the way Prince Aemond is raping you with his one good eye is any indication, you are to be the bride.”

She glanced back up to Aemond.  He was still regarding her over his cup, not touching his meal.  His elder brother, Prince Aegon, leaned over and whispered some words in his ear, smiling to himself and also appraising Bella.  Aemond did not react at whatever was said.

Aegon turned his head a little, to get a better look at Bella for all that she could tell, and then went back to ignoring his lady wife, the Princess Helaena.

Aemond still regarded her, his fingers curling around his cup.

“Oh, aye, there is to be a wedding,” Bellagon prophesied.  “I see it all clearly.  A dragon that the prince sends you a missive tonight.”

Bella glanced over at him, shocked.  “It would not be proper!”

“Not proper perhaps, but certainly in the line of courting.”

Thinking about it for a moment, Bella considered.  Mayhaps Prince Aemond would send her a note tonight.  Edward had, after all, snuck into her window when she had been someone else entirely.  It was not as if Aemond could sneak into her chambers.  She shared them with Bellagon.  There were so many guests in the keep that they did not have their own rooms.  They also hadn’t been important enough to be given separate bedchambers upon their arrival, being a small house from Dorne.

“Ah, the Martells are here,” Bellagon muttered to himself.

The Martells of Sunspear were the Daynes’ liegelords and princes of Dorne.  They did not often journey outside of their principality, but when they did, others certainly took notice.

If Aemond took notice, he did not show it.  He was too busy still regarding Bella over his wine cup.

“A pity there’s no dancing,” Bellagon was now saying, ripping a chicken leg to shreds with his teeth.  He chewed for a long moment.  “Then we could see the prince dance with you.”

Bella blushed despite herself at the suggestion.  Her maid had taught her the steps of several Westerosi dances, but she did not believe she had learnt any grace over the past three years in the Seven Kingdoms.  She was still as clumsy as ever.  She was liable to step on Aemond’s foot than not if they were to dance.

“I see you like the idea,” Bellagon teased.

“I like it not,” Bella objected, taking a bit of pheasant and picking at it with her fingers in order to have something to do.  “You know I cannot dance.”

“I know nothing of the sort!” Bellagon declared, loudly enough so the lords sitting around them could hear.  “You are quite graceful when you put your mind to it.”

Bella blushed again, ducking her head to tear apart more of her pheasant.  She had no intention of eating any.

Later, Bellagon was speaking with the Prince of Dorne, so Bella was forced to go back to their shared rooms on her own.  She knew the keep relatively well by now, at least the main staircases, but she was surprised when Aemond stepped out from within an alcove and pulled her back into it.

“My prince!” she objected.  “Someone might see.”

“The purpose of my subterfuge is so that no one might see,” he argued, his voice sharp as a knife but a kindness in his eye.  He reached up and ran a hand over her long hair, letting his fingers slide through it.  “I am glad you do not have Targaryen hair.”

Looking up at him, confused, Bella didn’t speak.  She knew Targaryens intermarried.  The king had married his cousin, Lady Aemma Arryn, for his first wife.  Now Prince Aegon had married his own sister, Princess Helaena.  Vicerys’s heir, Princess Rhaenyra, had wed her uncle, Prince Consort Daemon.  Targaryens married other Targaryens.  However, there was no Targaryen left for Aemond.  There were only the Velaryon girls who were the granddaughters of the Princess Rhaenys, if such a match was to be had.  Briefly, Bella wondered why such a match had never been proposed.

Aemond ducked down and caught her gaze, violet to violet.  “What is it, my lady?” he asked quietly in the hush, showing a different side of himself.

“Oh,” Bella murmured.  “I was just wondering why you are not betrothed to either the Lady Baela or Lady Rhaena Velaryon.  They are your bloodkin after all.”

He smiled to himself.  “I stole Vhagar from Lady Rhaena.  I daresay she would not have me, even if I should do the asking.”

“You stole Vhagar—?” Bella breathed, knowing this to be the name of the oldest and largest of the Targaryen dragons.  “Are you not her rider?”

“Yes,” he whispered, stepping slightly closer to her.  “She is a magnificent creature.  Should you like to see her?”

Bella’s breath caught.  She had never seen a dragon.

“I see you would,” he murmured, his lips hovering above her own.  “Sneak out of your rooms tonight and I will take you to the dragon pit.”

“Are-are we allowed?” Bella asked cautiously.

“I am a dragon rider,” he told her firmly, his violet eye flashing.  “I may see Vhagar whenever I wish—and I may show her to whomever I wish, and I wish to show her to you.”

Bella considered.  “What if Bellagon suspects?”

Aemond smiled.  “I am certain you are clever enough to evade notice.  I will meet you here when the moon is at her zenith.”

Bella glanced around to take in their exact location.  Aemond’s fingers were still in her hair.  “I shall be here, my prince,” she agreed carefully, “though I cannot say how I will be dressed.”

Aemond smirked to himself again.  “I should like to see you in repose.”  His violet eye flashed.  “I daresay if it is anything like this dress, I will be most pleased.”  His eye skimmed down her blushing neck, to her exposed shoulders and chest.  “The costumes of Dorne are much different than the gowns of the capital.”

Still blushing, Bella flirted a little.  “I did not think men noticed our dresses.”

Aemond’s fingers stroked her long, dark hair behind her ear.  “I have certainly noticed yours.  How could I not?”

She slipped out of the alcove with no one being the wiser, Aemond disappearing into the shadows.  When she arrived at her rooms, Bellagon was already waiting.

“Where did you get to?” he asked.

Trying not to blush, Bella answered, “I got lost on the stairs.”

Bellagon took this answer for what it was.  “I see.  Any missive from the prince?”

“No missive,” she told him.  “You must be disappointed.”

“There is still time,” Bellagon argued, sitting down and taking off his left boot.  “A serving girl can show up at any moment.”

However, a serving girl did not appear.  The message had already been sent—but in person.  Bella would win a dragon off her brother.  This pleased her, though she couldn’t say why.

Bella readied herself for bed and made a show of blowing out her candles.  She had left her cloak on top of her trunk, her day slippers tucked under the bed so she could fetch them.  Bellagon read well into the night, but finally extinguished his candles as well.  When she heard him snoring, Bella went to the window and checked the position of the moon.  She was already late.

Quickly slipping on her shoes and pulling her golden cloak around her (an unfortunate color for a nighttime rendezvous), she slipped out the door and headed down the side staircase.

Finding the alcove with little trouble, she slipped into it and feared she had missed Prince Aemond.  However, he appeared out of the shadows, his head hooded by a cloak of dark colors, only the slight hint of his chin visible in the torchlight from the stairs.

“My lady,” he greeted, taking her in.

“Bellagon read into the night,” she apologized.  “His tome unfortunately held his interest.”

“Brothers can be unpredictable at times,” he agreed, leading her further into the darkness.  “Aegon said he heard you play.”  It seemed there was a trap door in the back of the alcove, and he led her down it, holding only a lamp for them to see by.  His hand was firmly clasping her smaller one, and it felt warm and safe, for reasons Bella couldn’t fathom.

Aemond, after all, was a prince of the realm, a dragon rider, and by all accounts an excellent swordsman.  He was dangerous in his own right.  However, she knew he would never hurt her—at least, not physically.  He might break her heart, if she let him.

Edward had broken her heart…

He looked back at her, the patch over his left eye a dark splotch in the blackness, and she gave him a small reassuring smile.

The tunnel led outside the keep’s gates and a horse was waiting.

He lifted her into the saddle, the thin fabric of her white nightdress showing underneath her cloak.  Aemond sat behind her, holding onto her waist, his head almost tucked over her shoulder.  Aemond was certainly tall, but Bella was also tall, and sitting together on the horse, they almost nestled into each other, a quiet embrace.

Bella felt her heart speed up at the closeness.

She hadn’t been close to anyone since Edward had left her to freeze in the woods in Forks.  Before that, when he snuck into her bed, Edward had always wrapped her in blankets so she wouldn’t feel the cold of his skin.  Now there were barely two cloaks between them and Bella could feel the heat of Aemond’s skin where they touched.

When they reached the dragon pit, she slid into his arms off the horse, and he held her there for a long moment, just gazing into her eyes.  “It is surprising how violet they are, given you have no Targaryen blood,” he murmured to himself.

“The Daynes have always had violet eyes,” she whispered back.  “Since the beginning of time…”

He made no other comment, but tied up their horse and led her into the dragon pit.

Vhagar was a monstrous dragon who dwarfed them, but Bella refused to back down.  When Aemond led her forward and placed her hand against Vhagar’s rough hide, Bella sucked in her breath.  Vhagar cantered a little but did not protest. 

Aemond looked at her as if a question had just been answered.

She supposed it had.  Bella had just been accepted by his dragon.  She had just passed a test.—possibly the most important test of all the small ones she would have to pass to be accepted by the greens as his future wife.

He brought her back at a sedate pace, the moon falling in the sky.

“You must get some rest,” Bella murmured when he had brought her back to the alcove.  “The tourney begins tomorrow.”  She reached up and folded his dark cloak over itself in a mothering motion she often adopted with Belladonna.  She was fussing.

Reaching out, Aemond took her hand.  “You know I don’t give a shit about the tourney.”

She gave him a small smile at his coarse words.  “I know,” she agreed, “but if my brother is to be believed, it is being held for your benefit.”

“It need not be held,” he told her outright, “its benefit has already been had.”  He looked into her eyes, a hint of longing in his shadowed gaze.  Reaching out, he slipped his hand into her hair beneath the hood of her cloak and he drew her closer.

Bella’s breath hitched.  He was going to kiss her, here in her nightgown, in the middle of the night, with only the moon to bear witness.

She slipped back into her rooms, Bellagon still snoring.  She fell asleep, still wearing her cloak and slippers, only to be awakened early the next morning by the queen’s sworn protector.

Bella looked at him in confusion.  “What time is it?” she asked no one in particular, pulling the cloak closer to her to hide her modesty.

Bellagon was sitting on his bed in his britches and shirt, languidly stretching.  “The queen wishes to see us?” he checked.

“There is a particular question that is to be put to the Lady Isabella,” Sir Criston Cole told them outright.  “They want this business concluded.”

Blinking, Bella realized it was the proposal.  She was going to be offered a proposal of marriage mere hours after meeting Vhagar.  It seemed Aemond couldn’t wait, or the queen couldn’t.  It didn’t matter in the end.  It was happening and it was happening now.

Quickly donning her violet dress and brushing out her hair, Bella was ready within twenty minutes and following Sir Criston back to the queen’s chambers. 

She wasn’t expecting there to be quite such a large crowd.

The queen was standing regally there, the sign of the seven upon her breast, a crown on her head.  Prince Aegon was in a corner, nursing what seemed to be a hangover.  Princess Helaena was sitting in a chair, at her sewing.  The Hand of the King, Sir Otto Hightower, was standing tall near a window.  And Aemond—Aemond was standing at the mantle and looking into the morning fire.  He looked well rested, as if they hadn’t been gallivanting with dragons the night before.

As Bella and Bellagon entered, the door was closed behind them.

Bella stood tall, feeling her brother standing protectively at her side.

Queen Alicent looked up at her and smiled.  “Lady Isabella,” she greeted, “my son, Prince Aemond, should like to ask for your hand in marriage.  We thought we would cancel the tourney and have the wedding this afternoon.  Exchange one celebration for another.”

Aemond was decidedly not looking at her.

Bella didn’t like it.  Still, with only a quick glance at her brother for permission, she nodded her head formally.  “I gladly accept this proposal.  I am certain this afternoon will be suitable.”

Bellagon shuffled beside her.

She looked over at him.  He gave her a pointed look.  Ah.  “I—I do not believe we have a wedding cloak,” she told the queen carefully.  “We were not expecting a wedding.”

“It is enough that Prince Aemond should cloak you in the Targaryen colors,” Sir Otto told her, entering the conversation.  “Everything else will be done properly.”  He glanced at Aemond who was still staring into the flames.  “Well, we will let you withdraw to prepare.  The queen will send you two of her handmaidens to make yourself ready.”

Bella nodded again and glanced once more at Aemond.  He was still staring into the flames.

She left without him looking toward her once.

“Is that how Royal proposals usually go?” Bella asked the room not an hour later as a bath was being prepared for her.

“At least there wasn’t a treaty to sign,” Bellagon sighed.  “They wrapped it up all very neatly.”

“Very neatly,” Bella agreed.  “All that was missing was the king.”

Bellagon grimaced.  “He probably won’t make the wedding, if he’s even well enough to know it is taking place.”  He sighed.  “I will leave you to your ministrations.”  He waved a hand at the bath.

After the bath, Bella was drying her hair in front of the summer’s fire, when there was a knock at the door.  The maids had withdrawn to give her privacy, but they would return in time to lace Bella back into her violet dress and to style her hair.

At the door, a maid was there with a circlet of violet flowers. “From the prince,” Bella was told, and she accepted the circlet for her hair.  It seemed he was giving her his favor instead of the other way around.  It made Bella smile.  He wasn’t so indifferent after all.

The blacks never appeared and weren’t present for the wedding.  Princess Rhaenys was there with the Lady Baela, who was under her protection.  The king, also, did not make an appearance.

Aemond let no emotion show on his face the whole of the wedding feast.

When there was a call for music, he pointedly never asked Bella to dance.  As he did not ask her, no other lord or knight could claim the privilege of her hand.  Instead, Bella sat beside her husband of mere hours, thinking he was no more than a stranger.  Their passion under the moon seemed a thing of the past.  The violet circlet on her head seemed heavy and pressing.

What Bella hadn’t been anticipating is when she was escorted to Aemond’s chambers and the doors were closed behind them.  She had expected Aemond’s coolness toward her to continue. 

Instead, as soon as they were alone, he pulled her toward him into a lingering kiss.

“What?” Bella breathed when he pulled away, but he only kissed her again.—and again—and again—until he was unlacing her stays and pushing her towards the bed.  He discarded his boots and pulled his doublet over his head.  Then he was kissing her again.

Her hands ran down his smooth chest, and Aemond shuddered.  Then she reached up into his hair and pulled him closer.  He smiled against her lips and shimmied out of his britches.

Afterward, they lay in a pile of sheets, their clothes discarded all over the floor.  Bella’s hair was draped over one shoulder and only covering one breast, but Aemond’s head was pillowed against her chest.

“I thought you had decided against me,” she whispered into the quiet, her fingers stroking through his long silver hair.

“I am against pageantry,” he told her, his voice cold.  However, he had clasped himself to her, and she could feel the pads of his fingers against the slope of her hip.  “Aegon was waiting for me in my chambers last night.  He wanted to take me to the Road of Silk.”

Bella paused in her ministrations.  “What is the Road of Silk?” she inquired, completely ignorant of Capital ways.

“A place ladies never go,” Aemond told her, lifting up his head and looking into her violet gaze.  “I want you again, wife.”

Bella blushed.  She was still sore, but she wouldn’t refuse Aemond on their wedding night.  She reached for him and pulled him into a lingering embrace, the evening still young.

The honeymoon, however, was short lived.

The sea snake returned from battle on the cusp of death and the succession of Driftmark was called into question.  Bella had believed the matter had been settled.  It would pass from Lord Corlys Velaryon, through his son Sir Vaelor, to his second son, Lucerys Velaryon.

“Why is this even a question?” Bella asked Aemond carefully as she bathed him.

He turned in the water and looked at her steadily.  “You do not know.”

“Know what?”

“Princess Rhaenyra’s children are the natural sons of Sir Harwin.  They show no sign of Old Valyrian blood.  It is whispered about but never acknowledged.  My father, the king, will hear no accusation against his precious princess.”  The last he spat.  “I lost my eye for speaking the rumor.”

Bella paused, squeezing a sponge over Aemond’s shoulder.  “Hmm…” she wondered.  “It’s obvious?  That the princes have no Velaryon blood and resemble this Sir Harwin?”

“Quite obvious.”

Carefully, Bella noted, “Our sons might not have silver hair.  They will have violet eyes, but their hair could be—”

Aemond sat up and looked Bella dead in the eye.  “Our children will be of Old Valyria,” he told her coldly.  Bella now knew she shouldn’t be fearful of this voice.  He just used it when he was serious.  “They will be of silver hair and violet eyes.  They will be dragon riders.”

Bella only nodded and eased Aemond back into the bath.  “I shall look forward to viewing the princes.”

And the princes came, with Princess Rhaenyra and Prince Consort Daemon.  It ended in bloodshed with Prince Daemon chopping off the head of Sir Vaemond Velaryon for speaking the very rumor Aemond had told her.

And Bella got to see the king, her goodfather, sitting upon the throne, aged and hobbled. 

A family dinner was called for that evening.

However, during the proceedings in the throne room, Bella noticed that one of the Velaryon princes was regarding her—the taller one.  From her place beside Aemond, she indicated with her head toward the dark-haired prince.  She knew when Aemond noticed.  His entire body became as taut as a harp string. 

“Which one is it?” she whispered to him.

“Prince Jacaerys.”  Jace, then.  Not the one who had taken Aemond’s eye.  That must be the younger one.

When the toasts were given, the betrothals of the two Velaryon princes to Prince Daemon’s daughters were cheered.

“Will you not speak of your own son?” Queen Alicent asked the room at large.  “Prince Aemond was married not a fortnight ago to the Lady Isabella Dayne.”  She nodded toward where they sat together at the table.  “She is an excellent addition to our House.”

Jacaerys looked at her with wide eyes from his place beside Lady Baela.

When Princess Helaena gave her toast, Bella’s heart broke a little.  She glanced at her goodbrother, Prince Aegon, who was paying more attention to his cousin, Lady Baela, than his own wife.  Such a disgrace.

She reached under the table and placed her hand on Aemond’s knee.

He placed his hand on top of hers and entwined their fingers.

Then Jacaerys asked her to dance.

Bella looked up at him in confusion.  “You wish to dance?” she repeated, her fingers squeezing Aemond’s under the table.

“You are a bride,” Jacaerys argued, smiling at his uncle over Bella’s shoulder.  “It is your privilege to be asked for a dance.” 

Bella didn’t like his smile.  She waited for Aemond to refuse for her, but he remained silent.  Bella realized she would have to speak for herself.  Unfortunately, Bellagon had gone home to Dorne so he could not speak for her.

She paused.  “I should not like to dance at this time,” she demurred.

Aemond’s blood was up, however.  After the king had left, he toasted his nephews for being handsome, brave—and strong.

Bella didn’t understand the insult.  However, the two Velaryon princes immediately lunged at Aemond and had to be restrained. 

“He should not have asked you to dance,” Aemond said when they retired to their rooms, neither having eaten at the family dinner.  “It was an insult.  I could see his eyes all over you.  He should have been paying court to Lady Baela.”

“At least he did not ask Princess Helaena to dance,” Bella mused, slipping off her slippers and going to take off her necklace.  “I fear she might have accepted.  She—says the strangest things.”  Bella sometimes sat with her in the mornings when they were at their sewing, with the young prince and princess at their feet.

“Helaena is lost in her dreams,” Aemond explained, coming up behind her and letting his finger trace the line of her neck.

Bella turned and twisted her arms around him.  “They are not all that impressive if they are the future of the realm.”  She looked up into his one eye, stark in the candlelight.  “Neither Aegon nor Jacaerys pays any attention to their ladyloves.”

“And Luke?” Aemond asked darkly, leaning down to kiss her, his lips hovering just above hers.

“Who?” Bella asked.

She squealed as he picked her up and threw her on the bed, crawling on top of her.  As he swooped down for a kiss, Bella found she could not regret her new life, as strange as she found it.  Come what may, with the succession, with the Valeryon princes, with Aegon and Helaena, and the king who was so old he could barely stay sitting up… she would face it all with Aemond, her one-eyed prince.

The End.