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Aemond has faced many challenges in his life - grueling university exams, high-stakes business negotiations, dealing with both halves of his family. But none of them, not a single one, compares to his current struggle.
Dressing his five-year-old daughter for a family event.
“Alyssa, stand still,” he sighs, kneeling beside her as he tries for what feels like the fiftieth time to button up the back of her dress. She’s squirming like an unruly hatchling, her silver-white curls bouncing as she twists and turns.
“But it’s itchy!” she whines, tugging at the crimson silk of her gown - Targaryen colors, of course, though she seems to care very little for tradition at the moment. “I don’t like it, Kepa!”
Aemond huffs, closing his eye briefly. “It is only for a few hours, byka mēre.”
Alyssa immediately freezes, gasping as she whirls to face him. “I am NOT little!”
Aemond can’t help but smirk. “You are very little.”
She crosses her arms with all the indignation of a true Targaryen. “I am big now, Kepa! Bigger than last year!”
Aemond chuckles. “Bigger does not mean big, byka mēre.”
Alyssa stamps her foot. “Stop saying that!”
“Then stop wriggling so I can finish these buttons,” Aemond says smoothly.
Alyssa groans, throwing her head back in defeat. “Ugh! High Valyrian is so annoying!”
Aemond places a hand dramatically over his heart. “Annoying?” he echoes, aghast. “Our family’s language is not annoying, Alyssa. It is the tongue of royalty and dragons.”
Though the Targaryen’s have not been royalty for quite a few centuries now.
“But no one else speaks it!” she protests, ever the stubborn little thing. “Not at school. Not even cousin Joffrey.”
“Joffrey is learning, just like you,” Aemond counters. “And I think Muña would be very disappointed to hear you don’t want to learn, considering she had to learn, too.”
Alyssa’s eyes flicker toward the bathroom door, where Rhaena has been getting ready for the last twenty minutes. A rustle of fabric and a soft sigh tells Aemond she is nearly finished. He can picture her adjusting her gown, sweeping her curls over one shoulder, checking her reflection with quiet precision.
His wife is beautiful on any day, but Aemond knew - knows - that when she steps out of that door, he’ll be rendered speechless, just as he always is.
As if on cue, the door clicks open.
Aemond forgets how to breathe.
Rhaena is radiant.
Her lavender gown flows over her figure, draping gracefully over the swell of her belly. Silver clips shaped like seahorses hold her white curls in place, allowing him a clear view of her knowing smile.
“You’re staring,” she teases, adjusting an earring as she meets his gaze.
Aemond clears his throat. “You look…” His voice comes out rougher than intended. “Perfect.”
Alyssa groans. “Does this mean I have to wear an itchy dress?”
Rhaena arches a brow, stepping forward to brush a hand over Aemond’s shoulder. “It means you let your Kepa finish dressing you while I put on my shoes,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Alyssa huffs, but at least she isn’t running anymore. Aemond takes the opportunity to try fastening the last few buttons, but his daughter is now staring at Rhaena’s stomach, utterly fascinated.
“Muña, is the baby kicking?”
Rhaena chuckles, placing a hand over her stomach while she slips on her shoes. “Not right now, sweet girl. But later, I’m sure your sibling will be plenty active.”
Alyssa hums in thought before poking at her mother’s belly. “Kepa, how do you say baby in Valyrian?”
Aemond can’t help smiling, pleased at her curiosity. “You say Rūs.”
Alyssa attempts to repeat it, but it comes out more like “Rooooze.”
Rhaena stifles a laugh.
“No,” Aemond corrects, pressing his lips together. “Rūs.”
“Rooooz!”
“That was worse,” Aemond mutters.
Alyssa grins, clearly enjoying his frustration. “See, Kepa? It’s funny!”
Before Aemond can lecture her on the importance of pronunciation, Alyssa twists out of his grasp again, her dress still half-fastened.
Aemond sighs. “Alright, that’s it.”
Without warning, he reaches for Rhaena’s hand and twirls her in a slow, exaggerated spin.
“Aemond!” she gasps, gripping onto his arms. “What are you doing?”
“You are not that heavy, issa jorrāelagon,” he teases, delighting in her indignant glare.
“I am very pregnant!” she protests, even as a reluctant laugh escapes her.
Alyssa erupts into giggles, clapping her hands. “Do it again, Kepa!”
Aemond grinns and gives Rhaena another spin, watching her dress fan out around her.
She sighs, exasperated but smiling. “Kepa is ridiculous, Alyssa.”
“But fun!” Alyssa insists.
And while she is distracted, Aemond swoops to fasten the last of the buttons on her dress.
“There,” he says smugly, brushing his hands off. “Done.”
Alyssa blinks, looking down at herself. “Hey!”
Rhaena laughs, shaking her head. “That was underhanded.”
“That was efficient,” Aemond correctes, wrapping an arm around Rhaena’s waist. “You look beautiful.”
Rhaena sighs, resting her head on his shoulder. “You try wearing something like this while eight months pregnant.”
“I’d rather not,” Aemond admits, “but you make it look effortless.”
She shakes her head but softens at his words. “You really are a good father, you know.”
Aemond glances down at Alyssa, who is now twirling happily in her fully-buttoned dress, previous tantrum already forgotten. “We’ll see if she still thinks that in a few years.”
“She will,” Rhaena says confidently.
Aemond looks at her then - really looks. His beautiful, stubborn, warm-hearted wife. The mother of his children. The love of his life.
Rhaena squeezes his hand. “We should go before your mother calls to ask why we’re late.”
Aemond hums, though he doesn't move right away. “One more minute.”
Rhaena frowns. “For what?”
Aemond leans down, brushing his lips over hers in a slow, lingering kiss. One hand cradling her face, the other resting over her belly.
Rhaena breathes out a chuckle, melting into him for a moment.
Only for Alyssa to make a loud, exaggerated gagging noise.
“Ewwwww!”
Aemond and Rhaena beak apart to see their daughter covering her eyes.
Rhaena rolls her eyes, bending down to kiss Alyssa’s forehead. “Alright, alright. Let’s go before Kepa gets too sentimental.”
Aemond scoffs, taking Alyssa’s hand in one of his and lacing the fingers of his other through Rhaena’s.
If anything is worth being sentimental over, it is this.