The Godswood, The Red Keep.
Inside the Godswood, King Viserys I, having just concluded the pronouncement, fell into a violent fit of coughing that shook his entire frame.
Alicent rushed to pat his back, but the King waved her off, forcing out one final, shaky sentence:
"I declare... You are wed."
A wave of applause erupted from the gathered nobility of the Red Keep. Aemond lowered his head and pressed his lips to Helaena's.
When he pulled back, her face was crimson, but her violet eyes shimmered with a newfound light.
High Septon Ewen stepped forward, a practiced smile on his face.
"By the grace of the Seven," he began, "may the Father grant you justice, the Mother grant you mercy, the Maiden grant you purity, and the Warrior grant you courage..."
He droned through the standard wedding benediction, but Aemond and Helaena's attention was elsewhere.
Their hands remained clasped; the blood had begun to dry, gluing their palms together in a macabre bond.
As the prayer concluded, the High Septon produced a vial of holy oil, intending to symbolically trace the Seven-Pointed Star upon the foreheads of the newlyweds.
Aemond raised a hand, stopping him coldly.
"There is no need," Aemond said, his voice flat.
"This is a Targaryen marriage. The Seven are witnesses, but they do not preside over me."
The atmosphere froze. The Septon's hand hung in mid-air, his smile turning into a jagged mask of offense.
"Septon," Viserys whispered weakly, "step back."
Ewen took a sharp breath, forced a smile that looked more like a grimace, bowed shallowly to the King, and retreated into the crowd.
Aemond ignored him. He bit the tip of his right middle finger until blood welled.
With the crimson drop, he traced an ancient glyph on Helaena's forehead, the Valyrian character for "Fire."
Helaena followed suit, biting her own finger and drawing the symbol for "Blood" upon Aemond's brow.
Then, they pressed their foreheads together, letting the wet sigils mingle.
A collective chill ran through the onlookers. This was not the "joy" of a wedding; it was a sinister, primal binding.
It was a reminder of why ancient texts called the Dragonlords madmen, for perhaps only the mad could truly command the sky.
"Now," Viserys's voice was barely a ghost of a sound, "the wedding is finished. May... may you..."
The words died in his throat. The King's head slumped, and he drifted back into a semi-conscious stupor.
"The King is tired," Alicent announced, scanning the crowd.
"The ceremony is over. We thank you all for your witness."
The crowd began to disperse, but many eyes lingered on the dried blood sigils on the couple's foreheads.
It had been a "Red Wedding" in the most literal Targaryen sense.
---------
Maegor's Holdfast, The Royal Apartments.
The mornings in King's Landing always carried the brine of the Blackwater, but inside the royal apartments of Maegor's Holdfast, the air was sweet with rose and lavender.
Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, casting the shapes of the Seven, the Warrior's sword, the Father's scales, across the floor.
Helaena Targaryen woke to find herself curled in a warm embrace.
She looked up at the sleeping face of Aemond. The morning light gilded his pale skin.
In sleep, he didn't look like a drawn sword; he looked like a sixteen-year-old boy. Vulnerable, almost.
Her gaze drifted to his left hand. The cut from the wedding had scabbed over into a dark red line.
She touched her own palm, the same mark.
She hovered her finger over his wound but didn't touch it, fearing she would wake him.
But Aemond was already awake. His violet eye opened, immediately clear and sharp.
"Morning," he rasped.
"Morning," Helaena smiled, her silver hair spilling across the pillow like liquid light.
"Did I wake you?"
"No," Aemond said, reaching out to brush his knuckles against her cheek.
"I should have been up by now anyway."
He made as if to rise but didn't move, simply watching her.
Helaena had a quiet, serene beauty, unlike the striking fire of Rhaenyra or the bright sharpness of a young Alicent. She was like a deep pool of water, reflecting the world in itself.
"What are you looking at?" she asked, smiling.
"You," Aemond said plainly, twisting a lock of her hair around his finger.
"My fire."
Helaena blushed, the color reaching her ears. She pulled the silk sheet up to cover half her face.
"Why are you being so... today?"
"Honest?" Aemond finished for her.
"I had a dream last night. About when we were children. Aegon, Jacaerys, Lucerys... pushing me into the mud."
His voice was calm, but the coldness beneath was palpable.
"I still remember that 'Pink Dread.' They said I didn't deserve a dragon. That I should ride a pig." He paused.
"They insulted me. How did they dare?"
Helaena squeezed his hand. She remembered those days, Aemond crying in his room, the fury in his eyes.
She remembered telling her mother, and how Alicent had only lightly scolded the Velaryon boys to keep the peace with Rhaenyra.
"I hid in my room and cried my heart out," Aemond continued, as if talking about someone else.
"But I remember you were the one who comforted me. You were the only one who never looked down on me."
He turned to her, a cold smile touching his lips.
"Don't worry. Those 'Strongs' are dead. That debt is settled. As for Aegon... he is my brother. I do not hate him the way I hated those bastards."
Helaena shivered. She thought of the slaughter at Blackwater Bay, Joffrey torn by Morghul, Jacaerys beheaded on the walls.
Their heads still rotted on pikes at the city gates.
"I'm sorry," Aemond said, pulling her into his arms.
"I shouldn't have brought that up."
"No," Helaena pressed her face to his chest, listening to his heartbeat.
"You don't need to apologize. I just... I wish you didn't have to get hurt so much. Every time you come back with a new wound..."
"Some things, only I can do," he whispered.
"House Targaryen needs a hand to hold the sword, even if that hand is covered in blood. Let them curse me. I will do what must be done. But I promise you, I will return every time."
"Do you swear it?" she asked softly.
"I swear it by my blood," Aemond said.
"By the pact between us."
Helaena held him tight. She could smell the faint scent of blood on him, not from a fresh wound, but something deeper, woven into his very essence.
It once made her uneasy; now, it was the only thing that made her feel safe.
-----
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