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utterlyazriel · 18 days ago

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whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: if you have stuck around and waited u are INCREDIBLE thank u so much for ur patience <3 esp cos i'm still testing it with my slowburn lmao + tell me what u think lovelies and as always, enjoy

word count: 4.1k

synopsis: Azriel's shadows find a new way to torment their master. The question of forgiveness follows you. Cassian gets you in the ring, testing out newly learnt skills.

CHAPTER TEN :: SHADOWS

Azriel is a spy by his very nature.

It makes sense; the gift of Shadowsinger is never bestowed so lightly so that it could ever leave any doubt of the user. Shadowsingers are spies, even well before their gifts revealed themselves. Always watching. Always listening.

It was, then, a tad against his disposition to keep his nose out business that wasn't his — as that was precisely what Azriel did best.

But his decision was resolute. Azriel had promised himself he would not be the first to break the distance between you two.

However, for a fae over five-hundred years old, it's quite unsettling to yet again feel the pangs of impatience. Years of practicing restraint and then, in a mere few months, his hard earned patent for patience begins to fray at the ends. You'll be his undoing, he's sure of it.

Like a young and fresh-faced warrior itching for battle, it's almost embarrassing how Azriel can't seem to stay away from you. His feet wander and all paths lead to you.

His shadows are not helping.

Azriel thinks they've managed to get more insistent, which he hadn't really believe was possible. They've proven him oh-so wrong. When he walks the halls of the House of Wind, the dark wisps dart out, as though trying to tug him along.

He had trusted them all of two times before, face flushed and with an ungraceful but thankfully unnoticed exit, he learned just where they were leading him.

They were following the invisible thread between you, taking him to see his mate.

When it became clear he wasn't going to be coerced along, his shadows had only got more devious.

It's a particular brand of torture, Azriel thinks, to be delivered little parcels of knowledge of the person he's not allowing himself to see.

And they're ruthless about it. Whispers about how you're healing and the growing steadiness of your feet, the way you stand a little taller each day, about the tentative trust extended to Cassian.

Gods, that one had made his hand jerk across the paper in surprise, spilling a patch of ink onto the report he was in the middle of.

You were talking to Cassian— no, you were nearly friends with Cassian. The magnanimous hope had ballooned within him before Azriel remembered to stomp it back down.

Mor had teased him for the black stains on his hands during dinner.

He studies them now, nearly washed away completely, before he lifts his head. In the cool air of dusk, Azriel surveils the training ring from the shadows of the door, eyes scanning across the balcony.

It's empty, as expected. The rising moon is his only company.

You've stuck to training in the mornings, of course.

He's relieved and disappointed all at once—then Azriel forces that disappointment out of his system with a frustrated huff.

He is not allowed to be disappointed. Your trust is something he still needs to claw his way back to, to earn, and that required waiting and accepting that.

Azriel would see you... when you wanted to see him.

Despite his resolve, the thread between you still gives a futile tug before he can stop it. Scowling at himself, he rubs at his chest meanly, banishing the feeling. He steps down onto the balcony and heads towards the equipment.

As his scarred hands reach out and pluck one of the training staffs off the rack, his shadows twirls and trill, an almost teasing motion. It takes one pointed whisper, one tug on his heartstrings —they used that one just earlier today— before his hands are glowing warm from the second-hand touch.

His fingers spring apart and the staff hits the tiles with a loud clatter. Even though it's just him out on the balcony, he still casts an awkward glance around him. Gods

If his brothers could see him now, Azriel thinks dryly.

He swats at the shadow that had unhelpfully fed him the information. It dances away from him, swooping down to circle the staff on the ground with its others, a mass of black surrounding it.

Azriel bends down and gingerly picks up the staff, his hazel eyes staring at it for a long moment. Where your hands have been.

After a moment, his fingers curl around it. His marred hands feel like they're glowing again, warm and tingling, even if he knows it's all in his mind. Even so, he swears the golden thread between you hums, just ever so slightly.

He'll allow himself this, just this once, Azriel decides. His grip tightens and he heads to the ring, preparing to train, his hands where yours were just mere hours before.

—

The day after you had met Cassian, as the dawn breaks over sky, you find him on the training balcony before you.

You're a little later than you'd normally be, the sun actually rising before you do. You're moving a little more sluggishly too, but for once it's for a better reason.

Sleep, normally light and fitful for you, had actually been a reprieve last night. You slept deeply, falling into dreamless slumber and resting properly.

When morning crept in, dragging your eyelids up had felt like a mountainous amount of effort. Part of you wonders if it's because of the male across the balcony from you.

Allies, you had agreed upon.

It's a little easier to rest when you've made one less enemy.

Watching him now, stretching his supple and bulging arms, you have to force down the instilled anxiety that festers up, a force of habit that's kept you safe all these years.

You're not in Exordor anymore. You're not keeping any secrets.

Cassian clocks your hesitant stance in the doorway as he turns, a wide grin breaking across his face. His wings perk up, a genuine sign of his excitement. He stops his stretching momentarily to wave.

"Morning!" He calls out, despite the fact the distance between you doesn't require him to do so.

"Ally." He adds pointedly, leaning over to give an over the top wink.

Somewhere buried deep inside you, a laugh almost wants to wriggle free, but it's smothered before you can think too hard. You give him a wry smile instead, the best you can manage, and take a tentative step down onto the balcony. Your wings give a tiny shiver in the passing breeze.

"Good morning," You manage to return, the words sticking in your throat on the way up. It's awkward but nothing in Cassian's friendly demeanor changes to indicate he's noticed. Your feet lead you over towards the weapons rack.

It's as you reach them do you realise your heart is rabbiting wildly, pounding in your chest, stewing you in discomfort. The hair on the back of your neck rises, prickling with unease. Your back is turned to a fierce warrior, one that could very well attack you.

And worse, you'll be training next to him, still not healed, still stumbling on your feet—revealing all the ways to strike you down.

You—you haven't done this, ever. You haven't trained with someone completely as yourself, with no facade to hide beneath. It suddenly becomes incredibly vulnerable.

Your hand trembles as you reach out for the training staff and you try your best to swallow down your nerves.

Cassian has kept his distance, resuming his stretches, but you don't miss how his eyes dance over to you every couple of seconds. For a moment, it alarms you but as you find a place and settle into your stance, you steal another glimpse.

It's more like... a dog wagging its tail, you think faintly.

You press down the urge to smile and begin your exercises.

There's all of ten minutes of silence before it gets broken.

"How do you like Velaris?"

You pause in your motions, huffing to catch your breath as your grip the training staff loosens. You cast a glance over at Cassian who's now picked up one of the broadswords, beginning to throw its weight around easily.

You blink and for a moment, your eyes dart out over the edge of the balcony, to the city teeming with life, so close and yet so far from you. A part of you aches fiercely to see it.

"I... haven't been into the city." You answer honestly. It comes out curt and doesn't exactly answer his question.

Eyeing his sword nervously, your force your aching muscles through another series of exercises. You're a sliver better than the day before but when your ear twinges loudly, you still stumble, a minuscule motion. Your heart lurches up your throat, frustration welling like a tidal wave within you.

"Okay, then how do you like the House of Wind?"

You pause again, looking over to Cassian tentatively, the pain in your ear momentarily forgotten. The rising frustration in you dissipates at the distraction. He waves a casual hand over to the house you've been residing in since you arrived in Velaris and smiles once more.

You swallow thickly. What is his angle here?

"I haven't..." You struggle to put your thoughts into words. It's... different. New. Unsettling. You don't want to say the wrong thing. For all you know, this may well be his home.

Eventually, you find your voice. "I like my room. It's—" Several words ping to the front of your mind. "—big."

You cringe. Some compliment that is. You're too honest even if it is true; you're far too used to the familiar cramped space of your own cabin. Even sharing walls with others is foreign to you and you're incredibly thankful you haven't run into anyone unexpectedly in any corridors yet.

It doesn't occur to you that it might entirely be by design, thanks to Rhys' strict instruction.

Cassian grins. "Yes, I recall Illyria being hardly known for it's roomy cabins."

He swings the sword around with a flick of his wrist, more like an idle motion than anything. Your eyes still flicker down keenly, watching for any threat, just in case.

"So, you haven't explored the house much then?" Cassian continues, feigning a stab forward with the sword, his eyes on his motions but his attention still focused primarily on you.

You follow his lead and swing the training staff again, in an arching whoosh. You shake your head in answer to his question.

"Do you want to?"

"Do you always talk this much during training?"

The words come out before you can think to check them, sucking in a sharp breath as you realise how snappy that sounded. Like you're looking for a fight.

You ready yourself to sink into a defensive stance, before you realise that Cassian has only laughed in response. A curl of his tied back hair comes loose as he shakes his head, the action almost... fond.

"Only when I'm trying to make friends." He grins warmly, eyes flicking up to meet yours. "Sorry, I'll stop prying."

You swallow and nod slightly, hoping it won't be read as rude. Though you'd had a hard time believing it, Cassian had been true to his word; no fighting unless it was in the ring. You hadn't dared to go near it yet.

Readjusting your stance, you prepared to go through the motions once more. It's still a bit more of the juvenile exercises than you're used to—forced back to the basics as you retrain your body—but also because you're solitary training. You're used to sparring with others.

Stealing a glimpse at Cassian, you ponder if—if you might, eventually that is, train alongside him as you had done with Azriel.

Moving the training staff deftly, you thrust it forward and twist your lithe body to dart forward again, a small patter of your feet on the stone.

It's maneuver used for rushing opponents, throwing them off their balance and driving them backwards. It works for you, mostly, but the way your wings cut through the air, the slightest whistle through the holey scars, makes you a little unsteady.

"You fight like you're bigger than you are."

Straightening up, you breathe heavily and peer around the edges of your wings back at Cassian—who apparently isn't done talking at all.

He nods to you, in reference the maneuver you've just performed. "That is a move usually far better suited for someone of a larger stature."

You clear your throat, wings curling in a bit closer around you. "Yes. Azriel, he- he was trying to rectify that. There's only one way to train Illyrians, as I'm sure you know."

Cassian nods again, lowering the sword to hang at his side. "That I do. However, I feel Azriel may have been taking the wrong approach given... the information he was not privy to at the time."

Your brows knit together, something wrong twisting tightly in your chest.

"Because I'm..."

Female.

"Not a male?"

The words come out sharp without meaning to.

Cassian's picks up on your defensiveness, his expression softening. He gives a little so-so motion with his free hand, his wings rustling behind him. "A bit, but not for reasons you may think."

When you don't speak, he continues, his explanation unfurling.

"Your centre of gravity is different to ours. That actually changes the best way for you to fight. More of your strength comes from these—"

He slaps his hands down onto his thighs with a grin.

"—than from your arms. For that reason, there are moves you will be better at than what you've been taught."

Cassian cocks his head, his dark eyes squinting for a moment, deep in thought. "Azriel likely switched your training to agility based, didn't he?"

You nod gingerly. You had no idea if what he was said was true. If there was a fighting style suited to females. That would require... female warriors which, for all you've ever known, is a highly unlikely thing to exist.

Though, being he is the General of the Night Court's armies, you'd likely assume Cassian knows what he's talking about.

He nods, that same easy smile. "He was right to do so. Most camps focus on brute strength and stamina. Makes for good warriors that can take hits and keep going. You can train that way if you still wish but you might find you excel when your efforts are put elsewhere."

It takes a long moment before you realise exactly what his words mean.

An offer. He's offering to train you, to teach you.

Pleasant surprise blooms inside you, warm, curling up behind your ribs like a purring cat. Cassian's eyes are light and friendly, his body language relaxed as though if you turn him down, it'd be of no consequence to him. Merely an offer.

You turn it over in your mind, back and forth. The gentle wind from the mountains caresses across your cheekbones, a warm touch.

Inside, deep in your chest, there's something telling you to trust. To take the step forward, to accept Cassian's outstretched proposal. That you might regret it if you didn't.

"How?" Your eyes skirt up and down on instinct, still on alert for a threat that isn't coming.

Cassian grins infectiously, not even attempting to hide his glee. He rolls his shoulders back and assesses you once more.

"Have you ever heard of the headscissor takedown?"

—

Flesh hits stone, a large shuddering bang that echoes out the courtyard. In the distance, a couple birds take flight, squawking loudly. Pain ricochets through your knees, a warbling and jarring pain that has you gritting your teeth.

"You're..." Cassian's breath comes out raggedly. "Incredible!"

He beams from where he's pinned beneath you and your pain dashes away in a moment, something gleaning and prideful taking its place.

There's a rivulet of blood under his nose, his hair knocked loose, and you know hitting the ground as hard as he did won't have been nice. He continues on as if he hasn't.

"That was perfect form. You're a Cauldron-born natural!"

You huff a breath that might be an actual laugh this time and quickly retract yourself, standing to your feet. You waver momentarily, hesitance poisoning your thoughts, before you decide. Holding out your hand to help, Cassian is quick to put his hand in your own and use it to lug himself up.

When he gets to his feet, his grip loosens but he doesn't let go altogether.

"Hey," He says, more serious this time. His fingers around your wrist, soft and warm, still make your pulse jump nervously. You force yourself to meet his gaze, still friendlier than ever. "Seriously. You're very skilled and you're a fast learner. You've got the makings to be lethal. The Night Court is lucky to have you on our side."

His hand slips back, grazing your wrist, and you wonder if he can feel the way your heart skips a beat.

No one has ever been... lucky to have you. It's so foreign that hearing someone say it aloud makes you forget to breath for one long second.

"I—" The word pushes out before you think about it. "That's... You-"

Praise is not a part of Illyrian training. You fumble with it, feeling entirely out of your depth, feeling oddly proud of yourself. It feels like your cheeks are warmer than usual.

Cassian chuckles, wiping the blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "You're welcome." He says pointedly, making you realise you're supposed to say thank you after someone compliments you.

You flounder for another second, making Cassian laugh again, louder this time. He reaches forward and lightly taps you on the shoulder, a faux punch.

"You'll get used to it." He says. Part of you really, really wants to. "Now, c'mon. Let's go again. Hit me."

—

You think that now Cassian's got what he wanted—the two of you training together, learning the plethora of new moves, stances, blocks he has in his repertoire—he wouldn't have anymore questions.

You're sorely, sorely, wrong.

Two mornings later, the pair of you prepare for some sparring with the swords in the ring. Cassian's purposefully picked one of the heavier ones for himself, broad and long, but he'd put aside a blade for you.

It's smaller, lighter. It reminds you of Heartstriker.

Which reminds you of Azriel.

The mere thought of him has your heart humming, miserable and elated all at once. You're still not sure if you'd like to see him just yet, the confusing twist of betrayal too fresh, but still, some part of you seeks him out, consciously or not.

You want to wander the halls until you find the door to leads to him.

It's because he was your first friend. You reason, as you step up towards the sparring ring. He was the first person you trusted. Was? Is—maybe.

Do you still trust him?

Cassian is already in the ring, waiting as patiently as he can. His rustling wings give him away, even as casual as he looks leaned up against one of the corner posts.

His wings are stretched out, towards the sun's rays that are just beginning to slip over the horizon, trying to steal some of their warmth.

A yawn slips past your lips. The night of restful sleep was an outlier it seemed, the tendrils of a calming, easy sleep stolen away just as quickly.

Fingers curling around the hilt of the short sword, you step gingerly into the ring, eyes casting across to your opponent. You roll your shoulders back, warming up the muscles a bit more, and give your own wings a little shake. A shiver wracks through you in response, the chill of the morning touching on sensitive scars.

"Is there a particular reason Azriel is avoiding you?"

Your head snaps up at the sound of Cassian's voice, cool and calm.

He hasn't shifted, though his wings are tucked back in now. His sword is still relaxed at his side, his worn hand tucked around the hilt of it freely.

The usual chattiness that Cassian has been able to coax out of you these last few days shrivels up. Azriel is avoiding you? You hadn't wanted to see him but this—something curls up inside you, sour and foul. You swallow hard.

"I hadn't realised." You murmur, unable to keep the bitterness from seeping into your words.

Cassian blinks and seems to realise his mistake. He waves a hand dismissively, as if it can scratch away his last words. "I misspoke. I believe he is... keeping his distance."

He furrows his brow, face pinched, picking his words carefully. "For your sake." He adds.

You... don't know how you feel about that. On one hand, you're relieved. It's not by pure chance that you haven't seen him yet, it's purposeful—he's keeping out of your way, giving you peace.

On the other hand, something twined in your chest pangs sorrowfully, mourning the distance between you.

While Cassian's presence as an ally (or perhaps, you'll even admit, a friend) is comforting, you'll admit it does not fill the same shape in you as Azriel does. You miss him, quite terribly so.

"What makes you think he's avoiding me?" You ask.

Cassian gives an little shrug, his head tilting to the side just a bit. He smiles in a way that tells you he knows more than he lets on. Or maybe, he simply knows Azriel far better than you do.

"He usually trains in the morning." He explains nonchalantly. "He's taken to training at night since your arrival."

You frown at the new information. You don't want Azriel to be changing things for you, to bend and warp his routines in his home, just for you. You don't want him to avoid you either, even if you're beginning to think you might never be brave enough to face him.

He left you. He was your first friend and the betrayal of that is entirely too new— but you don't know where to draw the line.

You don't know for how long you're allowed to be upset — or how long you can let this go on before you're punishing yourself just as much as you are him.

Flexing your grip on the sword, you stare across at Cassian and when you open your mouth, the words tumble out with warning.

"He..." Your breath hitches.

Something awful hooks into your chest, remembering the way he had folded himself into shadows, away from you. The look on his face.

"He left me. When I needed him more than ever." You admit.

Your voice doesn't waver but Cassian can still see the slight tremble in your shoulders, rolling in. Your eyes have dropped to study the floor of the sparring ring, seemingly lost in the memory.

Cassian's face softens, his heart aching for you. You don't even notice how your own wings have begun to curl in, a soft, comforting blanket around yourself.

It's clear you're struggling to juggle the myriad of emotions that haunt you and he gets it, Mother, does he get it. It had been hard the first time, during those first tentative months of friendship with Rhys, before Azriel was even in the picture. Cassian had one emotion that served him any purpose and that was spite.

Spite kept him alive. Spite told him who to knock down and who to put down.

Friendships and spite are not the greatest combination. When Rhys had done something Cassian had vehemently disagreed with, it had felt like a deception, stinging as badly as the backhand from Lord Devlon, sneering the word bastard.

It took time to undo the messy tangle of emotions, to learn that not all betrayal fell into the same box. That forgiveness for some people was not weakness at all.

So, Cassian asks. "Did he come back?"

You glance up at him, eyes flickering with emotion at the question. After a moment, you swallow and say. "Yes. He did."

Cassian nods. He stretches his wings out a bit and reaches up to push a stray piece of hair behind his ear.

"Alright. How long do you intend to punish him for that mistake?"

You freeze at that question and Cassian can tell he's hit the right spot. You're unsure how long you should—because all you know is that you're hurt. And when you're hurt, you don't know any other way to deal with it.

There's only one pathway ingrained for when someone hurts you. Cassian realises suddenly, Mother help him, that he must try to be good at the talking side of things. He needs to show you there's other ways you can go.

"Because," He continues, not waiting for your answer. "I can assure you that Azriel will punish himself for far longer and far harsher than you ever will. I've known my brother a long time. If there anyone who understands the gravity of his actions and will torture himself over them, it's Azriel."

A hesitant expression shutters across your face, your brows furrowing slightly. Cassian doesn't need Rhys' daemati gift to understand the conflict that's battling within you.

"You think I should forgive him."

You don't pose it as a question. A little bit more of that iciness has bled back into your voice, on guard again.

Cassian can tell that, like him, you don't take well to being told what to do. That's fine; Cassian has no intention of doing that whatsoever.

"I think that is your decision entirely." Cassian says, letting the words breathe so they truly sink in. He watches as your eyes narrow momentarily and then your shoulders relax, sinking down an inch.

"But," He says gingerly. "If you avoid each other, you might never move past this. Might never move forward. It might be worth considering what you really want at the end of the day."

The sun has properly broken across the mountain ridges, no longer just sparse rays. You turn your face, facing towards the warmth. There's still that scrunch between your eyebrows, betraying your deep thought, but Cassian has said enough for now.

He moves his sword and taps the end of it against the stone, a soft steel ping grabbing your attention. You whip your head back to face him and Cassian grins, raising his sword.

"Enough talking. More fighting."

You smile, a little hesitant but entirely genuine, and raise your sword in response. That's one thing you're sure you know how to do right.

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officialaemondtargaryen · 9 months ago

Text

A Fine Line [part 4]

Summary: You've been with Aegon for a little over four years and the relationship just isn't the same. His brother isn't helping the situation, either. This is a Modern Day AU!

Pairing: Aegon x Reader / Aemond x Reader

Word Count: ~7k (holy shit)

Author’s Note: I am so sorry that this took so long! I wanted to give a special thanks to @queen-helaena & @persephonerinyes for their feedback and direction on this chapter! Also, my personal Baela, @felteppsters for her daily duty of being my best friend. I will get the next chapter out as soon as I can, I promise it will be less than the six or so months it took me to write this bitch.

Warnings for the entire series: severe angst, cheating, unprotected sex, jealousy, lying, possessiveness, stalking, manipulation, language, alcohol use, recreational drug use.

Masterlist & Playlist

It was light out when you heard the front door open and close. A soft groan escaped your lips as you stretched; fatigue deep in your bones from a restless night. You quirked your brow as you glanced at the window. The remnants of a pink and purple sunrise were painted in the early Saturday morning sky.

His feet shuffled against the hardwood floor. Your eyes were fixed on the bedroom wall as you heard the door open. He was fully clothed when he fell into the bed next to you; still had his shoes on, even. The faint smell of clove cigarettes still lingered on his skin. A sigh escaped his lips as he nestled himself into the mattress as if everything were perfectly fine. You shot up quickly, turning to face him; your tongue burning with all of the words that you wanted to say to him, but you just couldn't bring yourself to actually speak them.

So you don't say anything.

You don't say anything as you sit cross-legged in the living room floor; folding his laundry as he sat on the couch eating the breakfast that you cooked, drinking the coffee that you made, laughing at whatever stupid TV show was on. You don't say anything as you stood next to him at the kitchen counter, fixing yourself a plate of dinner. You don't say anything as he crawled into bed with you that night and kissed you on the cheek.

No, instead you put it away. Just like everything else. And for the next three days you hardly say anything to each other, and if you did speak, it was 'dinner is ready' or the occasional 'have a good day'. You ate in separate rooms and he had started falling asleep in his office. It was the first time since you had started dating that the silence had become this loud. Sure, you hadn't had sex in almost a year, and more often than not he just felt like a roommate to you, but the silence had becoming deafening.

It was actually Aemond who had encouraged you to bite the bullet and be the first to say something. You'd been texting back and forth since the bowling alley. It was a weird feeling, teetering between guilt and giddiness, whenever you saw his name pop up on your screen. Nevertheless, you appreciated his company, even if it was just through text. It was more communication than you were getting from your own boyfriend and best friend; you'd never known Baela to be so busy, but every time you asked if she wanted to hang out or have a glass of wine over FaceTime, she was otherwise occupied.

Wednesday night, after you had put away the leftovers and finished the dishes, you had found yourself standing in the threshold of his office. It was a room you hardly visited and the art on the walls looked foreign to your eyes; almost making you feel awkward to stand in what felt like his space. You watched as he was reading his emails; quietly speaking to himself, saying all of the things he wished he could respond back with. He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't even noticed you standing there.

"Aegon?" You asked and he flinched slightly.

"Hey!" His body softened and he gave you a tired smile. "What's up?"

"It's Wednesday," you shrugged. "Did you want to come down and watch our show together?"

"Oh," he sighed. His hunched shoulders fell. "I have so much work that I'm trying to catch up on, and it's getting late."

You bit your lip and nodded, but lingered against the doorframe. His fingers went back to typing on the keyboard, undoubtedly waiting for you to make your exit. After a few moments, he looked back up at you, obviously confused as to why you were still there.

"Is everything okay, love?" He asked.

The things that you wanted to say made your mouth taste fowl as they lingered on your tongue. How long could you keep up the charade? How long could he? You were holding on the crumbling foundations of your relationship, silently begging for him to help you save it, and he still did nothing. This was the part where you wondered if he even realized that you were one foot out the door, with your bags nearly packed, or if he'd even care.

How many times had you rehearsed what you would say to him? He was sitting right there, asking you, waiting for your answer. Yet, you still couldn't bring yourself to say it.

And the cycle continues.

"Yeah," you say with a small smile and push yourself off of the door frame. "Don't stay up too late working," you told him. "You deserve a break, you know?"

"A break," he laughed dryly. "You're funny."

You turned to head back downstairs but before you could reach the first step, Aegon's voice stopped you.

"Hey," he said softly and you turned back to him. "I love you."

"I love you, too."

The words left your lips with ease but their weight lingered. At this point, you couldn't tell if they were genuine or the easy, default response. The doubt was planted; sprouting like a garden sick with disease in your mind. The more it grew, the more you wondered if this was all that there was to it after four years. Was this the end of your relationship? Would you do anything at all to salvage it? Would he? It couldn't be that easy to unravel everything you had built together, and yet it was; all it would take were two words, just two. A simple acknowledgement that things weren't working out and then someone decides who stays and who goes.

It's over.

It was the smell of bacon that woke you the next morning.

Your body ached from a restless night as you sat up, stretching your arms above your head before reaching for your phone. Your brows furrowed as you read the date and time, almost having forgotten it was Thursday. It had been years since Aegon had cooked breakfast, let alone in the middle of the week. You quickly shifted out of the bed, shuffling down the hall before stopping in the threshold of the kitchen.

He was at the stove, humming softly as he turned down the heat on the bacon. For a moment, you were taken back to when he'd wake up early and cook breakfast on the weekends. You'd wrap your arms around him as he worked, swaying back and forth as music played over the little bluetooth speaker that sat on the counter. He wasn't someone who spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but he knew how to get the bacon just right and his scrambled eggs were always perfectly fluffy.

"Morning," he greeted as you stepped into the room. You slowly approached him and wrapped your arms around his middle, placing a small kiss between his shoulders. You felt him tense for a moment before he relaxed in your arms.

"What's the occasion?" You asked, reaching around him for a slice of bacon. "Figured you'd be at work by now."

"I'm taking the morning off," he shrugged as you moved to his side, leaning against the counter. He pulled the last few strips of bacon off of the pan and laid them across the cooling rack before turning the stove off completely. "I really wanted to spend some time with you, if you can spare it."

Your lips turned softly into a smile, "I think I can manage."

He stepped in front of you, his hands finding their place on your hips, gently pinning you against the counter. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a soft kiss. He lingered there, forehead pressed to yours as he sighed against your lips. Despite everything, you craved these moments with him. Your body still reacted in such an automatic way to his touch that it was almost enough to make you forget it all.

Almost.

You didn't want to question it, but an unsettling suspicion lingered in your chest that there was more to his actions than just wanting to spend some quality time with you. After all, it had been months since he had shown any interest in you in that regard.

"I do have ulterior motives, however," he mentioned.

There it is.

"I knew there was something behind all of this," you sighed with a quick roll of your eyes.

You went to step around him but he stopped you, lifting you at the hips so that you were sitting on the counter. You brace yourself for what is about to be said. The short silence echoed throughout the room as he weighed his words. Instinctively, your negative thoughts fill in the blank as he nudges himself between your knees and looks up at you with a pout. You can almost see the infidelity in his eyes, and you know that he can see the apprehension in yours..

"Don't, it's not like that," he said quietly and you exhale a breath you hadn't even realized you were holding in. "My mother is hosting a dinner tonight, celebrating the return of her favorite son, and I'd really like you to be there."

Your eyebrows raised with surprise.

"Are you sure?" You ask tenderly as you move a strand of hair from his face, suddenly feeling guilty for thinking so poorly of him. His blue eyes were downcast, unmoving from your lap where his thumbs drew circles in the skin of your thighs.

"I don't even want to go," he muttered. "But, I'm obligated to and I want you to be with me," he took a breath before looking up to meet your gaze; you could see the sincerity in his blue eyes. "It would mean a lot to me if you were there."

"Okay," you agreed and he leaned forward with a thankful sigh, pressing his forehead to your shoulder. Your hand comes up to the nape of his neck, fingers instinctively twirling in his hair. "Why don't we go get back in bed?"

He lifts his head and places another kiss on your forehead, breathing out as he does so, "I wish I could, but I've got to go pick up the dry cleaning."

"Send someone to go get it for you," you sigh and groan, tilting your head back in annoyance allowing Aegon to place a chaste kiss to your neck.

"Mhm," he breathes with his lips still pressed to your skin. "I could."

"You should," you whisper.

Aegon hums in response as his lips trail across your clavicle. His hands gripped at your waist, squeezing as you both leaned deeper into this moment. He pulled you forward by the hips, allowing your legs to wrap around him. His hands slid slowly up your thighs, fingertips teasingly playing along the bottom hem of your shorts. You breathed out, bringing your hands to his jaw and pulling him up to meet your lips.

You couldn't remember the last time he had kissed you like this- the last time he touched you like this. Three words clung to your lips as they parted to say, "I miss you", but before they could take form, the abrupt sound of Aegon's cell vibrating on the countertop pulled you back down to a harsh reality. He pulls away reluctantly, a mixture of frustration and obligation on his face as he sighs.

"No," you whine. "You took the morning off."

He steps back away from you, and your hands instinctively reach out for him, hoping to provide an anchor. You can't help but feel disappointed as he answers the phone; Otto's disgruntled voice faint on the other end, screaming. Aegon, deeply apologetic towards his grandfather, hurries out of the kitchen and up the stairs to his office, leaving you sitting on the counter with two plates of untouched breakfast and a sickening feeling of disappointment.

One step forward, two steps back; like playing the fucking Hokey Pokey with your relationship. You sat there for a moment, allowing the feeling of his now absent touch to linger on your skin, wondering if you'd ever become numb to it. You gently slide from the counter, your feet resting flat on the cool tile, and let out a small sigh as you begin disassociating and staring out the kitchen window.

The rest of the day seemed just as monotonous.

Your mind was in a fog as you thought ahead to dinner with the Targaryen-Hightower household. Your expectations of the evening were uncertain, given the limited information you possessed about Aegon's family. You knew Aemond, and you knew enough about Otto Hightower to form an opinion- albeit not a very positive one. He never talked about his father, and the only interactions he had with his mother were when he was ignoring her phone calls. There had been a few times Aegon had mentioned his sister, Helaena, who he described as 'creative' and 'artsy'. You also had heard him mention his youngest brother, Daeron, a few times; he would call every now and then, Aegon never ignored his calls.

There was also the half-sister, Rhaenyra, from his father's first marriage. She was typically referred to as 'dad's favorite'. You knew the most about her, only because she was quite vocal in interviews, discussing her father's health and the potential scandal surrounding the succession of his business.

"What do I wear to this sort of dinner party?" You texted Aemond. The same text that you had sent Aegon hours ago hadn't received a response, and as the hours passed you grew increasingly nervous.

"Something formal but it is just a dinner," his reply came quickly, followed by a second text. "I would stay away from the color green, however."

"Noted, thanks!"

Baela was typing away on her keyboard furiously next to you as you turned to face her in your chair. She had a red gel pen stuck behind her ear and her eyebrows were furrowed as she worked. She had been particularly quiet, which was unlike her. Typically you couldn't get her nor Jace to stop bickering over the cubicle wall long enough to think of a single sentence to write.

You chewed on your lip for a moment before you decided to swivel your chair to face her, reaching for the jar of green M&M's on the island that separated your desks. "Hey, you got a minute for me?" You ask as you pop a few of the candies into your mouth, hoping to break the ice.

"Hm?" She hums but her fingers are still typing. You toss an M&M at her and she turns completely to face you. Her expression softens when you smile at her, "I'm sorry, I've just been swamped with this new project Jason put me on this week."

"Is there anything that I can help you with?" You ask, not even knowing that Jason had her working on something new.

Baela shakes her head, "I appreciate you, always, but Jace has been doing some extra credit for me."

You laugh softly, although you couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that she hadn't asked you. "That's probably best, he could use something to do."

"So, what's up?" Baela asked, getting to the point.

"Aegon invited me to a dinner with his family," your friend's eyebrows immediately shot up in surprise and you nodded. "I've never met any of them and I have no clue what to wear. Aemond said it would be 'formal' but it's still 'just a dinner', and Aegon- he didn't say anything."

"D'you ever find out what happened to him Friday night?" She asked.

You shook your head and frowned, "I could really use some girl time, if you could spare it."

At precisely 4:59 PM you and Baela both rolled yourselves out from underneath your desks and grabbed your coats. The snow was barely sticking to the pavement, and a thick, dense fog hung over the city as you stepped out of the office; the two of you arm-in-arm, laughing about something that had happened earlier at work. You were thankful for her company, as the last few days had felt particularly lonely. Plus, you were hoping to get a chance to talk to her about her new work assignment and how her week had been.

Aegon wasn't home when you got there. At this point, you wouldn't be surprised if he'd come through the door just to tell you that the dinner had been cancelled last minute; and you, standing in the middle of the living room, all dressed up for nothing. He wouldn't even acknowledge the effort you had put in to looking good for him. You allowed that scenario to play out in your mind as Baela poured you a glass of wine. She was talking about Jace, but your attention was elsewhere; unable to decide if you would be relieved if the dinner was cancelled or disappointed. You did want to see Aemond, and you did want to be there to support Aegon, but the potential drama that the evening held had you on edge.

"I can always tell when you're not listening to me," she laughed as she took a sip of her wine. She had a lock of your hair wrapped around the curling iron as you sat on the toilet in your bathroom.

"I'm sorry," you frowned, knowing that you hadn't heard a single word she had said about her new work project.

"You've got a lot going on," she said softly. "Talk to me."

"It's just Aegon," you sighed. "It feels like our relationship has been dead in the water for almost two years and we're both just holding on to nothing."

"Have you talked to him?" Baela asked, moving on to another section of hair. You tossed a hand up, trying to keep your head as straight as still as possible. "You need to talk to him, Y/N."

"What is there to talk about?" You asked with a defeated sigh.

"There is everything to talk about," and she was right. Baela was always right when it came to relationship advice. "You can't just decide to throw away four years because he's not being a good boyfriend right now. Aegon loves you, it's so obvious, he just seems stressed. Maybe he's going through something, maybe it's his family, have you even asked?"

You shook your head, not wanting to continue this conversation any longer. Just because Baela was always right, didn't mean that it was what you wanted to hear. Sometimes you just wanted someone to confirm your suspicions, or tell you that he was being a dumbass for pushing you away, or that you should break up with him and free yourself from the emotional torment that you were experiencing daily just from staying in this relationship.

You were his girlfriend, not his therapist. It wasn't your responsibility to sit him down and figure out why he was no longer putting forth any effort into making this work. All that should have mattered was the fact that he wasn't, because to you, that was a direct reflection of how much he cared. The bar was on the floor, it wouldn't take much at all for him to give you something. Yet, he couldn't even do that. He did just enough to make you feel like the fact that you were still hanging on was worth it, but you knew that it wasn't.

It was only a matter of time.

"All done," Baela said shortly after. You took a look at yourself in the mirror and smiled at her through the reflection; she had such impeccable skills with a curling iron and your hair looked perfect.

"Now we just have to figure out an outfit," you smiled.

"What about that one green dress you wore to the office Christmas party?" She asked as she followed you to the bedroom. "I love that dress, I have been meaning to ask if I could borrow it."

"You absolutely can," you replied and threw open your closet door, pulling that specific dress out on the hanger and laying it on the bed for Baela. "Aemond said that I should stay away from the color green, though, I have no idea why."

"How oddly specific," she chuckled as she smoothed her hands over the fabric of the dress. "I have a date next week, and this is perfect."

"A date?" You asked, eyebrows raining in suspicion.

"Yeah," she smiled. "It's kind of new but he's really sweet, he makes me all giddy. Like kicking my feet while we talk on the phone kind of giddy."

"So that's why you haven't been answering my FaceTime calls," your tone was light, but with your back to her, you couldn't help but frown. You remembered how giddy Aegon used to make you feel. There wasn't anything he wouldn't do to make you smile. "I'm happy for you, B."

You were being sincere and she knew that.

"Alright," you took a breath, shoving those memories back down where they belonged and turned towards the bed. "I think I have it narrowed down to the red or the blue."

"The red says 'look at me'," she says and joins you at your side. "You don't want that kind of attention right now, go with the blue."

"You're right."

The dress was boring, but it still accentuated your curves, and was the perfect choice for a semi-formal family dinner. As you stood in front of your mirror, putting the finishing touches on your outfit, you could heard the front door open and close. Baela's eyes connected with you through the mirror and you gave her a soft smile.

"Babe," you heard Aegon say from the threshold of your bedroom. You turned to see him standing in the doorway. "Baela," he smiled and nodded his head at her. "The car is waiting."

"Doesn't your girlfriend look absolutely incredible?" Baela asked, obviously proud of the work she had done.

"Sure," his face was flat. "You look great."

Your smile fell- along with every bit of your confidence- as he turned back down the hallway without so much as another word. You turned back to Baela; giving her a look as if to say, 'this is exactly what I mean', but she only returned it by squeezing your shoulders and giving you a reassuring smile.

"Maybe he's just nervous?" She's trying to play devil's advocate.

You knew it wasn't true, you knew that he just didn't care, and trying to convince yourself otherwise was exhausting at this point.

"Yeah," you agree with a frown and grab your clutch from the bed.

The Targaryen-Hightower residence was a sprawling, water-front mansion about 45 minutes north of Manhattan in Greenwich, Connecticut; what Business Insider claims is the richest neighborhood in the United States. The car ride there was silent, save for the soft sounds of talk radio coming through the speakers. You kept your gaze trained out the window, avoiding making any type of small-talk with Aegon as he drove. He kept his focus on the road, his face becoming more pained with anxiety with each mile you drew closer.

He sighed as he turned the car into the driveway, and you reached across the center console to place your hand on his thigh to show your support. Even though you felt indifferent towards him at the moment, you knew that tonight would be difficult for everyone involved. You may not have ever witnessed the dynamic of this family first-hand, but if Aegon was right about any of it, the mood would be dysfunctional.

The valet opened the door and Aegon held his hand out to you, no doubt putting on a display for anyone who may have been watching. There was a figure waiting at the door; her wavy, red hair glowing like a halo- or Devil's horns- from the overhead lights in the foyer where she stood. Immediately you noticed the emerald green dress that she was wearing, now knowing exactly why Aemond had steered you away from that option.

"I didn't think you'd come," Mrs. Hightower said softly to her son as you stepped through the door. She reached out to hug Aegon, who only stiffened as she wrapped her arms around his shoulders before placing a kiss on his cheek.

"I didn't want to," Aegon replied curtly.

"Aegon," his mother spoke sternly, as her gaze fell upon you. "This was meant to be an intimate family gathering."

"Please tell me we can't stay, I'd love nothing more than to go home," he spoke in a low tone, a touch of annoyance evident in his words. You pretended to be interested in a painting adorning the foyer wall where you lingered, still waiting to be formally invited in. "Y/N is my family, mother, more so than anyone in this house."

"Aegon," she warned with a sigh.

He moved to step around her and called back to you, "shall we?"

"Just a moment," Alicent continued, holding her index finger up to her son. Aegon sighed, his jaw was clenched. "I'd like to speak with Ms. Y/L/N alone for a moment."

Aegon swallowed and glanced down at you. His lips pursed as he nodded slowly, realizing he couldn't spare you from what was likely to be an uncomfortable encounter. "I'll be in the dining room, okay? It's just through those doors, there."

You nodded and he planted a short kiss on your cheek. Turning, you noticed Alicent standing at the base of the painting you had been admiring just moments ago. She didn't seem old enough to have four grown children, and for some reason, that unsettled you. Her red hair cascaded down her back as she gazed up at the painting, a tight but sad smile playing on her lips as you watched her.

"This painting is worth more than you'll make in a lifetime, you know," she stated coldly. "You should feel privileged to even look upon it." Your brows furrowed at her words. Before you could respond, she continued, "I understand that by you being here our family affairs are at risk of being publicized. Consider it a warning when I say that your career would also be at risk if you chose to do so."

You took a deep breath and resisted the urge to roll your eyes, steadying yourself before responding, "Your concerns are valid, Mrs. Hightower, but I'm here for Aegon not a story," her expression tightened as you held her gaze. The tension in the air lingered, but you stood your ground, refusing to be intimidated. "Now, if you'll excuse me."

You didn't breathe until you stepped through the dining room doors. Your eyes immediately found Aemond as you stepped into the room. His concentrated gaze shifted down your body slowly, taking in your appearance, and you could only hope that this navy blue dress was working for you in the way that you wanted; though, the approval was evident in his stare and in the faintest smirk on his lips.

When you finally looked at Aegon, his face was undoubtedly apologetic. He offered a small smile as he poured you a glass of wine and gestured it towards you. "She didn't say anything particularly cruel, did she?"

"Nah," you replied with sarcasm and sipped from the wine glass he handed you. "She only threatened my career."

"She's harmless," Aemond interjected.

"Harmless isn't a word I would use to describe our mother," a girl you could only presume was their sister, Helaena, added as she reached her hand out to you. "I'm Helaena, by the way, it's nice to meet you."

"Shit, sorry," Aegon cleared his throat. "Y/N, this is Helaena."

You chuckled at his late attempt to introduce you to his sister and shook her hand, "it's nice to meet you, too! I've heard a lot about you."

"And I've heard absolutely nothing about you," she gave Aegon a look before glancing back at you. "No offense."

"None taken," you smiled, brushing her comment off.

"Forgive me for wanting to keep my relationship away from this poisonous family," Aegon argued as he slumped down in his chair.

The door to the dining room opened and Otto Hightower stepped over the threshold. Aegon sighed loudly, slumping even further in his chair upon seeing his grandfather. You had never met him, but you had watched him in countless interviews. He took his role as Chief Operating Officer very seriously and you respected him as a businessman. However, you despised him for the chokehold that he had on your boyfriend; for the fact that he was singlehandedly responsible for ruining so many moments over the last two or so years, including one this morning.

It was strange to watch the way this family interacted as an outsider.

Aegon was visibly displeased to see his grandfather, and yet Helaena jumped out of her seat to give the old man a tight hug before showing him a video on her phone; her smile was bright as the two of them laughed together. Then, your eyes flitted over to Aemond whom was seemingly unfazed by his grandfather's presence; sitting calm and collected at the head of the table, his blue gaze caught your stare and his lips turned up slightly before you averted your eyes back to Aegon who was actively trying to drown himself in wine.

When Alicent entered the room, the mood shifted once again. She silently took her seat next to her father and signaled for the waitstaff to begin bringing in the food before she unfolded a napkin across her lap. Otto leaned to whisper something in her ear, to which she shook her head in response.

"Are we not waiting for father?" Aegon asked, his eyes slightly narrowed at his mother.

"Your father is in no condition to join us," Alicent's tone was sharp as she looked directly at you.

It was then that you realized Viserys Targaryen wouldn't be joining his family simply because you were there. They had done an excellent job at keeping the specifics of his health condition private and it was clear that they wouldn't be taking any chances. The look Alicent gave you from across the table was enough to make you feel small; you could see in her eyes the blame she placed upon you, as if it was your fault why her husband wouldn't be joining the rest of the family. Aegon reached his hand under the table and squeezed your thigh gently and you looked up at him.

You could tell that he now regretted his decision to invite you.

The first course had been served; the sound of forks and knives scraping porcelain plates echoed through the otherwise silent dining room. At one point you had mentioned that the food was delicious, but your comment seemed to fall upon deaf ears. When the waitstaff arrived to collect the plates and bring out the second course, you thanked them, but were only met with tight-lipped smiles.

You hated every moment you spent sitting at this table. You hated the antique furnishings, the polished candelabras, the wallpaper, the fact that the china you were eating off of probably cost more than a year's salary. You wondered if it had been like this for all of Aegon's life or if there was ever a flicker of normalcy. Suddenly, you wanted nothing more than to call your parents and thank them for the childhood you had so obviously taken for granted.

Aegon finished what was his third glass of wine, and before he could even set the glass down, a butler was on the way with the rest of the bottle for a refill. You wanted to say something, but were terrified of drawing attention to yourself, so you settle for looking at him; hoping to convey your concerns silently.

It was Helaena who broke the silence as the second course was served. Her voice was soft and hesitant, but at least she was trying.

"So, Y/N, how long have you and Aegon been together?" She asked you with small smile. Unlike her mother, Helaena exuded sincerity; she seemed to actually care to get to know you.

"We'll be celebrating our four year anniversary next week," you smiled, but it immediately disappeared when you looked at Aegon; his boozy gaze remaining downcast on the table in front of him.

When the words left your lips, you heard Alicent chuckle. Both you and Aegon, and everyone else at the table looked over to her. She laughed again, covering her mouth with her hand this time, "I'm sorry, four years?"

"Why is that funny?" Aegon asked, his jaw clenched.

"It's just that- before tonight- I don't think anyone here knew you even existed," she laughed again, digging her metaphorical knife into your side just that much more.

"We shouldn't have come," Aegon said as he pushed his untouched dinner away from him. He stood up and grabbed your hand, "we're leaving."

Before you could respond, the dining room door opened and your eyes widened as Viserys Targaryen struggled into the room with a walking cane. Behind him, a nurse followed closely with a wheelchair. Alicent immediately rushed to his side, allowing him to hold onto her for support.

"Aemma, where is Rhaenyra?" He looked around the room, almost panicked, before his eyes fell upon his daughter, "Rhaenyra?"

"It's Helaena, Dad," she frowned, unable to meet her father's gaze.

"This is supposed to be a family dinner, was it not?" He asked, his strained voice becoming louder with each word. "Where is my daughter? Where is Rhaenyra? I- I need Rhaen- I need to tell her-"

"My dear," Alicent spoke softly as she tried to reassure her husband, motioning for the nurse to pull the wheelchair up behind him so that he could sit and rest. "Rhaenyra couldn't make it, she apologizes, she and Daemon will come to visit soon."

She turned towards the table and excused herself before she helped a tired Viserys back out of the dining room and down the hall.

"Let's get out of here," Aegon muttered to you.

"No," Otto interjected as he continued to eat; completely unfazed by anything that had just happened. Aegon groaned, knowing what was coming. "We need to discuss the Stark account, the board meets tomorrow and there are still details we must go over."

"We can discuss this in the morning," Aegon answered pointedly.

"The board meets in the morning," Otto argued. "There's no time. I advised you of this earlier that we would need to finalize it tonight. I am sure your guest won't mind waiting."

Otto looked at you and smiled curtly. You glanced up at Aegon, his expression regretful, and nodded at him to let him know you'd be okay. He promised he wouldn't be long, but you knew better. It didn't take but a few moments after they had left before Helaena also excused herself, leaving you and Aemond alone at the table, as the kitchen staff began cleaning around the two of you.

A breath that you weren't even aware that you had been holding blew through your lips and you could hear Aemond chuckle softly.

"First time?" He asked and you almost laughed out loud.

"What gave me away?" You asked with a smirk as you took a sip of your wine. "Is it always like this?"

He tilted his head to the side, back and forth, a few times before he answered, "We have a tendency to be a bit intense."

"A bit," you snickered as you placed your wine glass back on the table.

"Would you like to take a walk?" He asked. You looked at him for a moment before checking over your shoulder for any sign of Aegon returning. "They'll most likely be a while."

"You're probably right," you answered. "Some fresh air does sound good."

Aemond helped you into your coat and scarf and guided you out to the back terrace. The frigid, early February air bit mercilessly at your cheeks, but the sight of the full moon reflecting off of the water was worth the potential frostbite. You walked through a small garden, past empty concrete fountains, as he led you down to the water.

He held out his hand to you as he stepped out onto the floating dock; it shifted beneath the weight of him, but he stood steady, waiting for you to take a step further and join him. You took his hand and followed, trying to ignore the warmth that gathered in your chest at the feeling of his touch. He didn't let you go until you had reached the end of the dock and could hold onto the railing for support; leaning against it, you cross your arms over your chest and look out across the Sound. It was quiet, save for the lapping of the water against the rocks and the faint rhythm of Aemond's breathing.

"Thank you," you say softly, the warmth of your words swirling around you in the cold air.

Aemond turns his back to the water and leans against the railing. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small, silver flask, taking a sip and making a face before holding it out to you, "what for?"

"For the distraction," you take the flask, fingertips brushing against his as you did so. It's whiskey, and you cough at the taste, but it warms your cheeks.

"What are friends for?" He asks with a soft smile. "I've been meaning to ask, did he ever say where he was Friday night?"

"I didn't ask," you admit. "He never brought it up."

"Hm," he hummed. "My brother is an idiot, but I would hope he wouldn't be foolish enough to-" He trails off, catching your eyes from the side before averting his gaze back out at the water. "Nevermind."

"Foolish enough to what?" You ask, already knowing the answer, to which Aemond only sighs in response. "You think he could be cheating on me."

"I'm only saying that he doesn't have a great track record," he turns to face you. "He's been known to be a bit thoughtless in the past."

You only nod your head as a silence falls between the two of you.

Thoughtless wasn't a word that you would have ever used to describe Aegon- not at first, not about you. People do change, and both you and Aegon had certainly changed in the last four years.

It would explain a lot and it would make things easier if he were cheating on you, however. You'd have a reason, an out, and you wouldn't have to worry about the guilt that came with breaking his heart just because you wanted more effort than what he was willing to give you. Though, it did hurt to think that he might have been putting in that effort with someone else.

In the distance you heard the faint sound of laughter and turned to see Aegon and Helaena sharing a hug and saying goodbye. You looked up at Aemond and gave him a sad smile, knowing that the evening was coming to an end. You weren't sure when you would see him again, but you already hoped that it would be sooner than later.

"In the case that no one has told you," he mentioned quietly, his elbow softly nudging you as you both walked back towards the house. "You look incredible tonight."

"You're just trying to make me feel better," you laughed.

"Maybe," he smirked. "Doesn't make it any less true."

"Don't forget about my art show," Helaena reminded Aegon one last time as you and Aemond joined them. "I know you are the worst when it comes to remembering things, but it would mean a lot to me if you were there. Y/N, I hope to see you there, as well!"

"Wouldn't miss it," you reply with a smile.

"I won't forget," Aegon groans sarcastically as he gives his sister one last hug before turning his attention to his brother.

They step off to the side and you turn back to Helaena.

"Sorry about dinner," she adds. "I promise some of us actually know how to have a good time."

"I believe it," you laugh. "I am dating your brother."

"Yeah, and he's typically the fun one," she smiled back. "You guys seem good for each other, though. I'm glad he finally found someone to be serious about."

You nod your head as you look over at Aegon; he's laughing with his brother as he takes a swig from Aemond's flask. You were happy to see that he was much more relaxed than he had been earlier, something his siblings seemed to bring out of him. He caught your stare and gave you a goofy smile before mentioning something to Aemond who then looked over at you.

The feelings you felt towards your boyfriend, and the feelings you tried your hardest not to feel for his brother were fighting a civil war inside of you. You hoped that it wasn't obvious that you were being ripped apart from the inside out, because if it was, you were in trouble.

But as you stood there, looking at the both of them, you knew you were in trouble no matter what.

Tag List:

@tssf-imagines, @gothicwidowsworld, @possiblyafangirl, @namelesslosers, @toodlesxcuddles, @hiraethrhapsody, @heavenly1927, @chainsawsangel, @ammo23, @hanula18, @5moremin @wintrr13, @witches-of-discovery-a, @arcielee, @excusemebiatch

There are a couple people on the tag list that it won't let me tag for some reason. If you are interested in being tagged, let me know, and if you no longer want to be tagged that is also cool! Just let me know!

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