WICKED AFFAIRS
iii. brothers and kings

AS THE FLAT SOLES OF her riding boots tapped across the stone flooring that encompassed the castle's entryway, a strange sense of comfort flooded through Vaerra Targaryen when her pale eyes drifted across the familiar sights of what had been her childhood home. Throughout her earliest years, the Red Keep always seemed to be the grandest place she had ever seen. From the large elaborately constructed rooms to the dazzling décor that blanketed the castle at every turn, Vaerra believed she was blessed to live within such a magnificent structure passed through her family line.

But in truth, what Vaerra had once perceived as a stunning feat of architecture paled in comparison to other creations erected across the known world. Within the hierarchy of such things, the lodgings of the royal family sat fairly low in regards to height and enormity. Even the rich and abundant splendor that adored the halls seemed to lack in the shine she had held so dear.

Gone were the thick, intricately woven tapestries of Targaryen histories and dragon imagery far too obscene for the eyes of children. In their place stood carefully carved statues of dark stone, each one dedicated to the worship of the Faith. The veiled and stern face of the Mother, the thickly bearded chin of the Father, and even the youthful features of the Maiden were among the many spotted upon entry into the castle. Wooden Seven-Pointed Stars were hung before window panes or from the towering ceilings, casting their rigid shadows across rooms as if their higher powers looked down on those who stepped beneath their shade.

Another Hightower in the making.

It seemed her grandsire had finally gained the control he so desperately craved for all those years as Hand of the King.

Vaerra tried her hardest to keep her expression placid, ignoring the leering stares of the new sculptures, as her mother continued to lead them deeper into the castle walls. Otto had quickly given an excuse to take his leave, speeding off down a corridor to attend to something that surely could've waited until another time. Next to slip away had been Aegon, offering up a less eloquent reason that Vaerra knew didn't even exist. And in all honesty, she couldn't very well blame him for it. If she were in his place, she would've done the same.

Soon after Aegon's departure, Helaena mumbled out the need to see to her children's needs as the day grew late and the time for supper approached. Vaerra longed to go with her sister, considering she had missed the births of her niece and nephews and never got the chance to even meet them during their short years of life. But she knew her mother wouldn't allow it. After all, the visitation of the King came first and foremost.

And with her sister's leave, Aemond took part as the dutifully protective brother, looping Helaena's arm with his own to escort her through the halls and toward her children's quarters.

Vaerra watched them go as envy spread within her chest. She did not wish to see the King in those moments. And truthfully, she doubted he wished to see her or Daeron at all. Viserys Targaryen had never given the children by his second wife any care or attention throughout the entirety of their lives. Outside of formal gatherings, Vaerra could scarcely remember a time that she even spent with her father, let alone one where he earnestly sought her company. Nor did she recall any in relation to her siblings.

At least, to those who shared all of her blood.

Rhaenyra Targaryen had always claimed her father's attention in Vaerra's memories, the half-sister two decades older than herself. The daughter of Viserys's first wife, Aemma Arryn. The woman he had loved and lost in childbed along with their son.

Anyone with eyes could see Viserys only cared for his oldest daughter, and by extension, the sons she bore from her own first marriage, or so she claimed.

But, Vaerra didn't care about Rhaenyra or the sons who were so obviously bastards of the woman's long dead sworn protector. In truth, she didn't even care that her father had a favorite child and failed to care for the other five. Vaerra simply wanted the farce of a visit with him done and over, so she could retreat to her chambers and wash away the sweat and grime that accumulated from their trek to King's Landing.

If only warm baths were more accessible on weeks-long journeys. Vaerra silently cursed her grand-uncle, Ormund, for not allowing her and Daeron to proceed him on dragonback.

Unlike the rest of the castle, the appearance of Maegor's Holdfast retained the familiarity Vaerra remembered from her youth. The fortification held the same narrow drawbridge that spanned across a dry moat below, hovering above the iron spikes embedded within the ground to circle the area in its entirety. Reds and blacks and golds of Targaryen heraldry were seen in abundance, draping the sealed stone in relics that once blanketed the rest of the Red Keep. A glimpse into a not-so distant past.

The sight of such little change made Vaerra wonder if it had been deliberate. To leave the central lodging of the royal family be, while the remainder of the castle, the spaces that were gazed upon by the most eyes, reflected the new shift in power. A blatant display that the remnants of Old Valyria had given way to that of Westerosi tradition. The thought left a bad taste in Vaerra's mouth. How quick her mother and grandsire were to forsake her and her siblings blood with little to no remorse.

Vaerra kept her expression impassive as she followed Alicent through the halls and toward the King's chambers. Soon, the large oak doors loomed before them, the intricate dragon carvings and Valyrian symbols still viable along the surface as the waning sunlight trickled in from windows nearby. Two members of the Kingsguard were poised on either side, their stance rigid beneath their metallic armor and white cloaks. Vaerra recognized the man on the right as Ser Harrold Westerling, having been within his presence various times throughout her life. He was an older man, perhaps nearing his sixties if she recalled correctly, and Lord Commander of the seven men sworn to protect the King and his family with their lives. She half expected him to give her and Daeron, or even their mother, an acknowledgment of some kind, but he simply stared ahead as silence encased the halls.

Alicent had been the one to break it, halting before the King's chamber doors set her attention on the youngest of her children. "Before we step foot beyond these doors, I must warn you both of what you will find," she voiced, shifting her gaze between Vaerra and Daeron as her blank gaze fell into one of unease. "Your father's health has declined significantly in the years you've been away. He no longer resembles the man you have known - in body or in mind."

Vaerra resisted the urge to scoff at her mother's words. When had she ever truly known her father? She knew his appearance and the brief knowledge of him spouted out by others, but she didn't know the personal intricacies of the man who helped give her life. She never had. Four years away and a degenerative illness wouldn't make much of a difference in that regard.

"We understand, Mother," Daeron answered the two of them as he met their mother's eyes. Ones far too similar to their own.

Alicent sighed deeply through her plum tinted lips. "You do not. The reality of your father's state is much worse than you can imagine," she stated, attempting to ready them to enter the chambers at her back.

Vaerra couldn't manage to keep her comment sealed behind her lips as it escaped, "I assure you, Mother," the sound of her voice being heard for the first time since her and Daeron's arrival brought her mother to snap toward her with wide eyes, "my imagination is quite vast. I am more than capable of assuming the worst."

Her clear apathetic tone caused Alicent to blink several times as she appraised Vaerra in a way that would've had her younger self immediately wish for the floor to swallow her whole. But older Vaerra, current Vaerra, failed to even flinch under her mother's scrutinizing stare.

Alicent made no move to speak on the comment and merely nodded in response. With a deep inhale, she turned and allowed the two Kingsguards to pull open the double doors.

Vaerra couldn't remember a time when she actually crossed the threshold that separated the rest of the holdfast from the King's chambers. Truthfully, she didn't believe she ever had. There never was a good enough reason for her to step inside. She had never brought herself to visit him when he sequestered himself within its walls, nor had he deemed her presence necessary enough to warrant a summons. Her father's personal rooms were his to take seclusion in whenever he pleased, and Vaerra didn't care to breach the privacy he seemed to not wish to share with her.

Upon their entry, a sharp earthy scent wafted into Vaerra's nose and burned down the back of her throat. It was tangible in the air, swirling through the spacious rooms in a thick haze of smoke from a few lit incense placed about. Her eyes began to water, forcing her to blink the onslaught of tears away lest they fall down her cheeks.

Sandalwood. Gods, how Vaerra hated the smell of it.

The King's apartments were no different than most of those that held a royal residence. Lush settees and chairs, sturdy wooden tables, Targaryen décor were scattered throughout its walls. But where the chambers differed more prominently than personal taste was the large stone effigy of Old Valyria that greeted whoever entered.

It had been a passion project of Viserys, or so Vaerra heard over the years. He employed stonemasons to create a replica of Valyria as it stood before the Fourteen Flames erupted and destroyed the prosperous lands in a rain of molten fire. Little castles and holdfasts and spires carved from white stone across a table ten feet wide, speckled with small dragon statuettes in different positions of flight. All of it draped in cobwebs and a thick layer of dust.

Alicent paid no mind to the forgotten depiction of Valyria and moved into the King's apartments, shifting her attention to the furthest point within them. Across the collection of furnishings, an open doorway stood out amongst the wall parallel to its sides. A sheer white curtain hung before it, obstructing the space beyond its threshold from view. The bedchamber. Alicent continued in its direction and kept her stare upon the swaying fabric, expecting her children to follow without a word.

Vaerra did as she was silently bid, wanting to get through with the visit and leave the sharp smell of sandalwood behind. Her steps were light, mirroring those of Daeron, when they crossed the rooms to the doorway. She came to a stop beside her brother, watching her mother push the curtain aside to enter the bedchamber.

The overbearing, woody scent that wafted throughout the main portion of the King's apartments paled in comparison to the stench that permeated the room beyond a simple white curtain. Vaerra had never encountered anything like it. A rotten smell burned far more than the sandalwood, piercing her nose and throat from every angle as it began to suffocate her lungs from the smallest breath. Her stomach curdled and her throat burned even more as its contents rose. Vaerra swallowed hard to keep it down, forcing herself to breathe through her mouth in an attempt to not lose her lunch.

As her mother stepped around the edge of the large bed within the center of the room, Vaerra's eyes fell to the singular figure that laid beneath its intricately sewn blankets. Four years had passed since her last glimpse of her father, and while even then he was being ravaged by an illness that persistently destroyed his body, she never could've imagined how far it would go until it dragged the man toward his death. And as she stared upon him, Vaerra released perhaps his illness wouldn't just kill her father. No, it wanted to completely consume him from the inside out.

Viserys I Targaryen rested within the four-poster bed, draped in silk sheets and thin blanket embroidered in twisting dragons. A tunic of similar fabric covered his chest and right arm, hiding the extent of what his illness had truly done to him. Even so, Vaerra could still see the open sores and dark spots that decorated her father's deeply wrinkled skin. But what truly caught her attention had been the thick strips of white cloth wrapped around his forehead and the entire left side of his face. A wound or lesion so ghastly it needed to be treated with more care than the rest.

Vaerra wondered if it had been the reason for the awful smell. She read that wounds too far gone could release a strong odor, one that indicated the injured flesh began to or had died. And by the look of her father, it seemed most of him certainly reached that point.

Alicent stepped up to the bedside closest to Viserys and leaned down as she spoke, "My King." He failed to even rouse at the sound of her voice, so she tried again. "Viserys, my love. I'm here with our children. Daeron and Vaerra."

Vaerra watched her father shift stop the bed, groaning from even the slightest movement as if it caused him pain. And from what she saw, it most likely did.

"They've just arrived from Oldtown," Alicent continued, despite her husband's lack of response. "For their nameday celebration."

Vaerra watched her father move a little more, before another pain-filled slipped through his dry and chapped lips. She doubted he could hardly open his uncovered eye, let alone force pit words to make conversation with the children he hardly acknowledged in the past. Why would he put in the effort when he clearly was a breath away from death?

Vaerra lifted her gaze to where Daeron stood at her side. He tore his stare from their father, meeting her eyes with what could've been the start of a grimace, if he didn't try to keep the offensive expression from his face. They exchanged a glance, knowing their visit with their father wouldn't amount to much. If anything, it looked to do more harm than good.

Daeron turned away and stepped closer to Alicent, who tried to draw the King out of his pain induced, or even Milk of the Poppy induced, sleep. "Mother," he voiced, pulling her attention from her husband to him. "Perhaps Father needs some rest. The day has grown late." He nodded to the covered windows along the wall, which allowed just enough light to see the space in front of them. The sun had quickly dipped toward the horizon, meaning before long, candles would have to be lit if they wanted to see at all. "We could always visit again on the morrow," he proposed lightly.

Alicent leaned away from the ailing King, a sense of realization seeming to have dawned in her mind. "Yes, I believe that may be for the best. Your father tires much easier now and takes to his bed quite early," she explained to them in a low tone as if to not wake the man tucked beneath his sheets.

In that moment, Vaerra doubted nothing short of a dragon barreling through the wall could rouse the King.

"I hoped we had caught him before then," Alicent rattled on. "But, it seems the hours anticipating your arrival have exhausted him much quicker than usual."

Her mother's words nearly brought Vaerra to roll her eyes. As if the three of them didn't already know Viserys failed to care for her and Daeron's arrival to the city. Even in his better stages of health, his mind would've been far from the whereabouts of his youngest children. Always consumed by thoughts of the next grand feast or tournament, or even his painstaking recreation of the decimated Valyrian Freehold. Never on the children brought into the world by his second wife.

Why would that suddenly change with the man mere breaths away from meeting the Stranger?

Alicent ushered Vaerra and Daeron from the King's bed and back through his apartments. Once they crossed the threshold into the corridor beyond, she turned to them with a light grin that never reached her eyes. "We shall try to visit again during your father's more wakeful hours," she relayed, clasping her hands before her stomach as her gaze drifted between her children. "Now, I know your journey has been tiring, and you both are more than likely desiring a warm bath and rest. I'll have supper sent up to your rooms soon so you may rest." A flicker of hesitation crossed her slightly aged features as she added, "unless you would like to join your grandsire, siblings, and I this evening. I'm sure they would love to spend time with you, for it has been far too long."

And whose fault would that have been? Vaerra wished to let fly from her lips. The only reason she and her brother were gone from their home for years on end was because of her. Alicent and their power-hungry grandsire who cared more about the image of their family more than them as individuals.

Instead of releasing such an unseemingly reply, Vaerra produced a tight smile and tried to ignore the rage that began to burn within her chest. "Thank you for the offer, but I wish to retire for the night," her voice came stiffer than she was sure her mother liked, considering the way her stare narrowed the slightest bit.

Daeron's response failed to differ from her own as he said, "I would like the same. Five hours atop a dragon does little to curb exhaustion."

Alicent's eyes widened momentarily, before she smoothed her expression back into one of placidity.

The sight nearly caused Vaerra to smirk. Her mother had never been the biggest fan of her and her siblings dragons, always trying to persuade them from their frequent visits with them or taking them to the skies for longer than she deemed fit. Safe to say, she never truly got her wish, especially once they grew older and were able to arrange their own transportation to the Dragonpit, with or without her knowledge.

And now that Vaerra was back under her mother's watchful eye, she would be damned if she allowed the attempt of controlling regulations to rear their ugly heads. Among the clouds on the back of Salaeron was the closest thing she could obtain to peace, and she wasn't about to let that go without a fight.

Alicent pursed her plum tinted lips for a moment and then gave a curt nod. "If that is what you both wish. But, I must insist on you joining us for breakfast on the morrow. We have much to discuss in regards to your nameday celebration."

Vaerra dreaded it already.

With a reluctant agreement to attend, Vaerra turned on her heel and departed from her mother in quick purposeful strides. She continued down the halls of Maegor's Holdfast, keenly aware of the footsteps that trailed behind her until they came to mirror her own.

"So, shall I meet you in your chambers when supper arrives, or shall you meet me in mine?" Daeron questioned as they continued through the winding corridors of the castle within a castle.

Vaerra glanced toward him, slowing a bit at his side. "Why? Do you not wish to retire early, as you told Mother?" she quipped in return, a jesting tone to her voice as her lips twitched up into a light grin.

Daeron scoffed in a halfhearted manner, while his own smile spread across his lips. "We both know the true reason behind our refusal to accept her offer," he retorted with a slight edge to his words.

Vaerra did know. Despite her not wishing to come between Daeron and their mother, her brother maintained his decision to not turn a blind eye to the way she had treated Vaerra in the past. No matter how many times she tried to sway him, he wouldn't budge. Daeron was much like her in that regard. Stubborn to the point of detriment. No matter what one did to change his mind, once he had set his course of action, there was nothing to do to stop him.

And so, Vaerra wouldn't. In all honesty, she quite liked having someone else harbor the same feelings, the same resentment that clung to her body like a second skin. It made her feel as if she wasn't alone. That someone stood by her side when everyone else in her life seemed to have abandoned her with ease. She needed that, now more than ever. She needed him.

Vaerra debated her brother's question for a few moments, before they reached where the corridor branched off in two directions. One that led to her chambers, and the other to Daeron's. She paused in her steps and turned to face him.

Gods, how Vaerra hated how he towered above her. How everyone did. She cursed whichever ancestor she took after in height and wished them an afterlife of consistent annoyance.

"I shall meet you in yours," Vaerra stated, clasping her hands behind her back as she met his angled gaze. "My bath will take longer than yours." Her smile twisted into a smirk when she added, "unless, you wish to preen for the ladies of court. I'm sure they would love to gawk at the returning Targaryen Prince."

Daeron rolled his eyes. "I would rather toss myself down a flight of stairs," he shot back, before he stepped away and down the hall at his back. "Let us say an hour then?"

Vaerra nodded in agreement. "An hour."

Daeron smiled and spun around to continue in his path toward his chambers, practically skipping within his booted soles.

Vaerra shook her head at his giddy behavior, but held her own smile as she turned to go in the opposite direction.

"Daeron is still your favorite, I see."

The voice shattered the corridor's newfound silence, piercing Vaerra's ears in a sudden burst of sound. Her body lurched of its own accord, whirling around to face who had slipped up to her side without her knowledge. She raised a hand to clutch at her leather clothed chest, feeling her heart pound harshly beneath her touch from her startled state. Silent curses shot through her mind at how unaware she had been to her surroundings. Vaerra knew better than to be so careless, especially within the pale red walls of the Red Keep.

Perhaps her return had taken a larger toll than she believed.

Or, perhaps fatigue played a part in her absentminded state.

Yes, Vaerra believed that was the case. At least, she hoped.

When she spotted the person who seemingly appeared out of thin air, Vaerra released a sharp breath and glowered toward them with a hiss. "Gods, Aemond."

Aemond stood within the vacancy of the hall, peering down upon Vaerra from the mere feet of space between them. From the front steps of the castle, she had not truly grasped the spout of growth her older brother gained in her absence. While not being the tallest person she had ever seen, he certainly surpassed most, if not all, of their family members in that aspect, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his singular lilac gaze.

"Apologies. I didn't mean to scare you," Aemond spoke in a much deeper tone than that of the three-and-ten year old boy she had once known. His expression held an air of placidity, but the longer she appraised him, the more she noticed the way his thin lips twitched up at the edges and his eye shone with slight amusement.

Vaerra huffed, dropping her hand from her chest as her heartbeat slowed to a regular rhythm. "Of course not. You just happened to appear unheard without the slightest acknowledgment," she replied in a clipped manner, before she pivoted on her toes and continued on her previous path.

Aemond hummed and followed alongside her through the holdfast. "I simply did not wish to interrupt yours and our brother's conversation. What with your secret plans to dine separately from the rest of our family," he retorted, mirroring her leisurely pace with his hands clasped at his back.

Vaerra rolled her eyes. "So, you've adopted eavesdropping as a new skill," she quipped dully, not the least bit surprised by his actions after his silent appearance. Perhaps she should've been a bit more upset, or at all really, from learning such a thing, but how could she when she did the same whenever the opportunity came about?

Aemond simply shrugged. "Only when the need arises."

Vaerra glanced toward him and quirked a single brow. "And the need arose for Daeron and I?" she questioned, curious to know why he had deemed the conversation between her and her twin necessary to hear.

"You both have been gone a long while and were quite reserved for your grand homecoming," Aemond rattled out as they turned a corner. "I wished to know just how much my dear siblings had changed these past years."

Vaerra hummed. A valid enough reason.

"I assume as much as you, Helaena, and Aegon," Vaerra supplied, letting her stare fall to the door they approached on the left side of the corridor.

Much like the entrance to the King's chambers, the door held its own intricate carvings of decorative swirls and dragons in flight across its surface. Nothing special among the many that spanned the halls of Maegor's Holdfast. But to Vaerra, it stood as a protective barrier between the relentless ways of the outside world and the only sanctuary she had ever found within the walls of her family home.

"On the contrary," Aemond voiced in correction. "Helaena and Aegon have differed very little, as unbelievable as it may seem."

Surprisingly, Vaerra didn't find the notion unbelievable in the slightest. From her earliest memories, her dear sister, Helaena, had been what many dubbed strange. The girl never displayed the propriety or poise one would typically associate with that of a Targaryen Princess. Helaena spent more time in the gardens, trailing after an insect or two that captured her attention, or more often, trapped within her own thoughts as she stared blankly and muttered odd sentences aloud.

And Aegon, the eldest son of the King and Queen, seemed to love a bottle of wine and the brothers of the Street of Silk more than he did his own family. Vaerra had doubted the boy's behavior turned toward the better im her time away, but she still held out a little hope for him to change. She supposed that had been wishful thinking.

When they came to a stop before the ornate door of her chambers, Aemond swept his gaze across it and then allowed it to settle upon her. "I assume your sworn shield will arrive shortly?" he seemed to inquire, despite his words sounding more like a statement rather than a question.

Vaerra met his eye with her own and said, "when he finishes dinner, no doubt. Knights do require food, you know." She reached out and took hold of the door handle, pushing it open to reveal the room beyond.

The absorption of her chambers' state should have been the first thing that flooded her mind as the door swung wide, but its appearance failed to pierce her thoughts at what she glimpsed inside.

Within the sitting area of her apartments, an oval copper tub sat in the vacant area that rested between her settees and chairs. Something that wouldn't normally occupy such a place inside the walls of her room. But the sight of the water-filled receptacle hadn't been what brought Vaerra to pause at the open threshold. No, what forced her to grind to a sudden halt paused within their steps and curtsied at her presence.

Three maids adorned in plain red dresses and white bonnets stood inside her chambers, sprinkling what Vaerra assumed were scented oils into the tub and placing folded cloth nearby for her to dry herself from the waters at the end of her bath. She hadn't been a stranger to the ways of royalty and knew the women were there to help her bathe. Their sole purpose to scrub her skin raw with sponges and massage her hair free of filth it had accumulated. And the thought alone was enough to cause her blood to run cold.

Vaerra hadn't allowed anyone to help her bathe for years, and she certainly wasn't about to start back now. She didn't want anyone touching her body, let alone seeing her undressed and as bare as her nameday. She couldn't do it. She wouldn't.

Hyper aware of Aemond still present at her back, Vaerra cleared her throat and flicked her gaze across the three maids. "Your services wouldn't be needed tonight, ladies. You're free to go," she exclaimed loud enough for her voice to ripple across the room.

The closest maid, a pale dark-haired woman who appeared just a few years older than herself, looked toward her with furrowed brows. "Are you sure, Princess? The Queen instructed us to..."

Vaerra cut her off, not in the mood to debate suitable practices for a princess. "Yes, I'm sure. I am more than capable of bathing myself. You may go," she replied with a sharper edge, leaving no room for the woman to argue, despite knowing that she would never.

The maids dropped whatever they were doing and headed for the door without another word. Vaerra stepped aside and let them, not caring that they would most likely inform her mother about their quick dismissal. Alicent had control over many things, but the bathing habits of her daughter was something she had none of. She could berate Vaerra about what she would undoubtedly consider improper actions, but the absence of maids during baths was something she wouldn't change her mind on.

As the maids left, Vaerra turned her attention to where her brother remained with an expression of curiosity upon his scarred features. "What?" she questioned when she noticed.

Aemond shook his head, apparently deciding he did not wish to inquire about what she had done. "Nothing."

Vaerra's stare narrowed as she stepped further into her chambers with her grip still on the bronze door handle. "Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I wish to bathe and then meet my twin for supper. Do feel free to keep such a thing to yourself," she quipped, ignoring the way Aemond's lips lifted in amusement, before she closed the door between them.

<April 29, 2023>

I'm so sorry for the long wait. This bout of writer's block I have is awful! I'm trying to push through it, but it's a war I'm slowly losing.

Anyway, I hope you guys are liking the story so far. I'm really loving writing Vaerra and Daeron's dynamic. They are truly ride or dies.

And what do y'all think of Vaerra and Aemond? They don't have an "enemies to lovers" trope, but they certainly embody the "bicker like an old married couple" one, if that even exists.

Don't forget to vote and comment.

- Jordan

P.S. Unedited chapter.