King's Landing, Rhaenys's Hill, on the central square of the dragon's lair, atop an improvised high platform.
The smell of sulfur hung heavy in the air.
Tonight, some would witness the betrothal of House Targaryen's lineage.
Viserys I was seated in a soft chair beneath the high platform, its tall back draped in white velvet.
A golden mask concealed the scar on the left side of his face, and six months of recovery had allowed him some measure of restoration.
At that moment, the king lifted his gaze toward the high platform, his eyes full of relief.
Queen Alicent stood silently beside her husband, dressed in a white gown with the Hightower sigil embroidered in gold thread on the cuffs and neckline.
She folded her hands over her belly, her gaze falling upon the silver-haired boy and girl before the altar.
Aegon Targaryen stood on the other side of his mother and yawned lazily.
His new bride, Irene Rogare, held Aegon's hand; her silvery hair was styled in the fashion of a married woman, and the lower curve of her belly hinted at life within.
Nearby stood two witnesses.
Orwell, fifty years old, bald, with a chain-ring in hand holding a scroll of ancient Valyrian oaths.
Seven bishops beside him wore white robes embroidered with seven-pointed stars, their expressions neutral.
This was an ancient Targaryen tradition; today they were present solely as witnesses to the betrothal.
The dragon guards of the lair had been temporarily relocated, leaving only Aemond's bodyguards encased in helm and armor, solemnly keeping watch.
———
Aemond Targaryen stood atop the high platform.
Clad in black and gold, his posture straightened with every passing moment. He looked toward Helaena, who approached slowly.
Helaena Targaryen.
Her silvery-blue gown shimmered like a galaxy flowing through a quiet night; long hair fell like moonlight, crowned with a circlet of flowers.
She walked slightly unsteady, her body trembling, yet she lifted her face and offered a faint smile to Aemond.
She stopped upon the step before him.
From nearby came a long, tearing roar—Aemond's black dragon, Lathron, its dark red and gold vertical pupils fixed upon the high platform.
The great maester Orwell cleared his throat, parchment rustling in his hands.
He spoke directly, yet in High Valyrian, his voice echoing through the hollow of the lair:
"In the name of the Fourteen Fiery Peaks, with the ancient blood of Valyria as witness, we gather here to bear witness to the union of Targaryen blood."
He looked at Aemond:
"Aemond Targaryen, son of Viserys I and Queen Alicent, rider of Vhagar and Lathron.
Do you willingly swear the blood-oath to Princess Helaena to share flame and blood until the end?"
Aemond did not answer immediately.
He first extended his hand and gently took Helaena's cold fingers.
Helaena shivered slightly.
Then he lifted his gaze.
"Yes."
His Valyrian flowed freely, as if it were his mother tongue: "From this day, I shall guard you, Helaena."
"In the name of the dragon-blooded, with a blood oath."
Orwell turned to Helaena:
"Helaena Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I and Queen Alicent, fire of dreams incarnate.
Do you willingly swear the blood-oath with Aemond to share flame and blood until the end?"
Helaena looked to Aemond's left hand, dagger raised.
"Yes." Her voice was soft, yet clear.
"From this day, I shall follow you, Aemond, in the name of the dragon-race, in the blood-oath."
———
"In the name of the Fourteenth Fiery Peak," Aemond spoke again in High Valyrian.
"I, Aemond Targaryen, descendant of the Dragon King, hereby declare…"
He flipped the dagger, pressing the blade into the palm of his right hand and cut without hesitation.
Blood flowed instantly.
Helaena inhaled softly, not flinching.
Aemond offered her the dagger.
The princess took it with both hands, pressing its tip into her left palm.
The moment the blade broke skin, drops of blood flowed forth.
"Founded on Valyrian blood."
"I, Helaena Targaryen, answer here…"
Aemond extended his bloodied right hand.
Helaena extended her left.
Their palms met, blood mingling, warm and thick.
On Aemond's hand, knuckles were pronounced, and a thick callus remained from sword training.
Helaena's hands were small and soft.
Aemond raised her bloodied left hand, pressing her palm to his forehead.
Blood trickled down his brow.
Helaena gently held his hand against her forehead in return.
They stood facing each other, speaking the final vow in unison, their Valyrian echoing through the dragon's lair:
"From this day until the end of days.
What is mine is yours.
My blood is your blood.
My fire is your fire.
My life is yours."
After a short pause, they intoned together:
"Blood and fire of one origin…"
From the depths of the dragon's lair came low roars, dragons responding to each other, resonating.
Aemond stared at Helaena.
Helaena looked at him.
Then, under everyone's gaze, Aemond leaned forward.
When they parted, Helaena's cheeks were already flushed.
———
The ceremony concluded.
No applause, no celebration.
Only the crackle of flame in the dragon's lair remained.
The great maester Orwell glanced at the bishop beside him and quietly withdrew, their duties as witnesses fulfilled.
Viserys nodded to them.
Aemond and Helaena descended from the high platform to their parents, bowing their heads in respect.
A smile played across Viserys' face, his words sincere:
"May the patriarchs of House Targaryen bless you."
"As your father, I give you my genuine blessing."
Queen Alicent softly conveyed her own wishes.
Aegon took Irene aside and congratulated her with a smile.
Watching Aemond and Helaena before him, Viserys understood there was still the dragon-control ceremony to follow, and so he nodded:
"The rest return first to the Red Keep."
The guards stepped forward to lift the king's soft chair, Queen Alicent following behind.
Aegon held Irene by the waist and murmured, "Tomorrow I shall ask Aemond to bring me fine wine from the river bend, and I shall celebrate on his behalf."
Irene watched the backs of Aemond and Helaena walking side by side, then her absent-minded husband beside her, and finally whispered:
"Aegon, have you ever wondered why he invited not a single vassal to today's ceremony?
Not even anyone from House Hightower?"
Aegon shrugged: "Targaryen matters are internal; outsiders are not invited."
"No." Irene's blue eyes flickered in the dim light, passing over the retreating guards: "He invited only those he trusts."
Aegon frowned, looking at his wife: "Irene, what are you thinking?"
"Aemond is my own brother, the younger brother of my mother's ally."
Irene paused a moment, then sighed softly:
"I hope."
Aegon smirked and wrapped an arm around her shoulders:
"Come."
"What does Aemond want?
Fight for me?
Handle these tiresome state affairs on my behalf?"
"I cannot ask that."
"Go, rest. You are with child and cannot stay up late."
He took his wife and left the dragon's lair without looking back.
Irene silently followed, sighing in her heart.
Now Aemond held all military power in King's Landing, and the king's nobles would soon become his "enforcers."
If he entertained even a single thought in the future, Aegon and she would be at risk.
Should anything happen to Aegon, Aemond would become heir.
She lowered her head, gently caressing her slightly rounded belly.