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house-strong · 2 years ago

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— DRAGONS BANE, chapter six ʾ ⋆

CHAPTER SIX – old quarrels not forgotten

index ; chapter one. chapter two. chapter three. chapter four. chapter five. chapter six. chapter seven. chapter eight. chapter nine.

summary ; newfound feelings are uncovered but the past remains a constant reminder to aemond. rhaenyra targaryen and her family return to court to discuss the succession of driftmark, should corlys velaryon pass. king viserys makes his last plea for his family to settle their differences and become just that; a family. truths and long-held grudges come out to play, and feelings are hurt.

pairings ; aemond targaryen x reader, slight!jacaerys velaryon x reader

notes / warnings ; rhaena and luke are still betrothed, but jace and baela aren’t. mentions of vaemond’s beheading, general plot line of ‘lord of the tides’ from hotd. arguing, words said out of anger, punches thrown. canon divergence: viserys doesn’t die in this chapter.

taglist ; @gloryekaterina @andysnewgroove @mitsuyaws @vikingsisthenewsexy @signyvenetia @tina-theslytherin @thegreat-annamaria @sana-within-you @averageperhaps @ephemeralninon @sanguinalia @merakiaes @fancylisoo @miaowchan17 @thesnugglingduck @mistalli @rosedovve @itisjustwhatitis @fandoms8 @lizajane2 @sunscreenfeverdream @witchymermaid12 @marytvirgin @s0ph-3 @starddustt @redridingpants @aaleksmorozova @riddlerloveb0t @bcon24 @queenofshinigamis @myspy @ilovepornstaches-69 @woodandwaxwings @muddleofnervouswords @kittykat5742 @moonstruckbucky @tomshollandz @myspotofcraziness @jenoix @bluecatton @ashloonie @zanmorgan @preciouslosers @kirithewitch @m00n5t0ne-blog @heykathchuu @fulviaflaccaisbae @anapnovo-blog @matilda97 @nighttwingg

after the heartfelt experience you shared with aemond, you two seemed to be avoiding each other like the plague. whether it was intentional or not, one thing was for certain; you were starting to miss the one-eyed prince and his occasional, discontent hum of vocality.

it was weird, without a doubt, to be wanting the company of someone who had oftentimes made you the recipient end of a jest. the memory still replays in your mind, vibrant and fresh like it was just yesterday you experienced it. this aemond was gentle and kind, drastically different from the stoic nature he bore and sneers that often left his lips.

it was nice though, nice to see the weight of being the second son of the king be lifted off his shoulders – like it was a burden too heavy to carry by himself.

you’re running a brush through your hair, detangling the clumps that stuck together, when a knock pushes away your empty thoughts. you noted that you wouldn’t try sleeping with a bun and wet hair again.

you grumble quietly to yourself, rising from your seat with your comb in hand, sauntering to the door. you slug it open and your eyes are met with a blue one.

your mouth is slightly slack; how convenient, “aemond.”

“little flower,” he greets, as if he hasn’t spent the past days ignoring your existence. you look down; he’s carrying something in his hand, wrapped with cloth that you assume is keeping its moisture. he moves past you, the breeze that follows carrying a scent that almost makes you sigh at its smell; faint pepper and wood – it’s pleasant and undeniably aemond. you almost object to him coming in, but it’s already too late.

once he’s in the safety of your room and you had closed the door behind him, he turns around, holding the wrapped item up to you as if it were a prize.

“what’s this?” you ask, moving closer. aemond’s fingers deftly uncover the item and reveals it with a little flourish that’s almost boyish; a peach cake. your lips curve into a smile and you look at him through your lashes, a short laugh of disbelief escaping you, “it’s too early for cakes, aemond. what’s it for?”

the outline of his shoulders move into a slight shrug, almost dejected, and he rewraps the cake, “a peace offering.”

“for?” you inquire deeper, watching him place the now covered peach cake on to a nearby table. you watch as he takes a gander about the room, eyeing each and every valuable that adorns the walls and shelves. he hums in content, almost happy that it’s decorated this way.

“no reason.” his hand reaches for a stone figurine, pulling it closer to his vision. a small smile creeps upon his mouth as he realizes what it is; a dragon with wings outstretched. he turns it, admiring the craftsmanship. then, he puts it back.

you assume the gift was some sort of wordless apology for his extended absence.

you eye the abandoned cake, silently cursing yourself when you move forward and grab it. your father would be far from happy if he found out this is how you broke your fast. you tear small, bite sized pieces off, wiping your index and thumb on the cloth to rid of the crumbs.

“what brings the pleasure of your presence, aemond?” you ask once your mouth is cleared. he turns to you as if his trance was broken, eyeing you carefully.

he licks his teeth, unsure and uncertain, “i don’t know.”

the response brings astonishment and confusion; he came here for.. nothing? how quaint.

he knows deep down why he came to your room. ever since he took you on your adventure through the streets of kings landing, there was confusion burrowing it’s way deep underneath his skin. he didn’t enjoy the way he was bare before you, confessing the fate of his eye, but he did enjoy the opulence you brought. the absence of disgust was something he enjoyed; he didn’t feel like a mangled, pitiful boy anymore, but a man who could bear his misfortune without fear or repercussion. he assumed that this was some cruel longing designed by the gods, the desire to be around you and feel your comfort wrap around him like the tentacles of a squid to its prey.

his feet carry him closer to you, the gap quickly dissipating with each long stride of his. he’s close now, dangerously so, his breath fanning your face and mixing with yours. the same feeling from the nightly adventure came, strong and burning with a fire that wasn’t going to be put out.

this aemond was definitely not the same as the first time you met him.

“did you truly mean it?” he asks, voice low and reverberating. it’s enough to take your breath and send a dangerous tickle to your stomach. “did you mean it, when you said you thought i could be good?”

ah, that is why he came.

you nod your head, hands finding his arms to gently hold them, “i know you can be. i meant every word.”

his eye is searching yours, searching for any signs of malice or pretend – he so desperately wants this to be real, to be set in stone that he isn’t a man set on the brutalizing path of vengeance; that he can be something other than the boy who lost his eye.

he licks his lips, eye slowly trailing down to your own. he sucks on his bottom lip and gnaws at it with uncertainty. he doesn’t like this; the way his stomach bubbles with nervousness. he’s usually strong-willed and knowing of his next move, but this, this is something he’s unsure about. he’s only ever read it in books – poetry books, matter of fact.

but this was real and not some short tale depicted in a rhythmic sequence.

feeling his conflict, you slowly creep forward to make his decision for him. it’s one that comes easily to your mind; it wouldn’t hurt, would it? your eyes flutter shut as you place a soft kiss on his lips. it’s less than a kiss actually, just your lips touching his own, unmoving ones. you’re almost self conscious at this point, but then, it’s as if something within him awakens and nudges him into action.

he releases an exhale through his nose and relaxes into your touch, one of his hands moving to fit the shape of your body. the other finds your face and cups your jaw, his long fingers cradling your head. his thumb gently strokes your cheekbone and that’s when his mouth moves against yours.

he’s less stiff now, his lips moving against your own in a slow, easy to follow rhythm; his top lip is more dominate, his bottom one supporting. it’s slow at first, lips testing the waters. it slowly morphs into something more, more passionate and wanting. his lips are increasingly rough, driven by the passion that slowly starts to build. he’s pulling you closer, hands starting to become greedy and unbecoming of a prince.

he reckons he likes this; the innocent desire to be wanted. to be wanted as he wanted, and to kiss the way he wanted. this was drastically different than the night he spent in a brothel with his brother, there, they didn’t kiss, they just —

you’re the first to pull apart, inhaling sharply to quell the dull ache that’s beginning to stir in your lungs. aemond mindlessly follows you, eye closed and lips still puckered, waiting for contact. his eye flits open and he draws in a breath. you’re both staring at each other, faces flushed and lips swollen.

“i– ” he breathes, hands dropping to his sides at realization of what had just happened. he pulls at his clothes and feels himself grow hot with every second.

you smile, a soft laugh of disbelief spewing from your lips. there’s a softness to aemond’s face; one that is unusual and gives him a boyish glow.

there’s a knock at the door that forces you two apart; aemond is practically leaping to the other side of the room whilst you take a few steps away. you watch as the former expression melts away, his stoic nature once again appearing.

you clear your throat, “come in!”

the door swings open and the appearance of a kingsguard takes up the frame. he enters and behind him, the queen alicent walks into the room. her brows shoot in at the sight of you and aemond in the room, though she makes no audible comment.

“lady tyrell,” she sings within a breath, eyes observing the distance between you and aemond, “would you be willing to accompany me on a walk?”

your head turns to aemond. he gives you a look, but turns away towards the door. he mutters a quiet ‘mother’ and abandons you with the queen. great.

“of course, your grace.”

without another word, you and the queen exit your room, accompanied by the silent kingsguard. you two begin to walk, without exchanged words, and seemingly, without a destination. your hands are joined behind your back and queen alicent’s are in front of her, neatly folded.

your mind is whirling with thoughts, thoughts about aemond and the kiss that was shared. your lips are still tingling, almost puckering at the thought of him. what did this mean? was it just a kiss because of the moment? did he like it – did he want more?

questions are flooding your mind, clouding your vision on where queen alicent is taking you. you two pass the apartments, the open roofed courtyard, then the godswood until words are spoken by queen alicent.

“princess rhaenyra is in kings landing.” her words are matter of fact. you blink away the troubles of your mind, turning your head to glance at her.

“is that so?”

“along with her family and her consort, prince daemon.”

your brows shoot up in mock interest, humming along as if it was condescending to the notion of princess rhaenyra and her family. with the time you were spending so close to queen alicent, you were noting of her interests and dislikes, and one of them, was a keen disinterest in princess rhaenyra. you’ve learned to play it by ear, often agreeing her with things you normally wouldn’t agree about.

the way she spoke her was as if she was a spurned lover, mourning over the lost of her dear beloved, then unburdening herself with pain at each and every jab spoken about the princess. it was somewhat poetic, you thought.

“she’s coming on the notion that her son, lucerys, must inherit driftmark. vaemond velaryon, wants to see an end to the inheritance,” she continues. why was she telling you this? was this her way of parading the princess rhaenyra’s family in your face – as a way to tell you that they weren’t coming for your rescue? “the crown is going to back vaemond velaryons claim.”

it’s almost as if the sentence was supposed to be a test, for she gives you a side eye look that you could see from your peripheral.

maintaining your composure, you turn to her, “a wise decision.”

you two continue to walk. her arm slips into yours, linking your arms together. you look down at the conjuction, raising your head to smile at the queen.

“there’s also another matter, my dear.” she says, her other hand moving to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. to her dismay, it doesn’t stay. “you’re going to join our feast, as a guest of honor.”

your brows shoot up and your eyes widen. you open your mouth to protest, but the queen shushes you gently.

she shakes her head, waving her other hand in dismissal, “don’t fret, little one. you will be perfect, i assure you.”

“you honor me, your grace.” words finally come out of your gaping mouth and she smiles. she unlinks her arm from yours, moving to stand in front of you rather than beside you. you both stop walking.

“run along and get dressed – don’t forget helaena!”

you curtsy at the leave and nod your head in response to her words. you excuse yourself, moving past the kingsguard. your feet carry you back to your room, steps quick and light. you smile at the lords and ladies you pass, hands bunching up the ends of your dress to allow more room to move.

you soon reach your room and stop in your tracks once you enter. steps away is the same spot you and aemond had just kissed. it feels like it happened forever ago and it’s faint within your memory. you sigh, smiling at the abandoned wrapper of the peach cake you were eating – the peach cake he brought.

you move towards your wardrobe, rummaging through the dresses that were hung. your thoughts wander to rhaenyra and her family. if what queen alicent had said was true, then that means jacaerys would be among the members of her family that would be at court during the hearing.

you smile to yourself once more, sucking on your bottom lip.

once the dress you picked out is chosen, your hands fly to the strings of your dress. you pick at them, doing your best to loosen each strand so you could shed the layer. you shrug the fabric off, chemise slightly loose against your skin. you pull your chosen dress out, pulling it on. you tie the strings as best as you can, adjusting yourself so the dress fits just a bit better.

looking in the mirror, you fix the flyaways and try to tame the wildness that appears after your dress change.

when you’re finished with that, you smooth out the fabric and pick out new shoes and jewelry.

you walk out of your room and make the journey to princess helaena’s room. once you reach it, you are met with a kingsguard who eyes you curiously. you tip your head, giving him a small smile in which he returns. he turns, knocking on the door then announcing your arrival.

he opens the door once helaena wishes it and allows you to walk past him. you enter the room, your smile widening at the sight of princess helaena. she’s lovely in her golden gown, with hair strung up and out of her face in an intricate manner that you’re sure you want to copy sometime later. you curtsy then approach, kissing her on the cheek.

“helaena, you look lovely.”

she blushes, shaking her head, “thank you, my friend. you look as beautiful yourself.”

you wave away her compliment, reaching for her hand. you exchange pleasantries, talking about your mornings and the events you were up to. you lead her out of her room, escorted by the kingsguard to the throne room.

in the throne room, there’s rows of lords and ladies chatting with one another. some members of the royal family, queen alicent, ser otto, and aemond are standing the nearest to the throne. you lead helaena towards her family, smiling at her and staying silent while her grandsire acknowledges her. you settle between them and aemond, casting him a side eye glance which he returns.

the doors open once more and the crowd stands at attention to the arrival of princess rhaenyra and her family. prince daemon is by her side, with jacaerys and lucerys trailing after them, the former with his head held high and chin jutted out. the other looks unsure, as if he wants to sink into the floor and never come out. you watch as jacaerys surveys the room, his eyes locking with yours.

he dips his head at you, a smile parting his lips. you do the same in return, maintaining eye contact while his family settles on the other side. it’s broken when you hear the whisper of alicent beside you.

“where is your brother?”

you look in your peripheral, brow raising slightly as aemond shrugs carelessly.

“i don’t have the faintest clue.”

queen alicent huffs and it’s as if the gods willed it, for aegon struts in from one of the side doors. he settles on the other side of aegon and there’s a distinct, perfumed smell that follows him. you wrinkle your nose at the scent that wafts over.

the crowd quiets down as ser otto moves toward the throne. he greets them and announces the reasoning for their gathering: to settle the line of succession for driftmark. your mind wanders as they begin to converse.

you didn’t particularly care to listen in; by lawful rights, driftmark was to pass to lucerys velaryon.

it’s vaemond’s turn to speak, his voice demanding reason and clarity. he makes jabs at the parentage of princess rhaenyra’s children by ser laenor, his words laced with discontent. they battle with words, and soon, it’s rhaenyra’s turn to defend her son.

her words are short lived, for the arrival of the king interrupts the hearing.

“king viserys of house targaryen, first of his name, king of the andals, the rhoynar, and the first men, lord of the seven kingdoms and protector of the realm.”

his name is announced by the voice of ser erryk and all turn their heads to face their king. one by one, each row bows their head as their king passes, his steps slow and heavy. ser otto arises from the throne, taking steps down so that king viserys may sit.

the room is hushed as king viserys is aided by his brother, prince daemon, and the hearing proceeds as normal. king viserys notes that he thought the succession was settled years ago.

vaemond and rhaenyra continue to battle, word for word. worse comes to worse, and rhaenyra is renounced as a whore.

gasps fill the room and one leaves you as well. vaemond is continuing to levy insults to the princess, then his words are cut short by the pronounced slice of his head. the cut is true and vaemond’s head leaves his body with a sickening squelch.

your eyes widen in horror and you turn, screwing your eyes shut as aemond’s body next to you, moves in front. he’s holding his arm out in front of you and helaena, observing the body with his mouth hung open in almost astonishment.

“he can keep his tongue.”

“disarm him!”

“no need.”

your eyes peek open as lucerys is reaffirmed as the successor of driftmark. queen alicent, beside you, scoffs. aemond turns around, his arms corralling you and helaena away from the body. blood is pooling around vaemond and you can’t help but feel sick to the stomach.

“don’t look,” he whispers, gently pushing you away from the scene. a plethora of feelings mingle in your stomach, pushing you towards queasiness and nausea.

together, you, helaena, and aemond leave the throne room, the beheading of vaemond velaryon left behind. aemond escorts you and helaena to a nearby, private room to catch your bearings. helaena is obviously distraught and aemond is doing his best to quell her anxiety. you exhale slowly, raising a hand to rub at your temple; the events of today were starting to blur together.

“and yet, we still have to stomach a feast,” you grumble, shooting a look to the prince and princess. aemond scoffs, shaking his head and rubbing helaena’s shoulder.

“do they all sound like that?” helaena’s voice is weak, rattled by the events that just taken place. aemond frowns, nodding his head.

“‘fraid so, sweet sister,” he soothes. “best not to think of it.”

helaena nods her head at her brothers words, her hand coming to rest upon her forehead. she sighs and moves to sit down on a sofa nearby. you join her, your hand finding her free one and giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“at least we can celebrate that your nephew hasn’t been undermined, right, aemond?” you say, your words directed towards helaena. you shoot aemond a look. you don’t like the way his face has twisted into a grimace at your words, but when helaena peeks up at him, he nods his head and the expression melts away.

there’s some time that passes before the three of you are collected by a kingsguard. he escorts you to a dining hall, where there’s a great table surrounded by chairs on even sides. there’s silverware and platters parallel to each chair.

it seems as if it’s on cue when everyone enters, slowly picking their place amongst the chairs. you’re unsure, but soon, there’s a chair in between helaena and aemond that’s empty. you move forward to take it and a servant helps you scoot in your chair when you take a seat.

you all settle, then arise at the presence of the king. he’s carried in by targaryen men on a portable chair. you grimace at his appearance; disheveled and clearly taken with sickness.

queen alicent leads the prayer and you bow your head in respect. king viserys begins his tribute to his family, imploring them to return affections and quell the hatred that was growing.

you take a look around the room once he starts talking, suddenly feeling out of place when the topic of family is brought up. beside you, aemond surprises you by settling his hand near yours. his pinky twitches closer to touch you and you swear it’s almost his way of including you into the fold. your heart flips and you bite back the smile that’s surely making itself known.

princess rhaenyra toasts queen alicent, and the latter remarks the princess that she would make a fine queen.

aegon, seated a chair away beside helaena, gets up and pours himself another cup of wine. he’s near baela, remarking how if she ever needed to know what satisfaction was, to ask him. together, you and baela make a face. jacaerys slams his hands on the table and stands right up, his jaw set.

beside you, aemond silently rises to his feet to meet his nephew. you turn your head to look, gaze flickering between the two. jacaerys and aemond stare at each other, unwavering and challenging. jace raises his cup instead and makes a toast towards his uncles, landing a delicate punch on aegons shoulder.

“to prince aegon and prince aemond, we have not seen each other in years, but i have fond memories of our shared youth. and as men, i hope we may yet be friends and allies. to you and your family’s health, dear uncles.”

“to you as well.”

everyone raises their cup to sip at the contents and both princes settle back in their seats. aemond is more hesitant and slow to the action, his stare hard on the eldest velaryon. aemond licks his teeth and sucks his cheeks in before he sits down, casting a side eye towards you.

helaena’s cryptic words follow, but it’s hushed and too quiet to hear over the ruckus of silverware clattering. the princess then toasts to baela and rhaena, remarking that they will be married soon. scattered laughs arise at the end of her toast, causing the princess to bashfully sit back down. you frown at the end, gently toying your silverware.

“let us have some music.”

the feast begins and the table is ignited by family members speaking to each other, a song playing to even out the sound in the room. you and aemond, side by side, are silent and onlooking to the other members of the table. your eyes find jacaerys, who is already looking at you. you smile and raise the cup of wine in front of you, and he does the same.

he moves to get up, excusing himself from his side of the family before making his way to you and helaena. he reaches for both your hands and you laugh.

“are you sure you can handle both of us, my prince?” you ask, taking his hand and rising from your seat. he gives you a toothy grin before pulling you and helaena towards the empty space that he would use as a dance floor.

“i’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, my lady.”

aemond and aegon give each other a look, the hardness settling in both their jaws. aemond watches as you, helaena, and jace dance, somehow making the triage look more graceful than it should’ve been. the three of you are laughing and exchanging words that he can’t hear. aemond picks up his knife, twirling it in his grasp before using his other hand to sip at his wine.

“you drink like a braavosi seahorse, aegon.” aemond comments quietly, eyeing his brother as he had finished his fourth cup since the dinner started.

aegon rolls his eyes, waving off aemond’s comment, “you drink too little, brother.”

“i drink enough,” aemond retorts. he licks his lips, leaning in closer to aegon with a scowl on his face, “even with the noose tied so tight, they expect us to break bread.”

aegon murmurs in agreement.

the king is riddled with sickness and then escorted out of the room by the guards. everyone arises and the three of you stop dancing out of respect. your laughter dies down, soft gasps of air heaving in your chest. there’s a platter of smoked pig that enters the room and you follow mindlessly, your appetite beginning to growl with life at the mere smell. if it tastes as it smells, then it would be delicious.

jace reaches out for your hand, stopping you in your tracks. you turn around and look at him.

“my lady, hopefully our family’s come to an agreement and we are betrothed. it’s something i would like, very much, if you would.” his tone is sincere, his hand warm despite the clothing that served as a barrier. you smile at him and nod your head; he then releases you from his hold.

you return to the table, smoothing out your dress and moving it so you could sit.

stifled laughter comes from across the table draws your attention and you locate the source: lucerys velaryon. you watch aemond give him a look, the edges of his mouth turning downward and his brow furrowing into anger.

“aemond,” you whisper, already sensing the incoming retaliation that was surely beginning to arise. the snicker, the sly comment from jacaerys about betrothal paired with his toast – it was all becoming too much for aemond. it was disrespectful and tasteless.

despite the quiet plea that danced off your tongue, aemond’s fist plummets into the table. the music cuts off and the sound of silverware rattling fills the silence. aemond rises to his feet and grabs his cup in one fluid motion.

“final tribute,” aemond says, shrugging off the touch that you placed on his arm. “to the health of my nephews: jace, luke, and joffrey. each of them handsome, wise..”

his words trail off, as if he’s envisioning the chaos that would no doubt follow, “strong.”

“aemond–”

“come,” aemond interrupts; everyone at the table casts each other uneasy stares. jace is squared, facing aemond with a twisted expression, and luke is watching with his brows knitted together. “let us drain our cups to these three, strong boys.”

“i dare you to say that again.” you turn your head to see jace, defiantly raising his head to aemond.

aemond puts his arm around you to move you out of his way, “why? ‘twas only a compliment. do you not think yourself strong?”

the gap between them rapidly closes as they approach each other and jace’s enclosed hand flies to aemond’s jaw. aemond’s face sharply turns at the contact and luke rises from his seat to try and take aegon, who was going to aemond’s rescue. aegon, instead, slams little luke’s head into the table. the younger, smaller boy struggles against aegon’s hold.

“jace!”

you take a step back as aemond faces jace, using one arm to push his nephew. whether it’s from aemond’s strength or jace’s poor footing, the latter falls to the ground. with an angry growl, jace gets up but is intervened by a targaryen guard.

despite the severity of what he caused, aemond laughs and turns back toward the table – it’s devoid of true happiness, like he’s laughing just to laugh. he locks eyes with you, but he’s intercepted by alicent, who tries to pull him aside. you can still hear her question him.

“i was merely expressing how proud i am of my family mother, hm,” he turns his attention back to his nephews and pulls his arm sharply out of his mothers grasp, “though it seems my nephews aren’t quite as proud of theirs.”

prince daemon stops the assault jacaerys was about to put on aemond and instead, stands in front of his family. you scoff audibly, pushing your chair in with disappointment before escaping the escalated tension of the room. before aemond can react to daemon, he hums in disapproval then saunters after you with slow steps.

you’re only able to get down the hallway and round one corner before you hear your name being shouted by aemond. you shake your head and ignore his cries. his steps turn into a jog and he grabs your hand, turning you to face him.

“are you so hellbent on depriving the happiness of everyone around you?” you question, brows furrowing as you snatch your arm out of his hold. there’s a fire in your eye, one that he had not seen in some time – not since the day he told you that he wouldn’t be friends with you. look at you two now; quarreling like lovers.

his own brows knit together and he shifts his weight on his feet. he was unapologetic; they needed to be reminded of their place, just as luke callously reminded himself of his former treatment.

aemond scoffs, “you expect me to silently break bread while they parade my darkest memories in front of me? while they laugh at the ruin they caused?”

“they are your family.”

“they’re bastards,” he snarls with a newfound hatred. his eye is a dark blue; wide, wild, and clouded with vexation, “the bastards who stole my eye and made me who i am.”

some part of you wants to understand, to reach out and soothe the burden of desolation he carried, but the cruel callousness was something too much for you. it was too hateful and spiteful; it almost scared you to see it on aemond.

you shake your head in denial, taking a step back, “this isn’t who you are, aemond. this isn’t the same aemond that took me to a festival, simply because it made me happy, or the same aemond that was in my room, hours ago.”

his jaw becomes hard, his fists clenching at his sides; the knuckles burn white hot on the skin. he feels like he’s at war with himself; at war between two aemond’s that are fighting for control. one is forever bitter and grows with resentment, and the other is the same boy he was before his eye was taken out – the boy who wants to find clarity and peace. he wants desperately to be rid of this pain, but he felt like one couldn’t exist without the other.

“this is who i am.”

his words are spat like poison, dripping from his fangs as if he were a snake levying it’s primal defense against you. you’re upset; bordering heartbreak as the feelings, the memories you’ve created with him are turned to ash, turning the buds of your mouth sour.

was it all a lie? some little game he fabricated to pass the time?

you are staring at him, defiant yet saddened by his choice of words. his beady eye finally blinks at you, his stare still cold to the feeling.

you scoff and turn on your heel to leave him in the hallway.

despite your best thoughts, what were you really expecting? some happy ending, spurned friends turned romantic lovers? did you think he would easily forget the torment he suffered?

whatever it was, it was disappointing to see and hear the truth.

aemond targaryen would not change his hatefulness, not even for the pretty words you sang to him earlier. he liked them – without a doubt, but there was something that clung on to him, a wickedness he felt the need to feed.

he would not change, not now; not while the memory lives fresh in his mind.

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