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un-invierno-eterno · 2 years ago

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Miércoles 18 de octubre del 2023, 0:51 am

Querido Nico:

No sé cómo comenzar esta carta, pero hay algo que quiero recalcar. Siempre te llamé como uno de los chicos menos importantes de todos los que me han gustado.

Han pasado 10 años desde que te conocí, yo creo que no debes recordar ni mi nombre, y nunca leerás esta carta porque está en Tumblr y nunca fui algo para ti.

Recuerdo cuando entre a 1ero medio y yo era full fan de holasoygerman. Tu solías ser un chiquillo flacucho, pálido, bajo y con frenillos, recuerdo tu voz y tus miradas raras ajajajajaja. Pero lo que más recuerdo son tus dientes, me llamaba la atención. No sé, porque, solías usar tu cabello un tanto emo, tenías un bolso Nike color negro y el logo rojo, usabas vans negras y también solías usar lentes. Siempre te acercabas a hablarme y a decirme un "ño" cuando te pedía algo, yo sólo me reía. Eras molestoso conmigo, pero no de esos que te caen mal. Recuerdo que teníamos el mismo modelo de celular y me enseñaste a usarlo para que no se le fuera toda la batería, te gustaba que te lo prestará para jugar. Sabías mucho de tecnología. Recuerdo como una vez me dijiste que habías visto una carcasa de los Iron y yo pensaba que hablabas de Iron Man y tú me dijiste "¿Qué? Hablo de Iron Maiden, ¿Acaso no conoces a Iron Maiden?" Y yo te respondí que "no", sólo conocía a Guns N' Roses y a Bon Jovi.

En ese entonces estaba recién entrando al mundo del rock, tu te burlaste y me preguntaste por "Linkin Park" y yo tampoco los conocía y me dijiste: "¿Cómo no conoces a Chester Bennington? Unas de las mejores voces de nuestra generación" y yo te respondí que "No, porque siempre me crié con música muy mala". Aún así no me entendiste.

Recuerdo como solías robarme un gorro y te lo ponías cada vez que yo salía al recreo o mi poleron ajajjsjsjsjajaj. Yo no entendía porque hacías esas cosas, descargabas videos de holasoygerman en tu celular para que yo los viera.

Recuerdo que tenías hermanos y una mala relación con tu papá, no hablábamos mucho porque eras raro y yo también. Además presentía de que te podría gustar, pero a mí no me gustabas. Creo que te rechace en cierta ocasión.

Pero llegó 2do medio y ya no éramos compañeros de curso. Te había pegado la pubertad y me comenzaste a gustar, ya que mis gustos por los chicos habían cambiado y mi ideal eras tú.

Flacos, pálidos y altos. Por cierto, también te habías pegado un buen estirón. Te ponías poleras de tus bandas favoritas. Cambiaste tus lentes y tu forma de vestir tenía más personalidad, ya no te veías tan ñoño como antes.

Así que comencé a escribirte por facebook, pero que sucedió. Okay, en 1ro medio hablábamos, pero después del 2do semestre comenzaste hablar con una chica que siempre trate de hablar pero jamás me pescó, se hicieron full amigos y sentí envidia por eso. Yo quería ser tu amiga, pero ni para eso alcance y es que ella era como la pick me girl que a los chicos tanto les gustaban en esos años.

Siguiendo con lo de 2do medio, un día te escribí y te dije "Hola, tanto tiempo sin hablarnos" y tú me respondiste "Pero si nunca hablamos". Recuerdo ese chat y aún me duele, fue súper fuerte leer algo así. Ya había perdido por mil, pero me seguías gustando, estabas lindo, quería un pololo como tú, te veía en los recreos y sentía que eras el amor de mi vida (escribo de acuerdo a mis sentimientos de mi yo adolescente). Todos me decían que nos parecíamos, que como iba a ser posible de que no me funcionará. Me gustabas demasiado. Eres unas de las personas por las cuales tuve un cambio de look muy drástico, deje mis colores para usar ropa negra, comencé a escuchar rock, a vestir con camisetas de rock y camisas. Quería que me vieras. Pero muchas niñas andaban detrás de ti. En especial una rubia que hasta conversaba contigo y te abrazaba, dios me daba asco y rabia. En especial rabia porque un año antes te habría tenido si no hubiese Sido tan estúpida y ciega.

Me hice ñoña por ti, osea, antes ya lo era, pero lo habia dejado para encajar. Pero ahora yo quería que me vieras, no lo logré. Recuerdo la última vez que hablamos en buena y fue para la salida de un teatro a la cual tu no fuiste. Te pregunté por facebook y me dijiste que habías ido al dentista.

Yo sufría cuando no te veía, casi todas mis compañeras de curso sabían lo mucho que me gustabas. Pero yo era tan tímida como para decírtelo. Además no quería ser rechazada.

Recordé una vez que fuiste al taller de cocina con el amigo de una amiga y se pusieron hablar de que los habían hechado de la sala por no llevar una placa súper importante pero cara para su clase de electrónica. Que les pondrían un 2,0 si o si. Hablaste más con mi amiga que conmigo por esa ventana y de los celos le pegue con una mata de berros en la cabeza a mi amiga ajsjsnsnsn. Fueron varios pastelazos con ella. Una vez me dijo que había un niño súper lindo en el pasillo que me apurara en guardar las cosas y cuando salgo eras tú y casi se me va el aire y las piernas me temblaban.

Ahora tuve otro recuerdo y fue cuando estaba en 3ro medio mirando por la ventana y vi unas manos blancas, me saludaste y sentía que el mundo era perfecto. Creo que dijimos "como estai?" Y dsps salió la sole a hablarme y cago el momento mágico y romántico.

Recuerdo que al 2do semestre de ese año te cambiaste de liceo porque ya estabas repitiendo. No solías ser tan flojo, pero ahí ya fue demasiado. Después de eso ibas a veces al liceo a ver a tus amigos con unas niñas súper lindas acompañándote. Y recuerdo lo lindo que te quedaba ese uniforme, solías usar camisa y corbata, un tanto desordenada, pero te veías increíble.

Y pues, acabo de tener un recuerdo oscuro, cuando le respondí algo a la Carol por FB y tú te metiste en los comentarios a tirarme mierda junto con ella, me sentí pésimo.

Cuando te seguí por Instagram un par de veces y nunca me seguías de vuelta. Hasta que un día lo hiciste y me seguiste por una semana hasta tuve un like tuyo en una foto. Pero después me dejaste de seguir, literal lo intente contigo, pero no conseguía nada hasta que me cansé. Todas hablaban contigo y yo no. Tenías demasiada popularidad y eras conocido como el copo por ser tan pálido.

Y mierda, me gustabas mucho. Eras el minito emo que tanto quería. Me gustaba tu pelo, tu delgadez, como te vestias y hasta tu forma de caminar.

Aún te tengo en facebook, pero de qué sirve. Ya no te ves como alguien que me gusta, solía publicar ciertas canciones en esos años para que me dieras like y lo lograba.

¿Por qué escribo está carta?

Ayer ví Metal Lords y Kevin me recordó a tí

Era flacucho, blanco, usaba el pelo semi largo y anteojos. Me gustó muchísimo y no entend��a por qué. Hasta que te recordé... Recordé que mis gustos no siempre fueron así. Alguien los había creado y ese alguien eras tú. Te valore tan poco durante estos años porque estaba furiosa de no haber logrado nada contigo.

Nicolás, eres importante. No fuiste mi primer amor, pero si el chico que definio mis gustos como persona. Después de ti me enamore de un moreno. Pero tú siempre serás recordado como el esteriotipo que cambio mi vida.

Si bien Kevin se parecía mucho a ti y a un chico con el cual tuve algo corto a comienzos de año.

Era increíble el darme cuenta de influenciable que fuiste en mi vida.

Sabado 28 de octubre del 2023 2:21am

Continuando está carta...

Fuiste el 2do amor más fuerte de mi vida, de verdad me imaginaba contigo frente al espejo. A mí yo del futuro que leerá esto, recuerdas como te parabas al frente del espejo de la pieza de la mamá con tus pitillos y zapatillas de lona y ese poleron ancho más la polera del liceo imaginándote como sería besarlo y abrazarlo porque él era más alto que tú cómo por 10 cm.

Y de verdad me quedo esa mierda tan en la cabeza que lo viví este año con un rockerito, pero siempre quise que fueras tú.

Volvería al pasado sólo para conquistarte como corresponde y vivir eso que tanto quería por la mierda, si sólo Dios sabe cuántas veces le pedí a la luna y a las estrellas porque me miraras y habláramos de cualquier mierda, tenerte conmigo un ratito y conocerte. No sabes cuántas cosas quería saber de ti. Es más, siento que está carta ni siquiera la escribe mi yo actual. Siento que es esa adolescente de 15-16 años que te miraba en los recreos escondida en la sala porque me sentía tan fea y pobre como para que me notarás.

Siempre recuerdo en como te tuve pero no te supe apreciar y creo que eso me va doler toda la vida.

Y es que ahora me pasó algo parecido, un chico que fue muy atento conmigo durante meses, no lo pesqué lo suficiente porque no me sentía bien y porque no me gustaba. Pero me sentí mal y lloré.

Sentía que está historia se repetía y cuando lo comencé a valorar él me mandó a la mierda porque encontró una chica que si lo quiso.

Y me trataba bien, me hablaba cuando estaba mal, me encontraba linda y me invitó dos veces a salir. Pero tenía miedo.

No sé porque escribo esto en tu carta, pero mierda a ti también te tuve y no supe aprovechar.

Si bien, eres uno de los errores más dolorosos de mi adolescencia. Fue duro, pero eres el chico pálido, de lentes, cabello largo y muy delgado que cambio todo en mi... Quizás me encapriche tanto contigo que no la voy a cortar hasta estar con uno así como solías ser antes.

Físicamente te encontraba muy perfecto.

Que loco sería si leyeras está carta.

Pero sé que no va suceder, eres la sombra que me acompaña cada vez que rechazó a alguien. Pero a ti ni a eso alcance.

Eres mi amorcito adolescente más doloroso y de verdad me hubiese encantado haber sido emo hardcore juntos.

Se que se leé estúpido, pero eran mis sueños de chiquilla adolescente enamorada y nunca te dedique muchos escritos porque todo mi amor por ti se lo expresaba a una amiga por wtspp cada vez que te veía.

En serio eras soñado.

Espero que estés bien.

Con besos imposibles que quedaron en el recuerdo...

—Winter❄️

#1:51 am #un invierno eterno #un invierno eterno cartas #Spotify #3:35 am #28/10/23 #sabado

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ai-em-maes · 1 month ago

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🔥🖤 Whispers of a Burning Flame 🖤🔥

~ Chapter 10 ~ Chapter Index

Characters - Self Insert OC x Aemond Targaryen

Summary - After escaping capture by a rival family, Vaemyra Blackwood takes residence at the Red Keep, where she embraces her newfound identity as a dragonrider of Valyrian blood. Her presence catches the eye of Prince Aemond, and the two slowly grow closer amidst the shadows of their shared peculiarities.

Word Count - 4.1k

Content - 18+, Major slow burn, fluff, a smidge of angst, smut in later chapters

A/N - I'M BACK. Sorry this chapter took so long to crank out--I think it may be the longest one yet : ) Also, please note that for the event of Aemond claiming Vhagar, I went with the book canon rather than the show canon, so any “but that’s not how it happened in the show” commentary will be ignored

Likes, comments, & reblogs are appreciated!

The second day of the tourney began with the Bowmen’s Trial. With the archers’ procession serving as an excellent distraction, Vaemyra slipped away from her place by the queen and glided to the second row of the royal box. She stopped before Prince Daeron. Aemond, seated at his brother’s right, watched her curiously.

“My dearest Prince Daeron,” Vaemyra whispered, lashes fluttering. “Might you like to trade spots with me? You’re far more honored a guest than I.”

The young prince tilted his head, his brow in a knit. “I, uh…is that…permitted?”

“Oh, but of course! Wouldn’t you like to have the best view of the tournament, beside Her Grace?”

Daeron peeked past her at the empty seat between Rhaenyra and Jace and scrunched his nose. He and the Velaryon boys had never quite gotten on.

“Please, My Prince?” Vaemyra’s eyes were wide as a doe’s, her dark lips just shy of a pout.

Daeron puffed his chest as he rose. “Very well. It would be most ignoble of me, as a prince of House Targaryen, to refuse a lady’s request.” He settled beside the queen and her son, who, upon finally looking to the seat between them, were stunned to find that Vaemyra had somehow transformed into Viserys’ youngest child. Rhaenyra glanced back at the second row and smiled as she realized how much Lady Blackwood reminded her of her younger self.

Vaemyra plopped down next to Aemond. “Good morrow,” she chimed.

The prince’s eye glinted with a mixture of amusement and fascination. “Good morrow to you as well.” He wouldn’t need to spend another day chasing after her.

“My cousins will be shooting today. I hope they aren’t too wine-sick from last night. Though, it would make for a livelier show.”

Aemond gave a soft chuckle. “What’s a tourney without a few tragic casualties?”

Vaemyra burst into laughter.

At the other end of the row, Rhaenys narrowed her eyes at Lady Blackwood and the prince before tugging on her lord husband’s sleeve. “Is Aemond…laughing?”

Corlys looked over. “It would seem so.”

“I don’t believe I’ve ever seen him smile, let alone laugh. Except maliciously, of course.”

The Sea Snake’s voice lowered to a whisper as he leaned into her ear. “About time someone pulled the rod out his arse.”

Robb, Aly, and twenty-three other archers lined the range, toeing the shooting line in groups of five. At the blast of a horn, the fleet of bowmen unleashed a volley of arrows at hay targets. Each archer received four shots in the qualifying round, scoring points for precision and accuracy. Those who scored poorly, or missed the target entirely, were eliminated by default. By the end of the first round, the competition had thinned from twenty-five to twelve, both Blackwoods included.

Round two saw the shooting line pushed back several meters, and the bowmen were given three shots each. Squires raised an additional target to accommodate two volleys of six shooters. Another five competitors fell short of advancing. The line was pushed back even further for round three, and a seventh target was added to the range to accommodate all the bowmen in a single volley. Each competitor received only two shots. Four archers failed to accrue enough points to continue, with one of them flinging his bow to the ground with a curse.

The fourth and final round saw Robb Rivers versus Black Aly versus Billy Burley, whom many regarded as the sharpest longbowman in the North.

Aemond inclined his head toward Vaemyra. “It should be you up there. Any particular reason you chose not to compete?”

“I don’t fancy myself as fine an archer as my cousins. Besides, I prefer to observe. I’m sure you’ll understand, as the realm’s reigning champion of brooding handsomely from the shadows,” she ribbed.

Aemond’s heart skipped. Handsomely?

They were shushed by Aegon the Elder, already thoroughly drunk on wine. “Quiet, youse two. This’s the good part,” he slurred.

An expectant quiet blanketed the grounds as the final three bowmen approached the shooting line, the targets now a daunting distance away. Each participant was granted but a single shot. The air lay still as a prayer in a sept as the archers drew their bowstrings and the herald raised the horn to his mouth. Then he blew, and all three bows thwupped simultaneously. In less than an instant, the trial was over.

It would have been impossible to determine the victor from afar, and so the Royal Bowmaster was summoned to evaluate the shots up close. After several long minutes of scrutinizing the arrows—the differences in their points of impact so slight as to be nearly invisible—At last, he seized both Robb and Aly by the wrists and raised their arms, declaring a tie.

The stands rumbled with applause as servants entered the range with the victors’ rewards. Two pages presented the Blackwoods with coinpurses, each heavy with five thousand gold dragons. Several squires carted a lavish selection of longbows, shortbows, and crossbows. Robb claimed an ornately carved Weirwood longbow strung with waxed silk, while Aly reached for a lacquered oak and ivory crossbow fitted with a Valyrian steel prod. The air thrummed with cheers long after the herald announced intermission.

In the pavilions, sword swallowers, harlequins, and trained beasts performed as tourney guests fraternized amongst themselves. Vaemyra waded through the crowd in search of her cousins and found them indulging at a food stall.

“Splendid work! A well-deserved victory for the both of you,” Vaemyra said, clapping her hands.

“Naturally,” answered Alysanne. “Someone had to put the men to shame.”

Robb took a sip of his mead with a lighthearted scoff. “Luck of the draw, dear cousin!”

The trio was approached by Prince Jacaerys and Lady Baela, and the Blackwoods hailed them both. Vaemyra’s short time on Dragonstone had allowed her to foster a modest bond with its prince and his betrothed. It gladdened her heart to reunite with them for the first time since departing for the Red Keep.

“Excellent show,” Baela praised. “I have an affinity for the bow, myself.”

Aly smiled. “Many thanks to you, My Lady. Should you ever find yourself in the Riverlands, I’d be honored to shoot with you.”

As Baela and Alysanne enthused over crossbows, Jace leaned into Vaemyra’s ear. “I couldn’t help but notice a change in seating arrangements at the royal box. Care to explain?” He pursed his pouty lips.

Vaemyra gave a frivolous shrug. “Aren’t you pleased to be nearer to your little uncle?”

Jace clasped a hand on her shoulder, pulling her further out of earshot of her cousins and his betrothed. “My Lady, you are very special. I knew this the day Baela and I received you on Dragonstone. We are proud to call you one of our own, and it would sicken me if a certain one-eyed prince were to take advantage of your good nature. I’m not one to meddle, but I urge you to be careful with that one.”

The gaiety had drained from her. “I understand your concern. I had heard…rumors of the prince long before I came here. I’ll admit, he can be a bit off-putting at times…but he has been very kind to me.”

Jace surveyed the area for prying ears. Robb and Aly were still sipping their drinks and gushing over archery with Baela. Jace’s voice lowered even more. “Do you know how he lost that eye?”

She furrowed her brow. “I cannot say that I do.”

“When we were young, Luke and Aemond and I…he assailed us. Called us bastards, and beat us bloody. Luke slit his eye while defending me.”

Vaemyra’s stomach caught in her throat. Children could be cruel, yes, but if Jace’s words held any truth, Aemond harbored a darkness far beyond what she could have imagined. To hear he’d mocked the Velaryon boys’ legitimacy cut her to the core. Could Aemond have secretly felt the same disgust for her? She felt the wounds of every time she’d been nothing more than a fleeting novelty for men she believed had cared for her—each discarded promise a hollow ache in her heart.

Jace pressed on. “And do you know what he’s got hidden under there? Beneath the eyepatch?”

The blare of the herald’s horn cut their discussion—and intermission—to an end.

Spectators trickled back into their seats, Vaemyra as retook her place beside Aemond in stiff silence. The prince chose to remain at the royal box during intermission, fixing a discerning gaze on a few of the knights as they practiced swordplay on the field. “These fools couldn’t tell pommel from hilt,” he sneered. “Look at them, floundering like tadpoles. Amusing, is it not?”

Vaemyra did not answer, nor did she look at him.

His demeanor softened. “…Is something troubling you?”

She snapped to attention with a forced smile. “Oh, no—not at all.”

“Were you pestered by another of those pompous knights?” Aemond asked, his mouth curling into a smirk. “I’ll frighten them away, if you wish it.”

Vaemyra gulped. “I’m quite alright. Truly. Let us enjoy the tourney.”

The prince wilted. He rested a gentle hand over hers, and she did not react.

Quarterfinals commenced with the sixteen knights remaining from the day prior. This joust, however, proved far more gruesome. Multiple unhorsings resulted in nauseating injuries to necks and skulls. Blood spurted from gaping wounds as squires sprinted through the lists, dragging their concussed and lacerated knights to the maesters. The interlude between joust and melee saw far fewer patrons at food stalls. Then the melee, fought by two teams of seven, stirred far more winces and screams than cheer. By day’s end, only ten knights stood to advance to final rounds. Swollen, battered, and bruised, the men stepped forward and removed their helmets for all to see.

When the first knight removed his helmet, the ladies of the stands sighed and swooned in delight. Vaemyra saw his auburn hair and recognized him as Lucien Tyrell, one of the three knights who had approached her in the pavilion the day before. Next to present himself was a younger man, lean of build, with sharp, inquisitive eyes. Joffrey Arryn grinned and ran a gloved hand through his curly brown hair. The knight that followed Joffrey was even younger, no older than eight-and-ten. But what Alan Beesbury lacked in age, he compensated for with agility and raw ambition.

The next knight strode forth with a presence that demanded attention. Hair as gold as the sun, the man could be none other than Erwin Lannister, the Lion of the Lists. He had also visited Vaemyra in the pavilion on the first day of the tourney. After him came Robin Massey, a modest and approachable youth with russet hair and a kind smile. Robin bowed and stepped back to reveal a knight who was dark of hair and eyes, with copper skin. Courageous and dependable, Denys Harte saluted the crowd with a respectful dip of his head.

Next in line was a hulking Northman with cropped hair and icy blue eyes. Brusque but charming, Torrhen Manderly’s impressive stature made him appear far more mature than his nineteen years. He was followed by a knight called Corwyn Corbray, the eldest of the remaining competitors. Corbray had earned a commanding reputation as a warrior, wielding the Valyrian steel sword of his house, Lady Forlorn. Second-to-last in line was the dignified Byron Swann. A battle scar marked his brow and extended down to his strong cheekbone, obscured only slightly by his exceptionally long hair.

When the last knight stepped forward, Aemond felt an irritable prickling at the back of his neck. Vaemyra recalled the quiet gentleman as her third visitor at the pavilion. Remarkably statuesque, he loomed above the entire procession, jet black hair fanning in the breeze. Handsome, mysterious, and intense, Robert Darklyn was a brooding storm made flesh.

All ten champions were met with thunderous applause as the second day of the tourney drew to a close. Festivities after the tournament were to be a touch more lavish than the night previous. Throughout the day, groundskeepers had labored to illuminate the castle gardens with lanterns, and by evenfall, the Red Keep shimmered in all the colors of the Seven. The night hummed with music and chatter as courtiers made merry through the idyllic castle grounds.

In the Queen’s Ballroom, a massive mahogany dining table had been set to feast the royal family and all ten champions. Rhaenyra presided at the head, with Vaemyra to her right, followed by Corlys and Rhaenys. To the queen’s left were Jace, Baela, Luke, and Rhaena. Facing each other in the center of the table sat the other Blackwoods. Aemond and his siblings occupied the farthest end, with Daemon at the head opposite the queen. The knights’ seats were scattered throughout the arrangement. Off to the side of the chamber was another, much smaller table fit for the children and their maids. Ten-year-old Benjicot was aggrieved to be seated among them.

The feast saw an incredible spread of venison, pheasants, roast pig, meat pies, fruits, breads, cheeses, pottages, and stews, and aromatic wines, meads, and ales poured from crystal flagons. Vaemyra chatted with the queen, her children, and their betrothed during dinner. The Sea Snake and Princess Rhaenys inquired about Corwyn Corbray’s heroic exploits. Sers Arryn and Massey exchanged banter about the tourney, while Robb and Aly attended to their usual bickering. Across from them, Lord Samwell and his lady wife endured Erwin Lannister’s theatrical monologues about knighthood.

Beside them, Vaemyra’s father commended the young Alan Beesbury for his fortitude in the melees. To Beesbury’s left, Ser Tyrell rested his head in his hand and prattled mindlessly to Aemond, whose patience was wearing thin. Aegon guzzled wine with Torrhen Manderly as they made crude jests about the women of court. Helaena sat in silence, nudging garnishes about her plate with a fork, until Denys Harte gently asked if she was well. Though fine, she appreciated the kindness all the same. At the end of the table, Ser Swann expounded on his extensive and intricate knowledge of horsemanship to Prince Daeron and the King Consort—one enthralled, the other visibly bored.

Robert Darklyn fixed his gaze on Vaemyra throughout the feast, smiling softly at her every word. Aemond took immediate notice, and a scowl twisted his lips as he glowered at the knight with mounting fury. Their conversation fell short of his ears, but when Vaemyra chuckled at something Darklyn had said, Aemond’s jaw clenched with burning rage. Not once since the tourney had she spared him a single glance.

It was only when a maid set down a platter of sweets that the prince devised a plan to reclaim Lady Blackwood’s attention. He pulled the servant closer and murmured a command. She left and returned with three small cakes—one lemon, one apple, and one blackberry—and nodded toward the prince as she laid them before Vaemyra. When Lady Blackwood glanced over, she found him grinning at her with pride. She offered a weak smile before quickly turning away, and Aemond looked as if he’d suddenly been doused with freezing water.

The ballroom slowly emptied as the night wore on, but Vaemyra lingered at the table, deep in conversation with Ser Darklyn. Aemond never tore his eye from her for even a moment, until Ser Tyrell rose from his seat, blocking his view. By the time Aemond managed to peer around the bothersome knight, Vaemyra and Darklyn were both missing. The prince sprang to his feet in panic.

Aemond stalked through the candlelit corridors of the Keep, the coil in his chest tightening with each step. Were I to find them together… he dared not finish the thought. Then he heard the baritone echoes of Ser Darklyn’s voice from round a corner and swiftened his pace.

“That should be a wonderful idea. Tomorrow night—” The towering knight paused at the sight of the dragon prince staring daggers through him.

Ser Tristan lifted a brow. “Your Highness? Is all well?”

Having braced himself to find Vaemyra at Darklyn’s side, and the sight of a different Blackwood brought Aemond a rush of cool relief. The prince straightened. “…Indeed. As you were.” He vanished in the blink of an eye.

Aemond grew more frantic with each passing moment as his search continued. Vaemyra was not in the library, nor the study chambers, nor the tapestry rooms. He crossed paths with her handmaids and asked if the lady had retired for the night. They shook their heads, and the prince pressed on with ragged breath. Rounding a corner far too quickly, he collided with Prince Lucerys, nearly sending the boy tumbling to the ground. Rhaena caught her betrothed by the shoulders, steadying him. She suppressed the urge to chastise Aemond for his recklessness, wary of invoking his wroth.

To speak lightly, Aemond was not fond of Luke. He had long since accepted the loss of his eye, but resentment still burned, stoked by the knowledge that his nephew suffered no true repercussions for taking it. But for perhaps the first time in ten years, those thoughts were far from his mind.

“Have you seen Vaemyra?” Aemond urged, fighting to mask the desperation in his voice.

“Might you apologize first?” Luke bit back. “That hurt.”

“Have you seen her, or not?”

Then Rhaena chimed in, eager to send the elder prince on his way. “I believe she made mention of the gardens.”

Aemond muttered a word of thanks and hurried off.

Luke blinked. “...Did he just…thank us?”

In the castle gardens, fireflies danced through the night air like living stars. Courtiers strolled about, their faces aglow beneath the light of hundreds of lanterns, while bards strummed on lute and harp. Aemond scoured every column, corner, and archway in search of Vaemyra, each second she remained hidden driving him closer to madness.

And then, at last, there she was. Alone, beside an immaculate marble fountain, her figure veiled by the soft spray of mist. She turned as he drew near, and before he could take another step, she stole into the nearby hedge maze. The prince followed her without hesitation.

He turned this way and that, endeavoring to navigate the twisting walls of green in the darkness. The maze was dotted with revellers, and Aemond was slowed each time he had to push past them making merry in each other’s arms. Every so often, a lady would titter and sigh as her lover rustled beneath her skirts, the noises further disorienting the prince. Finally, a crown of silver hair, like a shimmer of moonlight, caught his eye.

“Why do you torment me so?” Aemond implored. “First you grow cold on me, for seemingly no reason at all, and now you have me literally chasing you in the night. Have I done something to offend you?”

Vaemyra’s eyes were fastened to the ground.

“Why won’t you look at me?” His words were raw and strained.

Moments passed before she finally answered. “Did you hurt Jace and Luke?”

A chill pierced Aemond’s stomach. “What?”

Vaemyra looked up, and her gaze hardened on him. “When you were children. Jace told me you attacked him and his brother, beat them bloody, and left them no choice but to defend themselves. He claims that’s how you lost your eye. Is it true?”

The prince swallowed. “It is.”

“Why? How could you do such a thing?” Her voice was tight with both fury and sorrow as she began to tremble.

“You must understand, they were cruel to me. They were—”

“Bastards? Like me? And don’t you dare speak to me about cruelty, My Prince. I’ve suffered it my whole life.” The corners of her eyes pricked with cold tears.

All the breath was ripped from Aemond’s lungs. He bit his lip so hard it nearly bled. “...I…was but a child,” he began again, voice softer now. “I was angry, and alone. Without even a dragon to call my own. They tormented me for years, Vaemyra. And no one would look at me. Not my mother, not my father, no one. And then one day, I came to Vhagar, and she saw me, truly saw me, like…like no one else in the world ever had. They say I stole her, that she wasn’t meant for me, but how can that be possible when she claimed me as much as I did her?”

Vaemyra’s silence pressed on him, suffocating.

The prince pressed his mouth into a thin line. “Yes, we fought, Jace and Luke and I. I struck them first. It’s true.”

Knitting her brow, Vaemyra exhaled a long, shivering breath. “I am sorry for you. I truly am. And it would seem that all of you have paid a price for your actions. You, most of all.”

The words cut Aemond like ice, and he stood there, stiff and shuddering. Then, he uttered something neither he nor anyone else could have foreseen in all the years of his anguish and loathing.

“It was wicked of me,” he confessed, voice cracking with a sincerity as deep as any words he had ever spoken. “It was wicked, and ugly, and there is no excusing any of it. I lost my temper that day, and I am sorry for it. And I do not wish to be that child anymore.”

“Is that so? And how am I to know that I’m any more than just some bastard girl to you? Or that you’re any different from any other man who’s treated me like some exotic pet? That I won’t be cast aside once you’ve grown bored of me?” Her throat clenched and ached.

The prince moved to close the distance between them. “I wish to become a better man, I do. For myself, and for you, Vaemyra.” He took her by the hand. “And you are the brightest star in the cold, dark sky that my life has been. I swear this to you, with every fiber of my very being.”

Vaemyra’s breath hitched, and a warmth bloomed in her chest that melted the ice in her eyes. Unable to bring herself to speak, she only searched his gaze with hers, and for a while the air was silent but for the soft hum of fireflies.

Aemond squeezed her hand tighter, as if he might lose her if he let go. “Vaemyra? Please, tell me something.” He lifted his other hand to her cheek. “Tell me you’ll have me, or tell me you won’t, but tell me something. Vaemyr—”

And then, as if everything within her finally gave way, she thrust him against the maze wall, her lips crashing into his with a fierce, desperate need. Aemond stiffened at first, his pulse quickening in surprise. But then his hands found her waist, and he pulled Vaemyra closer as he kissed her with a hunger that mirrored her own. She caught his lower lip between her teeth, and Aemond moaned roughly into her mouth as his trousers swelled. Then came the sound of grassy footfalls from a nearby corner. With one hand, Vaemyra seized Aemond by the wrist and jerked him in the opposite direction, holding the hem of her gown in the other. They were both thoroughly short of breath by the time they had found their way out, and when Lady Blackwood was certain no one had seen them, she looked to the prince with a wolfish grin.

“This day has been…eventful, to say the least,” Vaemyra panted. “I think I’m ready to retire for the evening.”

Aemond simpered at her through labored breaths. “You truly are something, you know that?”

“So I’ve been told.” She reached up and plucked several leaves from the prince’s silken hair.

“Oh, ah, thank you.” He gulped another breath back into his lungs. “Would you like me to escort you to your chambers?” As a prince, he was respectful of her wish to withdraw for the night, but as a man, he would have been lying if he said he hadn’t hoped for more.

Before she could agree, her handmaids called out, hurrying towards her. They acknowledged the prince with brisk curtsies.

“Milady, we’ve been searching everywhere for you,” said Lenore, exasperated.

“I’ve drawn your bath. Come, let us return before the water cools,” Elspeth beckoned.

Vaemyra glanced back at the prince before her maids could whisk her away. “We’ll see each other again on the morrow. Good night, Aemond.”

The lanterns had begun to flicker out, and the laughter of drunken courtiers grew softer still. Aemond lingered for a moment to bask in the starlight before making way to his own chambers. That night, the prince’s hands wandered with feverish need, and once he found release, he plunged into a sweet, peaceful sleep.

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