Bonus at 150 stones
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The Dragonpit, King's Landing.
The central square of the Dragonpit was bathed in the flickering light of torches.
The smell of sulfur in the air was scorched and heavy, a scent that always reminded Aemond of war zones from another life, places of steel and fire, far removed from dragons yet strangely similar in their devastation.
Tonight, only a few people would witness the engagement within the Targaryen bloodline here.
Viserys, I was placed in a soft chair beneath the high platform, its back covered in pure white velvet.
A golden mask concealed the rot on the left side of his face; half a year of recuperation had allowed his body to recover slightly, though he remained a shadow of the King he once was.
At this moment, the King looked up at the high platform, his gaze full of gratification.
Queen Alicent stood quietly by her husband's side, in a white dress, the sleeves and neckline embroidered with the Hightower crest in gold thread.
Her hands were folded in front of her abdomen, her gaze falling upon the silver-haired boy and girl before the altar.
Aegon the Elder stood on the other side of his mother, letting out a careless yawn. His gold and red ceremonial robes were magnificent and eye-catching.
His new wife, Aelyn Rogar, held Aegon's arm, her silver hair styled like that of a married woman, her lower abdomen already showing a slight bulge.
Two witnesses also stood not far away.
Grand Maester Orwyle, fifty years old and balding, with the Citadel chain hanging heavily from his neck, held open a scroll of an ancient Valyrian oath manuscript.
Beside him, the High Septon's representative wore a white robe embroidered with a Seven-Pointed Star, his expression indifferent.
This was an ancient Targaryen tradition; he had come today merely as a witness to the engagement, turning a blind eye to the Valyrian rites that the Faith usually abhorred.
The Dragonkeepers in the Dragonpit had been temporarily transferred away; only the personal guards under Aemond's command stood in armor, guarding solemnly.
These men moved with a discipline that felt almost modern, a rigor Aemond had instilled in them.
Aemond Targaryen stood on the high platform.
In his black and gold ceremonial robes, his figure appeared even more upright.
Helaena Targaryen.
Her silver-blue gown was like a river of stars flowing through a quiet night, her long hair cascading like moonlight, with a crown of fresh flowers upon her head.
She walked somewhat slowly, her body trembling slightly, yet she still raised her face and gave Aemond a faint smile.
She stopped a step in front of Aemond.
From not far away came a long screech; it was Aemond's black dragon, Morghul, whose dark red and gold-patterned vertical pupils were also directed toward the high platform.
Grand Maester Orwyle cleared his throat, the parchment rustling.
He spoke in stiff but accurate High Valyrian, his voice echoing in the emptiness.
"In the name of the Fourteen Flames, as witnessed by the ancient blood of the Valyrian Freehold, we gather here to witness the union of the Targaryen bloodline."
He looked at Aemond.
"Aemond Targaryen, son of Viserys I and Queen Alicent, rider of Vhagar and Morghul, do you voluntarily enter into a blood oath with Princess Helaena, to share fire and blood until the end of days?"
Aemond did not answer immediately.
He first reached out and gently grasped Helaena's cold fingers. Helaena trembled slightly.
Then he raised his eyes.
"I do."
His Valyrian was as fluent as a mother tongue.
"From this day forward, I shall protect you, Helaena. In the name of the dragon, by the oath of blood."
Orwyle turned to Helaena.
"Helaena Targaryen, daughter of Viserys I and Queen Alicent, rider of Dreamfyre. Do you voluntarily enter into a blood oath with Aemond, to share fire and blood until the end of days?"
Helaena looked at Aemond's left hand, which already held a dagger.
"I do." Her voice was very soft, yet clear.
"From this day forward, I shall follow you, Aemond, in the name of the dragon, by the oath of blood."
"In the name of the Fourteen Flames," Aemond spoke again in High Valyrian.
"I, Aemond Targaryen, descendant of the Dragonlords, hereby declare."
He flipped the dagger, aimed the blade at his right palm, and sliced down without hesitation.
Slice.
Blood gushed out instantly.
Helaena took a soft breath but did not shrink back.
Aemond handed the dagger to her.
The Princess took it with both hands, pointing the tip at her own left palm. The moment the blade touched her skin, beads of blood seeped out.
"By the proof of Valyrian blood. I, Helaena Targaryen, hereby respond."
Aemond extended his bleeding right hand. Helaena also extended her left hand.
Their palms met, blood mingling, warm and viscous.
Aemond's hand was well-defined, with thick calluses from sword practice.
Helaena's hand was soft and small.
Aemond lifted her blood-stained left hand and pressed her palm against his forehead. Blood flowed down from between his brows, marking him.
Helaena also gently held his hand, pressing it against her forehead.
The two stood facing each other, reciting the final oath in unison, their Valyrian echoing deeply in the Dragonpit.
"From this day until the end of time. All that I have is yours. My blood is your blood. My fire is your fire. My life is your life."
After a short pause, their voices rose together again.
"Blood and fire are of the same source."
At that very moment, several low roars of dragons came from deep within the Dragonpit, answering each other like a resonance.
Aemond gazed at Helaena.
In that moment, he felt a strange sense of dislocation, as if the parts of a man from a distant future were finally merging themselves fully into this ancient, magical dynasty.
He wasn't just surviving the Dance; he was rewriting the script.
Helaena looked up at him.
Then, under the gaze of everyone, Aemond leaned down.
When they parted, Helaena's cheeks were flushed crimson.
The ceremony was over.
There was no cheering, no celebration, only the remaining crackle of the flames in the Dragonpit.
Grand Maester Orwyle and the Septon beside him exchanged a glance and quietly withdrew; as witnesses, their duty was done.
Viserys I beckoned to them.
Aemond and Helaena walked down from the high platform, came before their parents, and bowed.
A smile appeared on Viserys's face, and his words were sincere.
"May the Targaryen ancestors bless you. As a father, I sincerely offer you my blessings."
Queen Alicent also softly offered her wishes.
Nearby, Aegon, with Aelyn, also offered his congratulations with a smile.
Looking at Aemond and Helaena before him, Viserys knew there was still a dragon-riding ritual, so he nodded.
"The rest of us will return to the Red Keep first."
The personal guards stepped forward to lift the King's soft chair, with Queen Alicent following closely behind.
Aegon put his arm around Aelyn's waist and muttered, "Tomorrow I'll have Aemond get me some good wine from the Reach so I can celebrate for him."
Aelyn watched the receding backs of Aemond and Helaena walking side by side, then looked at her distracted husband beside her, and finally spoke softly.
"Aegon, have you ever thought about why he didn't invite any vassals to tonight's ceremony? Not even anyone from House Hightower was present?"
Aegon shrugged. "An internal Targaryen engagement wouldn't normally invite outsiders anyway."
"No." Aelyn's blue eyes flickered slightly in the gloom, scanning the surrounding personal guards who were withdrawing.
"He only invited people he trusts."
Aegon frowned at his wife.
"Aelyn, what are you overthinking again? Aemond is my own brother, my full-blooded brother."
Aelyn was silent for a moment, finally giving a soft sigh.
"I hope so."
Aegon scoffed, pulling her shoulder tight.
"Come on. What does Aemond want? To fight wars for me? To handle those annoying political affairs for me? I'd be more than happy to let him."
"Let's go back to sleep. You're carrying a child, you can't stay up late."
He pulled his wife toward the exit of the Dragonpit without looking back.
Aelyn followed silently, but sighed inwardly.
Aemond now held all the military power in King's Landing, and those nobles in the Crownlands were practically becoming his lackeys.
If he were to have even a slight change of heart in the future, she and Aegon would be in great danger.
If anything were to happen to Aegon, Aemond would be the next in line of succession.
She looked down and gently stroked her slightly bulging lower abdomen.
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