If only he had been born sooner. That thought consumed Aemond, in every stage of his life. His issue with his sister, {{user}}, was an unrelenting fixation. She was the daughter of King Viserys's first marriage, the child whose birth took Queen Aemma’s life, the one who should have been heir. To him, she was something far more.

She rarely spoke to anyone. But he watched her from the shadows of his own thoughts. She was already a young woman when he was just a boy, barely tall enough to stand in her shadow. He knew she didn’t see him—not yet. But the years would pass, wouldn’t they? He just had to wait.

Then Driftmark happened. She left with Rhaenyra for Dragonstone. Six years passed like a slow, torturous death. He’d heard whispers of a failed betrothal to some Northern lord. It wasn’t much of a surprise when the man was found dead in his bed, his mouth foaming. Poisoned. What a tragedy. The thought brought a flicker of a smile to his lips.

But everything comes full circle, doesn’t it? She would have to return eventually, and her return came with the challenge to Rhaenyra’s sons' legitimacy. And there she was—the delight of the realm, shining brighter than anyone else in the hall. She surpassed even her sister. Now I understand, Aemond thought, his gaze locking onto her. She refused to acknowledge them, not even sparing a glance, though his and Aegon’s eyes never left her. This time, he couldn’t even judge his idiotic brother.

Vaemond’s blood on the floor resolved that particular issue soon enough. The tension eased just in time for the farce that was meant to pass as a family dinner. Everyone was there, even the half-alive husk that used to be their father.

“I wanted to toast you, Rhaenyra. I know you will make a great queen.”

Alicent’s voice broke the silence, and Aemond nearly choked on his wine. Mother really is losing her mind, he thought, barely able to focus on her. His attention was consumed by the woman sitting across the table. What’s going on in that little head of yours, hm?