Chapter Text
Aemond clenches his hands as he heads to his mother’s quarters. A fierce fire rages its way through his chest. His teeth grind together as he recalls the report of Aegon’s behavior last night. How could Aegon go on a drunken brothel spree with his friends when his son was bedridden with a fever? Helaena had wept into their mother's arms for hours, nearly hysterical at being barred from comforting her child. Yet Aegon does not care about his wife or children or even his reputation. A spoiled prince through and through. His nails dig into his palms hard enough to cut.
No guards or servants greet Aemond as he rounds the corner. Rather the hall is woefully empty. Not even a distant voice of chattering servants is to be heard. There is always a constant stream of servants and visitors flowing through these halls, seeking favor and serving the crown. Their forms paint the halls with the vibrant colors of their clothes and the sounds of their voices. The guards standing in polished silver metal, watching it all with their alert eyes. The queen’s door, which never as long as he’s been alive, has never been barren of guards.
Yet, today there are no guards.
Frowning, Aemond falters as he creeps toward his mother’s door. He takes attentive care to ensure that his steps are silent. His thoughts are a perilous hurricane, as his hand settles on the hilt of his sword. His mother is Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, mother to the realm; there are always slews of guards at her door. His mother would never send her guards away, especially not Ser Cole. Criston Cole was her protector. He was to never stray from her side. An honorable knight who has served her well for over twenty years. Except for now.
Slowly Aemond pushes the great wooden doors open, careful to not let the door creak. He crouches down to level his good eye through the slight crack, and his heart races in his chest. Through the opening, he finds his mother instantly. She stands with her back to the door. Her reddish curls, delicately arranged brush against the small of her back. She wears one of her favorite green gowns. The dress was handmade by Helaena for her to celebrate their mother’s three and two name day. Dreamfyre, beautifully embroidered stares at Aemond from its stitched place on its place on the dress sleeve above her elbow. A golden chain settles on her hips drawing the material fittingly around her body.
Her hands tremble slightly by her side.
A dark figure paces in front of Alicent, drawing Aemond’s attention away. Otto Hightower’s mouth twists into an unsightly snarl as he talks. The Hand to the King has always been careful. Even now, his voice is too quiet to carry enough for Aemond to hear. Otto’s hand raises, clenching into a fist as he turns on his heel to whisper something into her ear. His larger form nearly pushed her over. Otto scoffs as he draws away. He shakes his head as he paces to the roaring fireplace.
Alicent turns to face her father. She is whole but not hale. Her brown eyes water with tears. She clenches her hands together, bringing them close to her breasts. Her thumb rubs against the other as she gathers her courage. Otto watches her twist with a dark gaze. Aemond’s heart aches for her to take her into his arms as she has to him a dozen times. But something makes him stay in place, forced to watch this horrid play.
Alicent’s mouth parts only to click shut. As her father strides to her, reaching her in a few steps. Eager to confront a challenge that does not exist. She flinches away from him. Her shoulders instinctively rise to ears. Aemond's breath catches. Otto either does not see the reaction or doesn’t care for it. Otto’s hand is quick. Alicent’s gasp makes Aemond jolt. His heart racing as Otto seizes Alicent tightly by the neck. Tears run down her cheeks as her eyes find Aemond's.
Alicent pales, tears dripping down her chin. Otto shakes her roughly, trying to draw her gaze back onto him. His voice rises in fury echoing off the stone walls. But the words fail to reach Aemond. A buzz fills his ears. A spark catches in his chest and twists into a horrible flame that growls as it reaches up for his throat. Her hands fly up to Otto’s arms to claw at him. Before they fall. Her hands hang limply by her side as Otto’s grip tightens. A yelp escapes his mother as her hands twitch.
“Father!” Alicent gasps out, struggling not to turn her head away from Otto. Her sweet voice gasping out strings of desperate pleas. “Please, Father!” Alicent sobs. Her tears drip down onto her chest. “I had no intention of undermining your authority, you must understand that!” Alicent pleads. Her eyes bore into her father’s with the utmost desperation.
The smell of smoke fills Aemond’s nose. As the flame scorches the back of his throat. His hands tremble as they settle around the hilt of his sword. He could imagine the arc of the swing of his sword as it slices virtuously through Otto Hightower. Blood blotches the floor as Otto falls, gasping out with his eyes wide with betrayal. Even better, to drag a writhing Otto through the keep. Let the servants and nobility see what happens to any soul who dares lay a hand on Aemond’s mother. Vhagar would give a toothy grin before she devoured Otto without a word.
But Aemond is not nearly as reckless to do such a thing.
A thought makes Aemond stand. Carefully, he closes the door shut. Aemod raises his fist to the door and pounds on the wood harshly. He takes off down the hall, his steps ringing out. He ducks behind a nearby pillar. He presses himself tightly so not one piece of him can be seen from his mother’s doorway. He grips his sheathed sword, tucking it tightly against his body.
“Who goes there?” Otto’s voice echoes out. Aemond lips push together. His hands shake from the endeavor to stay in place. His sword hangs on his hip pointedly. Aemond learned the art of the sword to protect his family. Yet when his mother needed him, he didn’t do anything. He was as useless as Aegon, perhaps even worse. Aegon would have done something reckless to save their mother, would have barged in, and made matters worse.
But at least Aegon would’ve not hidden like a coward. A rancid taste bursts in his mouth as his thoughts swim. The light echo of footsteps and the quick long stride of Otto Hightower ring out as he walks away from the Queen’s room. Aemond waits until the only sound is his heartbeat before he steps into the hallway. The doors to his mother’s room have been shut.