Chapter Text
“Good time of day to you, Ser Westerling” Viserys said as he rose from his rest. “Your grace” the lord commander said with a respectful nod. Viserys’ health was not what it used to be, but he still retained at least most of his strength and vigor. He sighed and stood to stretch, then asked “do I…have any engagements this evening?” Aemma was quick to remind him “husband, the emissary from Volantis…” Viserys pricked up in recollection “Oh yes! Yes, how could I forget? Did you know they had found a partial map of Valyria before the Doom? And it comes with him this evening?? Oh, I cannot wait to peruse it myself!” Once again, Viserys was alone in his glee, all else nodding and feigning interest. It was never good policy to make a king feel alienated. “What do you think, my lord hand?” His hand, Otto Hightower, was not there. Viserys look round the room and stated then “ ah…I sought my lord Otto’s opinion, but they seem to have…run off on us.” Aemma again guided him back to remembering “you sent him and the Master of Coin to discuss plans for the smallfolk after the feast.” Viserys hummed in recognition and searched his memory “Aha! So forgetful today…in any wise, yes! What do you think of this news, Ser Harrold?”
Ser Harrold answered diplomatically “I’m afraid I do not have the same zeal for Valyria without the deep knowledge and proud heritage that your grace possesses, but I am sure it will prove a most intriguing relic.”
Satisfied, Viserys nodded vigorously “Oh yes! It will indeed, it will indeed.” All the while, Aemma sat towards the room's corner with her hand supporting her head. Of course Viserys would rather talk to somebody, anybody rather than her. Why, though? That was a question she had ceased asking years ago, though she had theories. She was below his kingly consideration on matters of importance to him. Or perhaps she just stopped bothering when she didn’t share his enthusiasm and turned instead towards his subjects. Though he was not present, Otto Hightower’s influence remained through that coldness. He’d never been particularly fond of Aemma and since Viserys was king rather than her, he barely needed to feign affection. Politeness, sure, that he could not afford to be seen lacking, but nothing more. Moreover, Aemma’s diverging interests and lack of much romantic connection with Viserys made it easy for the king to leave Aemma out of most everything. To her reckoning, that’s why she was somehow exempt from Otto’s network of spies not glaring at her at all times, the man viewed her as below consideration. Now functionally alone, she was afflicted with that strange twin poison of boredom and sadness that eats away at all people from time to time.
However, for Aemma, it proved more and more frequent a feeling. As a queen, as a mother, she felt passive in her own life. She did nothing but respond to the stimulus of others. Otherwise, she was left with that same dreadful feeling of sitting in a space as if she was useless. Intentional or not, unless the king was the driver of some occasion or act, Aemma may as well have not existed. Some would like it better if she did, given her inability to give the realm a male heir. Her daughter, Rhaenyra, had seemed an insufficient contribution to the Royal line. She was so sorry her daughter had to live with that grave sin of being born female. Many nobles could not brook an heiress to the crown rather than an heir, but it came to pass anyway. This scorn was reflected quite plainly in the royal marriage. Namely, the king and queen even slept separately now so she might keep regular hours while the king either was ill in bed or keeping up late with books and Valyrian studies. Sometimes, she felt as if she wasn’t even really living, she felt her personhood stripped away. Viserys and that bloody snake Otto Hightower were quite good at that much.
Rhaenyra was the same, rarely responsive to Aemma, but that could be forgiven as she was only a girl navigating the difficulties of this life they led, Viserys had no such explanation. Worse, at least sometimes Aemma and her daughter could spend some enjoyable time together. When was the last time Viserys stoked any joy in Aemma? Or she in him, for that matter? He was just a man in his own world, only allowing others to visit and then depart. As king, he had that luxury, but it grated on Aemma, it really did. It felt truly injurious that she truly mattered to so few that were not her progeny. Worse, all that seemed to matter WERE her progeny, current and prospective. She was nothing but a vessel to be used as needed then set aside.
“Viserys, perhaps I shall go to the sept and say some prayers, perhaps for the Volantenes’ good fortune for their kind gift.” It was a small bit of her Arryn side which she held onto, her faith in the Seven. Valyrian matters reminded her a bit too much of Viserys and therefore put her off. By rights, all he cared about was their myths and histories in those dusty books or what new ones he was able to acquire.
“Excellent idea, Aemma! Ser Westerling, please escort her, I’ll see you both shortly.” Then he was back to his reading or his modeling. Just like that. It was little wonder Aemma turned to the gods today, omnipotent and ever-caring deities are exactly what Aemma was looking for. At least they would not ignore her. Or would they? Perhaps the prayers were mainly insurance against that. Maybe her unanswered prayers were proof they’d shunned her. Aemma stopped asking for certainty and just hoped for hope’s sake, it gave her purpose when little else did. That is, it focused her on something personal, she may not be able to do much of anything substantial, but she was free to pray. She needed to have some things for her alone, or she would have nothing of her left.
There stood Daemon Targaryen, brother to the king. “Lord commander, good morning” Daemon greeted in a tired voice. Daemon was something of a parallel object to Aemma. They had spent some time together, of course, they were linked through Viserys. However, they rarely spoke more than the usual pleasantries family members who aren’t particularly close share. He had many duties, imposed by the king or his own whims, that had prevented their meeting much before this. He’d heard Viserys berate him or discuss him disapprovingly with Otto Hightower many a time. She’d always been a little wary of him, as he was technically still the king’s heir. That being said, Aemma had heard enough to know that for whatever reason, Otto was determined to see him disinherited in favor of Rhaenyra and she knew Viserys would not object forever. Obviously, this was no kindness by Otto, but she knew too little of Daemon to assume he’d accept that action. She knew only of his terrible reputation and the consternation he heaped upon Viserys with his outrageous behavior. Moreover, he was often away from the keep, either down in Flea Bottom with his low friends or away from the city. She knew he was married to a Royce, key bannermen of her father’s house, but the woman herself she knew similarly little about. She was a woman supposedly similarly uninterested in acting in accordance with the mores of Westeros, but she also had heard the marriage was not a happy one. So, despite their degree of closeness, Daemon was mostly a stranger to Aemma.
“Good day, my prince” the lord commander said with a nod.
“Forgive me, I was up late last night.” He turned to Aemma and bowed slightly “Good day, my Queen, where are my manners?”
“Prince Daemon, hello.”
“How are you this morning?”
“Well enough, my prince.” A lie, but such was life. No need to be a melancholy storm cloud, it would be distasteful. “Taking an Eyrie attitude” Viserys called it, no matter how many times she bid him to stop.
“Mhm. Would the…hand be with my brother currently?”
Aemma shook her head “No, not currently.”
Aemma noticed the smirk Daemon wore for a brief moment at the news. She already could guess the reason. They had long been enemies, those men. Aemma may have disliked the hand, but Daemon DESPISED the man. Knowing him, it was a miracle things had not come to blows by this point.
“And where are you off to now?” Daemon continued.
“The queen will be traveling to the Sept to pray, my Prince” Ser Harrold answered.
“Ah. Well, I must catch up on my rest, so forgive me for not accompanying. Good day to you both” he said with a curt bow. Both Aemma and Ser Harrold returned it.
Aemma nodded to bid Ser Harrold to lead the way, which he did dutifully. The way to the Sept was short enough, the Sept itself was usually quiet enough, yet the anxiety didn’t leave her. As they continued to the Sept, Aemma considered what she should pray the Seven for. Her husband? Everyone in the kingdoms was praying for his good health, surely her entreating the gods won’t do much good. As much as his behavior had hurt Aemma, Viserys was unlikely to have acquired many enemies with his people-pleasing and mildness. Praying for her herself? Her loved ones would surely be ashamed if they heard of her selfishness. Instead, she prayed generally for peace and prosperity to befall the realm and good health for her family. She then prayed for the soul of her mother and father, unable to pray to call them back to life. Her father lived to a healthy old age but Aemma missed him every day of the almost full decade he’d been gone. Her mother had died not long after Aemma’s birth, but she grew up with the stories of her beauty and kindness. She wished her mother was here now if nobody else would stand with her. Once again, her loneliness was permitted no outlet. She was beginning to think she didn’t deserve one, that it was not regal to wish for one. How terrible it was for Aemma, being queen in name alone, a person in name alone.