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unicorncornflakes · 1 year ago

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Dark Desire - Modern AU! | Chapter 12

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Paring: Aemond Targaryen x Niece!Reader

Summary: Aemond doesn't know how he feels every time he sees you. Neither do you when you look at him. Your father Aegon has always been absent from your upbringing ever since he divorced your mother. That role has been filled by Aemond until last summer, when everything changed.

Tags: Alternate Universe – Modern/ Setting Emotional Hurt/ Comfort/ Drama & Romance/ Eventual Smut.

Warnings: This fic includes manipulation, violence, death, and inc3st, at some points. Reader has purple eyes and her mother is from Dayne House, the rest is complete free :D

Tag-List (If you wanna be tagged in thi series or all of my work, let me know): @thedamewithabook @afro-hispwriter @chainsawsangel @thetrueblackheart @atherverybest @itsabby15 @boundlessfantasy @partypoison00 @glame @tempo-rary-fix @tssf-imagines @aaaaaamond @imaloserbby @youngcomputerpuppy @aemondsfavouritebastard @cloudroomblog @queenofshinigamis @bluevxnus @wooya1224 @serving-targaryen-realness @darkenchantress @padfooteyes @mariannnavao @moonlightfoxx @jennifer0305 @ammo23 @iloveallmyboys @tempt-ress @bellameshipper @okfashionista @shelbyteller @dahlias-and-marigolds @the-knights-of-ne @bellaisasleep

Author´s note: Pls, enjoy! Feedback, shares and comments are always welcome!

Word Count: 5.7K

Acknowledgment: To @ammo23 for the brilliant corrections and the wonderull work as beta reader, for all the patience and the love that always shows to this story. I´m so grateful. Thank you so much :D

“I don't know what we can do. The drunken dragon always accepts our conditions. Always. That Stupid Aegon...” Gerolf Dayne, the oil magnate, the richest man in Starfall and the second richest man in Dorne, just behind the Martells, was smoking a cigar in that meeting room in King's Landing, at one of the most expensive and prestigious law firms in all of Westeros. “If now (Y/N) has stopped having her head on the clouds and wants to study a career, everything is fine with me. It was about time that she stopped those stupid dreams of wanting to be an artist," he took another puff, and Gerold, his eldest son, narrowed his violet eyes, annoyed.

"We have enough money, both us and the dragons, to do whatever she wants," your uncle said, getting up from the seat he occupied next to his father, who presided over the long table in the office. "Let her be what he wants to be; let her do what she wants."

"The only thing that worries me is that she has suddenly changed her mind. If she applied to Sunspear the same day, and then told me she didn't want to go, that she wanted to make a career here, I don't know. It worries me," your mother sighed, defeated, not understanding what was happening to you. You had always been firm in the things you wanted, in what you desired. And now all of them had gone to the capital for an emergency meeting so that they and their lawyers could talk about the conditions they would put in place in this new situation because that's how it had been all your life; conditions and more conditions imposed by the lawyers of one and the other, all imposed looking for what is supposedly best for you, but very rarely taking into account your own wishes. It had been like that all your life, and it would be like that until you finished college.

"It's normal for you to worry. It's your puppy." Gerolf smiled at his daughter; he had always had a soft spot for his little girl, even if she had disappointed him by marrying your father. His little girl had come home, leaving behind a lazy, terrible dragon. However, she had returned with a small setback for his father: You. You weren't a Dayne, you weren't a Targaryen… Did your grandfather love you? Sure, you were like your mother enough that he saw a little copy of his little girl, but he kept feeling like a failure. Had he brought up your mother so badly that she allowed herself to be tricked by your father? "But still, this meeting could have been settled with a fax machine: 'We don't accept dragon terms.' That's all I would have told them."

"I need to see her, Dad. I didn't feel like things were going well the last time I talked to her," your mother emphasized again. Your mother had only received a call from you, in which you had told her that you wanted to stay there, that you were fine, but even so, she had not been convinced. Something was up, and all her alarms had gone off when you told her you would be living at your father's house while studying at the university. That was not something your mother would condone under any circumstances.

"Besides, we have to talk about the question of changing her last name." Your uncle Gerold sat down next to his father, right in front of your mother, after looking out the window. “Before she left, it was what she wanted.”

"What?" your mother asked, surprised, almost worried. Because deep down, she knew that it would kill Aegon. Because deep down, she was still worried about your father, maybe she wasn't in love, but she was still fond of him. "I don't understand you. She has never told me anything like that."

“Well, she and I talked about it several times last year. When she came of age, we discussess wapping Targaryen for Dayne, and we're done with all this crap," Gerold said with a shrug as if it was the most normal thing in the world. Your mother looked at her older brother as if he was telling her something she had never expected, and your grandfather smiled with pleasure.

"I think it's great. After all, the ones who have been in charge of raising her have been us, not the dragons," he answered happily, at least in that you were a Dayne, an authentic girl from Starfall.

“That would break her father,” your mother said, almost afraid to speak, and her father looked at her, raising an eyebrow questioningly.

“Well, Aegon might have thought the same thing when he fucked someone else while he was married to you. He could have thought about your heart…" he said it without any love, almost not believing what he was hearing from his daughter. It was terrible, too terrible. But, just as he was going to continue his speech, the meeting room door opened, and you appeared first, followed by Aemond, who seemed like a shadow of you. Your father followed him, and then Daeron appeared, who was chatting with the lawyer of your maternal family. Your mother was surprised to see you with a necklace of the heraldry of your paternal family, and Gerold smiled cheekily. So, in the end, the one-eyed dragon had fucked you, and that was his cheeky way of naming you as his own? Great.

"Mom", you ran into her arms, and your mother hugged you tight, not wanting to let go because she really didn't want to. She was just worried about you. She would never stop being, but all those changes were too much. Then you greeted your grandfather with a brief kiss. He responded with a loving smile, and again, you ran into Gerold's arms, who hugged you and simply whispered in your ear, "Are you finally flying dragons now?" He winked at you, then shook hands with Aemond, who had followed you across the room as the others greeted each other.

You blushed at his words while the others greeted each other. While Gerold and Aemond were talking, they had always been a good rapport between them even though Gerold called him an asshole behind Aemond’s back, you saw the scene that would mark the rest of your life. Your father reached out like a helpless puppy to your mother becauseif your mother was going to marry another man, your father would never get over it. He would always be in love with his Stargirl and would always live with the burden of knowing that he had destroyed the most beautiful thing he had. Your mother kissed him on the cheek, and Aegon smiled to himself; they exchanged a few more words that made your father smile, and your mother left him without looking back. She just sat in her seat while your father went to the other end of the table. This was what a love that could never be again felt like.

Although you were not physically present during those negotiations, they did involve topics that directly affected you. But this time your mother's family had demanded that you be present; after all, you were already of legal age, and what was said there would begin to mark your adult life.

"How about we sit down?" Your grandfather spoke with the deep voice that characterized him. "I would like to finish before lunchtime, " he said, and all the others sat at the table; at one end, the Targaryen’s; at the other, the Dayne’s. You went to sit next to Aemond when your maternal family's lawyer spoke. The best thing for everyone was that you sat in the middle of the table, without taking sides for any position and where you could not feel pressured by any of the parties. You looked at Aemond and saw his jaw clench, but he said nothing. You just sat in the middle of the table, almost as if you felt that the fight for you was just about to start and that you would always be the victim.

“I think you received our proposal. The one we sent out last night,” Daeron said, taking a seat between his brothers as your mother's lawyer did the same. Gregory Martell, one of the younger sons of Sunspear's owners and your mother's future brother-in-law, had always been devoted to your family's cause. After all, your custody and everything around it had fed his children for the last 17 years.

"Sure. Otherwise, we wouldn't be here," Gregory smiled and cleared his throat as he offered your uncle Gerold and your grandfather a copy of the proposal. Your mother almost seemed left out of the negotiations, but you could tell Daeron was doing the same. The only one with a copy of the conditions was Aemond, while Aegon stared at the ceiling and wiggled his leg in his seat. It seemed that your life had been directed entirely by your uncles and your grandfather as if your parents didn’t have a say.

"First, I'd like to talk to (Y/N) because we've gone from wanting to go to Sunspear to wanting to stay in King's Landing." Your Uncle Gerold put on his reading glasses, the kind he hated to wear in front of people who weren't his own family, but he still did it so as not to lose details of the new contract that your paternal family was trying to establish. "Why?" He looked at you seriously, expecting an argument bigger than the one he already knew. Now you were between Aemond's sheets,and he didn't care, but he needed a more convincing excuse than that. However, just before you spoke, Aemond cleared his throat.

"Why wouldn't she want to stay here? We are her family," he said feeling attacked, and Gerold smiled. Well, it was your boyfriend coming to your aid, but he needed to listen to you, not Aemond. "I think (Y/N) has reached a greater maturity this summer, where she has realized that she can have a bigger and brighter future if she stays at King's Landing College instead of going to Sunspear School of the Arts," Aemond said, almost relishing the stratagem he had concocted that bound you to his side. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye with a sad and indecisive grin, almost as if you felt that he had never liked the idea of what you wanted to do with your life. As if he felt completely in control now of your life as well. You looked at the table under the watchful eye of your Uncle Gerold.

"Okay," your maternal grandfather replied, taking another drag on his cigar. Gerold looked at his father with a frown, almost as if he felt that his father didn't realize what was wrong with you. "Sunspear always seemed stupid to me. A career here will always be much better than five years of studying the arts, which will lead to nothing." You looked at him incredulously, as if you had never expected that from people who loved you, but that meeting was not normal, and neither were the reasons that had led you to be there.

"I don't think Sunspear is stupid," your father spoke, breaking the silence, and your mother followed shortly after.

"Of course not. If that's what you want (Y/N), we're here to support you." Your mother followed your father in her argument, and for the first time,you wanted them to stay together as many things would have changed. Your uncle Gerold sighed, and you saw Aemond's jaw clench again, not daring to look at you. You wondered what was going through his head. "Honey, don't change that decision because others think it's not something with a future", your mother spoke with affection, and your father followed her.

"Exactly," Aegon replied, nodding, and Aemond continued without looking at you. You only saw how he avoided eye contact with you, almost as if he regretted having asked you to make such a selfish sacrifice and that it seemed to be for his only benefit.

"This summer, a lot has happened and... I want to stay in King's Landing," you said in a whisper. "I'll study history and philosophy at the university here and…" your uncle Gerold laughed sarcastically while your mother looked at you incredulously.

“(Y/N), you've never been good at philosophy. I mean, you passed it, but you never got good grades in it," your mother said almost desperately, not understanding what was happening to you. Your uncle looked at you incredulously, almost as if he didn't believe what he was hearing from you.

“Uncle Aemond will help me with the admission and…” you started saying, but Gerold cut you off quickly.

"Aemond, how much do you have to do with this change of heart?" He said it almost as if he was trying to protect you again, as if he didn't like it anymore that you were flying with dragons instead of staying with them. If Aemond was going to control you, Gerold was not going to. He wanted to see you happy, not at Aemond's side, like a nice possession to show off to others.

"It's the only college where I could get her admitted, taking into account that the deadlines are already closed", your uncle put forward as an excuse. He didn't want to admit that it was the career he wanted for you, the hidden dream he'd always had, that you'd follow in his footsteps, that you'd manage to finish the doctorate that he had to give up to take care of the family after his father's death. "It is a good career and a good institution."

"Gods, did we only come here because you managed to sweet-talk her, Aemond?" Your mother sighed almost desperately while your uncle Gerold raised his fingers to his eyes and scratched them hard, almost fed up with that encounter. You had never been in a meeting like that, but you already saw how they were, how they had always been. A continuous fight between two sides that would never reach an understanding. Aemond was about to speak when you lashed out again.

"No, Mom. Really, it's what I want to do," you sighed, defeated; you wanted to stay there, next to Aemond. You didn't want to lose him, you couldn't. You were just freaking out at that meeting. You felt your heartbeat anguished. Why did everyone put you in that situation? "Please, can we continue?" you asked, and everyone in that gathering looked at each other.

"Perhaps, it would be better if you wait outside", Aemond said, addressing you as if you two were alone. You looked the other way, seeing how your mother looked at you confused and your uncle Gerold angry.

"It's okay. I just want to get this over with," you declared tiredly. You hadn't slept all night, and Aemond looked at you desperately, almost as if he was beginning to realize how far he had come in his selfishness.

"At this point, Gregory, bring out the conditions," your grandfather Gerolf spoke again, giving an order to his lawyer. The Martell opened his case taking out a new paper and handing a copy to Daeron and another to Aemond. Your father moved closer so he could read the one he'd given Daeron. Aemond read silently and laid the page contemptuously on the table, slumping back into his seat, utterly jaded.

"Whose brilliant idea was this?" Aemond took out a cigarette and put it to his lips, lit it with his Zippo and puffed on it, exhaling uncharacteristically through his mouth, almost as if he were angry and confused all over again. You were already beginning to understand how he acted every time he felt attacked.

"Mine." Your mother spoke, not looking at Aemond. He could never bear her. Never. The one-eyed man had always been driven crazy by her and on issues that referred to you even more so.

"How not?" Aemond replied, sneering at your mother as if he were the smartest in the room because He felt sorry for the rest, but Aemond Targaryen was superior to any of them.

"Does it bother you that you have to pay for your studies in full or that (Y/N) doesn't stay to live in the mansion?" Gerold came to his sister's defense and spoke, looking at Aemond, holding his gaze, daring him to speak. But your uncle was always talking; he was never silent. Dragons couldn't afford to be.

"I don't mind paying, it bothers me that you want to separate her from us", Aemond reproached your maternal family for that part, angry and furious "It almost seems like what you've always wanted to do. Separate her from what she is: a Targaryen."

“No, what I want is for my daughter to start making her life. Away from anyone who cuts their wings, away from people who always forget her birthdays," your mother replied, remembering that hurt. Her words were so true, but at the same time, so painful that you just wanted to cry while everyone ignored you in the name of your wellbeing. They fought against themselves in a fierce battle in which there would only be one loser.

"I do not agree with this clause," Aemond repeated again, ignoring all your mother's words.

"Me neither", replied your father, offended for the first time with his ex-wife. "(Y/N) is not so bad at home" Your father pushed you into the jaws of the dragon and locked you up without knowing it, thinking that you would be happier that way. You spent all your day with Aemond, and he always saw you happy; why wouldn't you be happy living in his home? He did not understand where those conditions came from.

"Perhaps a good measure would be that since we are going to pay the full amount of the studies, which we do not care about and which we will be happy to do, (Y/N) could live in the family home, as a measure of good faith" your uncle Daeron spoke with his lawyer speech and your mother did not remain silent.

"No, definitely not. We will take care of the cost of the place where she wants to live in King’s Landing, but she will not live with you. I'm sorry, but no," the daughter of the biggest oil tycoon, the woman who had never allowed herself to be tamed by anything or anyone, appeared again on the scene, ready to fight for the happiness of her puppy. "I refuse. We already made the concession that she changed her mind at the last moment, but not that she lives with you. No."

"We want (Y/N) to live where she will be close to the university, to develop as an independent entity, without family ties that can bind you," said Gregory Martell, explaining the wish of your maternal family. They only wanted for you what they had always wanted; that you be yourself, that you develop away from her last name, from your father's last name or from anything that could stop you from being yourself.

They continued arguing, much to your grandfather's chagrin, even after lunch. They continued until night fell. The session was left to continue the next day, waiting to find a solution to your situation. But you realized something, nobody asked you again what you wanted. You only saw your mother scream, Aemond clench his jaw every time she spoke, your uncle Gerold trying to control his sister, and your father staring at the ceiling in despair. That was your happy family, and it seemed that in it, you were nothing. Not a Dayne, not a Targaryen. Nothing.

"Do you have the dress yet?" you asked your mother, both lying in the hotel room that your maternal family had reserved at the last moment when they saw that the negotiations about your studies were dragging on. The two of you had dined alone in her room, although Aemond had taken you there, and he would be in charge of picking you up and taking you back to the family home. You knew that he was waiting for you in the hotel bar. You didn't know if he was patient or not, but at that moment, you needed to be with your mother.

"No, not yet. I would prefer that you come with me to see them, and there is still time," your mother told you, looking at the ceiling. She looked tiredat the end of the day. The truth was that the last thing on her mind at that moment was her wedding. You worried her even more. "You've barely eaten," she commented, looking now at your plate, which you had barely touched. She sat on the edge of the bed, and you followed her.

"It's just that I'm not hungry lately", you commented without much desire to talk. You just wanted to be with her. Having a moment of rest in what was now a roller coaster of emotions.

"If all this change is because of Cregan Stark..." she started to speak, blaming everything that was happening on what had happened with the northerner as if you wanted to stay there just to wait for Cregan to come back. You blushed. You barely thought about him; you would never do it again.

"No, Mom. It's just that I want to stay here. That's all," you replied, looking at the plate with empty eyes. The truth is that you didn't feel like eating, you hardly slept, and you only spent your days at the expense of what Aemond wanted. Was that the life you wanted to lead? No, but you were afraid of losing the person you loved.

"I need to understand why, honey. I need to know," she begged you to know, but you couldn't tell her. You couldn't tell her that you loved Aemond, that you just wanted to be by his side, that you needed him, that he was like the worst drug you were addicted to, that you adored when he undressed you and when he kissed you, that you were dying to be a single dawn away at his side… that you were simply in love.

"You wouldn't understand, Mom", you whispered to her, holding onto your knees, wanting to end the matter. They were all blind. No one saw what was happening, but the necklace that now hung from your neck made your mother begin to flake at an idea that she preferred to bury in the bottom of her heart. It was impossible for history to repeat itself, right?

"Get me the same, and get me the bill" Your uncle Gerold sat next to Aemond, took out his credit card and gave it to the waiter, much to Aemond's annoyance. The dragon narrowed his eye in annoyance. The last thing he wanted to do was talk or just see Gerold after arguing about you all day. Both sitting at the Hightower hotel's bar, Aemond took a silent sip of his whiskey while Gerold drank it in one go until almost finishing it.

"You didn't have to pay for it," Aemond commented, not looking at the Dornishman who now sat next to you.

"That's true. You have much more money than me. The three heads of the dragon came out in that interview," said the son of the oil magnate. His eyes would always seek to provoke Aemond, pushing him almost to his limit, yet this time when Aemond looked at him, Gerold only dank silently.

They both continued in silence for a long time, and Gerold watched with a smirk as Aemond looked at his expensive watch, waiting for you. The amount of time you had already been upstairs seemed excessive to him. Besides, he had decided to give you a surprise. After such a long day, he didn't think about taking you home to sleep. You would go to a hotel, you would make love until dawn, and he would whisper to you what a good girl you were. You always liked that. He took another swallow of his whiskey, why didn't you come down now?

"I don't think she is going to come go down anytime soon if it's any consolation," Gerold answered, seeing him look at the clock desperately. However, he frankly asked what the others refused to see. "How long have you two been fucking?" he asked bluntly, not looking at him, just taking a small sip of his whiskey as if it wasn't him.

"None of your business," Aemond replied, not flustered, not feeling like a monster. He was superior in every way to a man like Gerold. He wasn't going to feel threatened by him, he never would.

"I think at this point where she wants to give up her dreams for you, yes, it ismy business", he replied. His violet eyes locked on Aemond's one-eyed gaze. The dragon averted his eye from Gerold. He felt guilty. Having seen you as he had seen you in that meeting was proof that he would never be a good choice for you. It was too selfish, but he couldn't be without you. He did not imagine it. He could not. It was impossible for him.

"She can't leave King's Landing. She just can't." That was all Aemond told him, unable to say much more. He could never be weak, ever. Next to Gerold, in that bar, that was exactly what was happening, and he didn't feel comfortable with it.

The Dornishman took a swing of his drink and dared to speak. He would be the first and only one who would care about your true happiness. “I have a place, it’s not big nor luxurious, but the most loyal to me serve there," he said, shrugging. "It has a garden, and the main rooms face an inner courtyard where you could fuck her against the balustrade, and no one would ever know. Nobody."

Aemond looked at him in confusion and swallowed. He didn't want to accept his help, never would, and yet he knew you would be happier at Sunspear than you would be at home with him and the rest of the family. Gerold was showing him the perspective of what your life would really be like if you stayed in King’s Landing. You wouldn't eat, how long had you not eaten? You wouldn't sleep. You wouldn't be happy because it was being close to everything that trapped you and didn't let you breathe. Gerold was proposing a solution to both of you, a solution where you could be away from all prying eyes but together at the end of the day.

"You take a plane on Friday afternoon, and you leave on Monday morning. The two of you, in a new place, where you could be more than you are now.” Your Dornish uncle spoke again, wishing he was having an effect on the dragon.

"It's still Westeros," Aemond whispered to himself, taking another small swallow. The Dornishman's words cut deep into his heart. However, he did not trust Aemond Targaryen – he was not a being that could be trusted by anyone. "What do you want in exchange for this?" he spoke frankly since Aemond knew that favours pay off.

"May (Y/N) be happy, may this never be heard of... may the same thing as Rhaenyra not happen to her..." Gerold shrugged, remembering the scandal that had happened so many years ago. "I don't want anyone to find out, ever," he declared, getting up from the seat next to Aemond. "Think about it and leave a good tip for the waiter. You have more money than me," he sneered, leaving Aemond alone with his thoughts, only at the prospect of you being happier than you are now.

"Have you had anything for dinner?" Aemond finally spoke, and you looked at him with a smile, sitting on the terrace of that hotel room where he had taken you that night. You stretched out, your whole body half-naked in front of him, and he just smiled. That was how he liked you, in the moonlight, happy and radiant because you were with him, but something was missing. If you stayed on King's Landing, you would always be missing something.

"My mother ordered some dinner" You smiled at him, and he knelt in front of you, between your legs, and you wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling at him, happy to have a moment like this after so long. "And have you had something to eat?"

"Well, the guy from the bar gave me some sweets with the whiskey", he confessed, knowing that this would make you laugh.

"Nooo, what are you doing eating that? They must have been years old," you replied, laughing and caressing his hair, and he laughed too. He kissed you sweetly, and you followed him, stretching your arms over his shoulders, letting yourself be carried away by such a quiet moment. At the end of the kiss, he just sighed and unhooked your bra, getting goosebumps all over your skin. His touch will always fascinate you. He buried his face in between your bare breasts, and you laughed. Aemond might be held in higher regard than other men, but in the end, they were all equal, and all did the same.

"Go to Sunspear. Never listen to me again when it comes to something that goes against what you want," he whispered to you, and you separated him from your body. You contemplated a surrendered man.

"Aemond..." you started saying, but he interrupted you again.

"I'll come to see you. I would travel the whole world to see you. But don't let me stop what you want to be. I need you to be happy. Much more than I need to be happy myself," he whispered to you again, and you didn't talk about it again. Nevermore. He wouldn't tell you about his conversation with your uncle Gerold, he never would. He wouldn't tell you that he planned to come to see you whenever he could, that in the house that Gerold had offered you, no one would see you, and… for a moment, he was excited at the thought that he could go hand in hand with you in a public place, although that was madness, a simple fantasy. But what do humans not live on, if not fantasies? And Aemond, at that moment, felt closer to men than to gods, despite being a Targaryen.

The next day, the new points and terms of your new change of mind were discussed. It was concluded that you would finally study at Sunspear, that your paternal family would be in charge of paying for the school for the coming years and that your maternal family would arrange everything for you to live in the house with a garden that Gerold had in the capital of the Martells.

Both parties reached the same agreement that they had prior to your previous change of mind, and your mother breathed easier as if that visit had been what you needed, and you smiled happily. The subject of the change of last name was something that was not discussed at that meeting at Gerold's insistence. He had understood that now you were more Targaryen than even your father. After all, you had succumbed to the same thing that all Targaryen’s ended up surrendering, the same taste for their own blood and lineage. But he didn't care, he wanted you to be happy without anyone finding out. And thanks to Gerold, relative peace returned. He would protect you; he would take care of you. However, no one saw how your face changed when you received an unexpected message: Cregan was returning to the capital. And you didn't know what you would tell him now that things would never be the same again.

Aemond remembered blood. He remembered the pain and the scream as he was hit. His mouth tasted of blood. The metallic, iron taste that ran through his throat as he sobbed. His nose couldn't get rid of the unmistakable scent of blood either. Like a deluded child, he thought his eye would be saved as he writhed on the floor. He was a stupid kid. Always was.

Rhaenyra had no natural children, or at least it was what she always said to end up avoiding the shame of having given birth to three bastard children, who had nothing to do with the cousin she had married to gain the influence of the Velaryon. A fruitful union. In which the three bastard children that Rhaenyra had given birth to had been given as adopted. They had all believed it, or at least they had all pretended to believe it. Even Helaena, who had married one of them to her own nephew, but no one had said anything because they weren't Targaryen blood like them, were they? Hypocrites. They all danced to what Rhaenyra said, but that was another story. Another story that has nothing to do with that child who was writhing in anguish and pain on the floor. Or, perhaps a lot, but that was not what was happening to Aemond now.

Luke had attacked him. Aemond knew the truth as well as they did. That dirty truth that everyone was trying to hide. They were bastards and children of the pure and holy Rhaenyra, although they all tried to hide it, and Aemond was the only one brave enough to have said it out loud, or perhaps the most innocent and sincere of them all.

Still, there had been consequences. He had lost his eye for telling the truth, and it was not the pain of losing the eye that affected Aemond the most. It was afterwards, looking in the mirror, the memory of the hospital room where they had sewn him up, adolescence marked by a disfigured face... and the words of Daemon, his favourite uncle. He had said that he deserved it and had sided with the one who had gouged out his eye, and Aemond promised himself that in an act which one Targaryen had positioned himself against another would not go unpunished. Aemond Targaryen learned to be a vengeful man.

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 years ago

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North To The Future [Chapter 9: A Long December]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

A/N: While “A Long December” was originally released by Counting Crows in 1996 (and is thus compliant with the 90s theme), the version I listen to most is Girlhouse’s cover from 2022. So maybe check that out. It is a bop!

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, discussions of sex, a tiny bit of sexual content, Christmas with Momtini and Dadtini, Kimmie making a realization, Aegon making a drink, Appletini making plans, Trent making some killer pool shots, the Ice Fisher getting into the holiday spirit, please enjoy this nice little respite before the events of Chapter 10. :)

Word count: 6.9k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

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You descend the staircase gingery, sheepishly. Your socks slip on the hardwood steps like tires on black ice. You’re trying to avoid your parents, but you can’t wait any longer to eat breakfast or you’ll be late for work. They’re bustling around in the kitchen: cracking eggs, chitchatting, banging plates and pans, cooing over Sunfyre, listening to an R.E.M. album that spins on the record player.

When you walk in, your dad is standing by the stove wearing the apron you got him for his 50th birthday. Pizza Slut, it says. He grins and wiggles his eyebrows. “Hey, ladybug.”

“Oh no.”

“I heard you come home pretty late last night. And then you got right into the shower. Hmm.”

“Hmm!” your mom concurs joyfully.

Your dad nods to the pan he’s hovering over, wielding a spatula. “Salmon omelet?”

You sigh, defeated; and yet, you must admit, you love salmon omelets. “Yeah, sure.” You sit down at the table next to your mom. She’s drinking Earl Grey tea smokey with cream and reading a newspaper: Halle Barry is marrying a jazz musician, Puff Daddy’s Notorious.com is looking for a venture capitalist willing to invest $7.5 million in startup funding, a man was arrested in Times Square for threatening President Clinton, the Nasdaq composite index—fueled largely by the dot-com boom—could hit 5,000 by the end of 2000. You wonder what Aegon’s family is doing right now. Do outrageously wealthy people eat omelets and decorate Christmas trees? Do they hop from store to store in some glitzy metropolitan mall hunting for presents—KB Toys, the Disney Store, Hallmark, Bath and Body Works, Hot Topic, RadioShack, Claire’s, Wet Seal, Yankee Candle—before grabbing a late-afternoon snack at Cinnabon or Sbarro, maybe a smoothie from Orange Julius? Or do they just sit in their mansions under vast unsmiling portraits until they grow dusty and turn to stone: gargoyles, angels, lions bearing their fangs? Are they still human at all?

“How’s Trent doing?” your mom asks. “Still trying to get into the Forest Service?”

“As far as I know. But that’s not who I was with last night.”

Your dad sets an omelet down in front of you, along with a glass of orange juice and one of the same Flintstones multivitamins you’ve been taking since you were in preschool. Jesse used to give me those, you think randomly, recalling the reminders he penned in his clandestine journals. When he was around. When he was sober. Your parents exchange a wary glance. “Oh?” your dad ventures in a squeak, trying to sound casual.

You could lie, but you don’t. Juneau is too small for lies. People know each other too well, they bump elbows in grocery stores and bars and parking lots; they make overly-familiar small talk and inadvertently spill secrets. The last thing you need is someone teasing Trent good-naturedly about your supposed night of passion. He might be dumb, but if he ever gets all the pieces in his titan hands he’ll eventually figure out how they click together. “I was, uh, actually, uh…visiting Aegon.”

They watch you, faces frozen in forced, benign smiles. You pet the top of Sunfyre’s shaggy head with your left hand and stab a fork into the salmon omelet with your right. “Well, that’s great!” your dad manages. “He’s a nice boy, that Aegon. So Greek. And plenty sexy, as we’ve previously established.”

“Is he feeling better?” your mom asks politely, slurping her tea.

“Oh yeah. Much better.” It comes out way too enthusiastic, and hot blood floods into your face. Your parents chuckle…and yet their eyes are troubled, distant, though perhaps in different directions. “Just so you know, things aren’t really working out with Trent. I’m trying to let it fizzle so there isn’t any drama that makes things awkward or creates any…uh…bad blood, I guess. So if you see him around, definitely don’t mention Aegon.”

Your dad does a mock salute. “Got it, General Ladybug.”

“What are Aegon’s plans for Christmas?” your mom inquires. Your dad turns to her, but doesn’t say anything. “It must be difficult for him, being so far from home. Especially around the holidays. I would hate for him to be alone.”

Probably drinking himself into unconsciousness while watching Jingle All The Way and Die Hard. “I don’t know, that’s a good question. I should ask him.”

“He can spend Christmas here with us, if he’d like.” Your mom finishes her tea, sets the cup down on the table, fiddles with it. “We’ll have more than enough food. And we could find a few things to wrap for him so he has presents to open.”

“Now if that’s not holiday spirit, I don’t know what is!” your dad says happily; and if he’s bluffing, he’s good at not showing it. He kisses your mom on the cheek, resting his study hands on her shoulders. She smiles up at him.

You wolf down the last few bites of your salmon omelet, chew your vitamin, knock back orange juice like a shot. “Alright, I should get going, or I won’t be back in time to open the vet clinic at 9.”

“I can always hold down the fort for a few hours,” your dad offers.

“No, that’s okay. I appreciate it, but I don’t want to bother you.” I don’t want to disappoint you. I don’t want to let you down. “You’ve earned retirement. Enjoy all the Judge Judy and Buffy The Vampire Slayer you can handle.” You pet Sunfyre and tug playfully on his ears. His tail wags at warp speed. “Are you ready to go home to your favorite person now? Are you excited?”

Your dad lumbers off into the kitchen. “Here, bring Aegon some breakfast too…” He piles a salmon omelet, a mountain of hash browns, and toast slathered with butter and strawberry jelly into a Tupperware container. You take it and glance out the window that faces the driveway.

“Oh, great. Dad?”

“Yeah?”

“The cow moose is out there licking the road salt off my Jeep. Can you get rid of her?”

“Again?! Okay, I’m on it.” He grabs some pots out of the cabinet and heads outside. You can hear him beating the pots together and shouting: “Goodbye, moose! You live in the woods, not the driveway! Goodbye! Au revoir! Adios, mooseachos!”

At the kitchen table, your mom laughs. She’s still tinkering anxiously with her cup. “Only in Alaska.”

“You’re really alright with Aegon coming over for Christmas?”

“Of course. I’d prefer it, actually. I’d rather know he’s safe. Not alone, not in trouble.”

“Even though he might end up passed out under the tree?”

She smiles: faint, tired, melancholic. “I’ve seen worse.”

When you let yourself into Aegon’s apartment, he’s dressed for work and self-medicating with a rum and Coke mixed in a cereal bowl; it’s the only dish he has that’s currently clean. Sunfyre bolts to him, barking wildly and jumping up to prop his paws on Aegon’s chest as you slide the Tupperware onto the kitchen counter.

“Hey, buddy!” Aegon cries, ecstatic. “I missed you! Yes I did! Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?!”

“Where are you going?” you ask, scrutinizing him.

“Fishing,” he says simply, like this should be obvious.

“I don’t think you should be going back to work this soon. You just got out of the hospital.”

He shrugs. “I need the money.”

“I can give you money.”

“You definitely could, but I don’t want your money, I want my money. Besides, Trent won’t be able to protect my job forever. If I can’t work, Rusty will find someone else who can.”

“Trent,” you echo morosely, staring at nothing in particular.

Aegon downs the rest of his rum and Coke, then puts his bowl in the sink. He walks over to you, his oceanic eyes cautious, his lock of white-blond hair resting on his cheek. “What did he do to you? At dinner, I mean. Before you called me.”

You take his left hand and turn it over, studying the lines on his palm: past, present, future, all in a language you can’t read. You hesitate; you can’t decide what to tell Aegon. You aren’t sure what you want him to know.

“He didn’t hurt you, right? Or try to touch you in a way you didn’t want him to?”

“He kissed me. I pushed him off. That’s all.”

Aegon watches you, eyes severe and glinting. “That’s not all.”

“I tried to break up with him at the restaurant,” you confess. “First he acted like he didn’t understand. Then he got upset, offended. We agreed to slow down, but I’m not sure what he thinks that means. Maybe he’s planning a summer engagement instead of a spring one, I have no idea.”

“You made him angry.” Aegon’s voice is flat, entirely flat, like he’s battling to keep it that way. “I thought we agreed not to make him angry.”

“Well I didn’t do it on purpose, Aegon.”

“No no no, my bad, let me clarify, I’m not mad at you. I just don’t understand why you would be so direct about it. I’ve broken up with a lot of people without actually breaking up with them. You ignore, you deflect, you do the bare minimum, you are intentionally unappealing in every way…and then eventually they move on. That’s the way to go. That’s how you avoid confrontations.”

“I don’t want this thing with Trent to die a slow death.” Oh, perhaps a poor choice of words. “I don’t want to be with him, to even keep up the facade of being with him. I want to be with you. I want to be with you in every way, everywhere, all the time.”

Aegon smiles. He twists his fingers into your hair and touches his forehead to yours and then kisses you, softly and unhurriedly. As he pulls away, he gently bites your lower lip; his fingertips ghost across the front of your throat like a necklace, like a chain. You moan into him, unable to help it. “I won’t go to work if you don’t either,” Aegon murmurs.

“I, an eternally upstanding citizen, definitely have to go to work.”

“Man, fuck capitalism,” he says, and you laugh together.

Something occurs to you. “You didn’t wait for Kimmie to move on. You broke up with her.”

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

“Because I had another candidate in mind for the extremely prestigious position of being my Juneau girl.”

You tuck his hair behind his ear and kiss him again: heat, rum, memories from the night before. Lust stirs up in your blood like ancient silt in seawater. “Please be careful at work.”

“I will, Appletini. I will. Don’t worry. You’re always worrying about things that haven’t happened yet. There’s no point in that.”

“I think I’m just someone who’s doomed to worry a lot in general.”

He grins. “Yes. But I’m your favorite thing to worry about.” He lays his palm against your right cheek and kisses your left: quickly, lightly, like it’s routine, like he’ll be doing it every day for the rest of his life. “Have fun at the vet clinic. Saving all those furry little lives.”

“I’ll see you at Ursa Minor tonight?”

He winks. “I’ll be the one with the electric guitar.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You get stuck late at the clinic spaying Mr. Mark Morehouse’s Flemish Giant rabbit. By the time you rush through the front door of Ursa Minor—bells jangling, a gust of cold wind at your heels, patrons glancing over with vague interest—the band is already performing. Aegon is wearing his cuffed jeans, black combat boots, and, in a radical departure from his usual color scheme, a royal blue turtleneck sweater. He’s braided a section of his hair on the left side of his head and woven a single, small, blue-dyed rose into it. He gives you a subtle nod when he sees you come in, a sly half-smile. He’s singing a punk rock, up-tempo version of Counting Crow’s A Long December.

“I can’t remember the last thing that you said as you were leaving, now the days go by so fast…”

“Heyyy, bitch!” Heather greets you, raising her Sex On The Beach. Joyce and Kimmie are swaying together, brandishing lighters in the air: Joyce smirking and reluctant, Kimmie—a born groupie—shamelessly exuberant. You swing by the bar to get a Bacardi Breezer (blueberry, very good, one of the better flavors) and stand beside Heather. You gaze at Aegon as he strums his battered guitar, and the parallel strikes you for the first time. Aegon too is layered with imperfections: scars, marks, ink, demons with gnashing fangs and needlelike fingers that dangle past their knees. And yet what he gives to the world is so beautiful. And yet he is so goddamn miraculous.

“I can’t remember all the times I tried to tell my myself to hold on to these moments as they pass…”

It takes you a long time to notice that Kimmie is watching you. Something clicks like a dislocated joint popped back into its socket; and that’s the way it’s always been with Kimmie, since she was a child, since she was a five-year-old chasing boys around the playground at recess. The hints pile up—a lot of hints, sometimes years of hints—until eventually there’s an avalanche of realization that hits and drags her under like a rogue wave. She sucks in a breath and her doelike eyes shoot wide open. You try to pretend you didn’t see anything, but that’s not Kimmie’s style. She pushes her way through the audience and grabs your wrist, hauling you away from the crowd. Heather observes this, slurping down her Sex On The Beach, trying to ascertain if you need reinforcements.

“What—?!”

“I didn’t know,” Kimmie says, like it’s an apology. Her eyes are pained and fearful, a deer bathed in headlights.

“You didn’t know what?”

“That you’re in love with him.” Her voice is reedy and trembling. She’s petrified, you realize. She’s afraid that I’ll never be able to be her friend again. Not a true friend, not a pure one. “I swear to God, I didn’t know. I even asked you first. I never would have hooked up with him if I had known, never, never. I’m so sorry. I’m so so so sorry. It didn’t mean anything, it wasn’t like we had real feelings for each other—”

“Kimmie, Kimmie, it’s fine,” you soothe, rubbing her shoulder. She’s wearing a ridiculously fluffy hot pink sweater; it’s like petting a neon sheep. “I’m the one who wasn’t upfront with you. I didn’t think Aegon and I had a chance, so I was purposefully trying to avoid him, to avoid any feelings I had for him. It didn’t work out that way, but…yeah. Anyway. I don’t blame you for anything.”

“Oh my god, so you’re together? Like, together?” Kimmie blinks at you, shocked but not scandalized. You’re not sure it’s possible to scandalize Kimmie.

“We don’t really want everyone to know about it.”

“Oh, because of Trent?”

Now it’s your turn to be shocked. Maybe some of those genius professor genetics made it down the Plinko board after all. “Exactly.”

“Jesus Christ, he’d probably snap Aegon in half if he knew. Like a freaking KitKat bar.”

“That’s a mental image I didn’t need.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” Kimmie swears, empowered by this rare, consequential responsibility.

“I really, really appreciate your discretion.”

“You and Aegon, wow…” She mulls it over, baffled. “So you’re pretty kinky too? I wouldn’t have guessed that. You should have told me! We could have gone shopping together!”

Shopping with Kimmie for fuzzy handcuffs and riding crops and, who knows, probably like vibrating butt plugs or something. I don’t think I’m emotionally prepared for that. I will most likely never be emotionally prepared for that. “Boundaries, Kimmie. Honestly, I haven’t seen that side of him. At least not in my albeit limited experience.”

“Huh,” Kimmie says brightly. “I guess he’s in love with you too.” And then she trots off to rejoin the crowd. Boat #27 has concluded their performance and is accepting cheers of acclaim and complimentary drinks from their adoring fans. Joyce hugs Rob, climbing onto her tiptoes and giggling. Joyce!? Giggling!?!? You grab another Bacardi Breezer before heading over, raspberry this time.

“Hey, babe!” Trent booms when he sees you.

Oh god. Oh no. You shrink away when he throws an arm across your shoulders. Aegon watches this as he approaches, sipping a rum and Coke, eyes like blue embers.

“Right,” Trent groans, like it’s some grave inconvenience, like it’s some passing fad he has to endure. “I remember now. We’re taking things slow.”

The clique assembles by the pool table like battle-ready Power Rangers: you, Trent, Joyce, Rob, Heather, Kimmie, Aegon. “Someone should play!” you say, truly a master of redirection.

Trent flips his hair. “Obviously I’m down.” He looks at you expectantly. You ignore him, drinking your Bacardi Breezer and then pretending to drink it once it’s empty.

“Oh, you are going down.” Heather cracks her knuckles and grins, then picks up a cue stick.

“Battle royal!” Rob announces. Joyce sighs and pulls a fantasy novel out of her purse. Kimmie perches on the edge of the pool table: legs crossed, eyes roving, gold hoop earrings glittering under Christmas lights, seeking attention and drawing it to her like Saturn ensnares moons. A gaggle of bashful men appear out of nowhere to worship her. Dale’s stereo pipes out Mariah Carey’s All I Want For Christmas Is You. Dale himself is wearing a red Santa hat and yawning boredly into the back of his hand.

“I need another drink,” you say, and head for the bar. Aegon follows you.

“You don’t want a Bacardi Breezer.”

“I don’t?”

“No. You don’t.” He flags Dale over once you’ve claimed your seats. “Hey Dale, did you get the stuff on the list I gave you?”

“Sure did.” Dale sets an array of items on the bar: apple juice, lemon juice, florescent green apple schnapps, vodka, a single Granny Smith apple, a paring knife, a shaker halfway filled with ice, a small plate covered with sugar, two chilled martini glasses. “You owe me, though. Especially for the schnapps. I had to order a case all the way from Seattle!”

“Add it to my tab.”

“Which you’ll pay when? In 2023?”

“I’ll pay, Dale!” Aegon insists.

Dale rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t seem genuinely annoyed. “Sure you will.” He yawns again and ambles away to take the orders of some locals sitting at the other end of the bar. The thuds of his boots are heavy and slow on the hardwood floor, the same one Aegon almost died on nine days ago.

“What are we doing?” you ask, but you’re already smiling. You have a pretty good guess.

“We’re making appletinis,” Aegon replies.

“You knew how to make appletinis this entire time and never said anything?”

“Oh no, I definitely did not,” he says. “I found the phone number of a friend I met back in San Francisco and figured she might know. She’s a bartender. So I gave her a call and asked very, very nicely and sure enough, she had a recipe.” He pauses, contemplative. “I told her I was in Chicago. Just in case.”

Just in case his ghost manages to track her down. “Have you seen this friend naked?”

“Does it matter?”

“No,” you say, and you find that you mean it. Aegon is here with you now, and that’s all you can ask for. Still, his commitment to relative honestly seems enduring.

“The answer is yes. But it wasn’t like it is with you.”

“Really, it doesn’t matter. I’m not mad or anything.”

“Yeah, you don’t look mad.”

You smile at each other, Christmas-light sparks in your eyes, alone in a crowded room. Well…alone except for Mariah Carey. “Anyway,” you prompt. “Am I getting a real-life appletini or what?”

“Let’s do this. Uh…” He furrows his brow, trying to remember. “Okay. I think I know how it goes.” He adds apple juice and lemon juice to the shaker. He doesn’t measure; he estimates, splashing in a little at a time until he’s content. He caps the container, gives it a few vigorous shakes, then opens it again. He pours in the schnapps and vodka, then shakes again. “Cut a few slices off the apple, vet lady. Nice and thin.”

You do, four transparent crescent-moon slivers. Aegon rubs lemon juice around the rim of each martini glass with his ring finger and then dunks them in the sugar until the rims are covered in fine white crystals like snow. He garnishes the martini glasses with the apple slices, gives the shaker one last whirl, then empties the contents into the glasses: half for you, half for him. He hands you your introductory appletini and toasts his glass against yours.

“On three?” Aegon asks, and you nod, beaming. You count together: one, two, three.

Your first taste isn’t a tentative sip. You take a full, brave swallow of the vivid green brew. It’s jarringly sour, sticky-sweet, crisp and refreshing like springtime. “Oh, I love it!” you trill.

“It’s…uh…” He takes another investigative slurp. “It’s definitely appley.”

“You hate it,” you say, laughing.

“I don’t hate it,” he counters. “I like what it’s doing to you.”

You close your eyes, the sights and sounds of Ursa Minor fading away. You’re somewhere sleek and vibrant and new; you’re in New York City, you’re in Los Angeles, you’re in Las Vegas, you’re in San Diego. When you open your eyes, Aegon is smiling. “Sorry. I was teleporting.”

“Do you want the rest of mine?”

“Yeah,” you admit guiltily, and he slides his appletini over to rest by yours. You drain them both. “I’m like Jack Dawson. I’m the king of the world.”

“You’re very, very cute when you’re tipsy, that’s what you are.”

“My parents think you should spend Christmas with us. I think you should too.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Okay. Don’t buy me anything fancy, though. I won’t be able to return the favor.”

“Sad impoverished homeless man gifts only. You have my word.”

“Hey!” Heather calls from the pool table. She’s waving her cue stick in the air. “I lost! I’m a loser! I got slaughtered by this jumbo-sized motherfucker! And you weren’t even here to witness it!”

“We should go over there,” you tell Aegon, and he steadies you when you wobble as you slide off the barstool. “Oh, god, I’m sorry.”

“It’s cool. Now I have an excuse to touch you.”

“Dale, can I get some Chex Mix or something?” He tosses you a little blue bag from behind the bar. You miss it completely. It sails over your head and smacks into the floor. Aegon cackles hysterically, but fetches the bag. He even opens it before he hands it to you. Then you set off together for the pool table.

“What’s wrong with you?” Heather asks when you arrive, her eyes narrow.

“I like appletinis. I really like appletinis.”

“It’s December 22nd, the commencement of Capricorn season, and you are celebrating this momentous event with an uncharacteristic display of recklessness and frivolity? Inauspicious!”

“What did I miss? Besides your humiliation.”

“Flintstones vitamins,” Rob says, rubbing blue chalk on a cue stick. He and Trent are playing pool now; Trent is showing Kimmie and several of her sycophants, including Matt and Gary, how he can make a shot with his hands behind his back. Aegon circles the pool table, his hands in his jeans pockets, watching Trent reticently. “Childish and stupid or totally acceptable for mid-twenties adults?”

“Totally acceptable,” you declare, munching on Chex Mix. “I just had one this morning.”

“That’s what I said!” Kimmie cries. “They’re delicious. I could eat a whole bottle of them. I used to lie to my mom when I was a kid and insist she hadn’t given one to me yet so I could get extra. My high score was five in a day.”

“That can’t be good for you,” Heather says. “Wait. Maybe it explains some things.”

“A lot of things,” Joyce quips, turning a page in her book.

Kimmie defers to you, the foremost medical authority present. “Vitamins can’t hurt people, right?”

“Well, that depends on the vitamin.”

“Some can,” Aegon says. “The fat-soluble ones, because your body can’t flush them out as easily or something. Too much Vitamin A can really fuck someone up. There are people who’ve died because they ate a polar bear liver, which has, like, millions of units of Vitamin A. So if you ever happen to eat a polar bear, skip the liver.”

“You can overdose on vitamins?” Kimmie asks him, puzzled. “Like, vitamins can kill you?”

“Oh yeah, lots of things can kill you if you take enough of them. Too much Vitamin A can cause seizures and comas, Vitamin D can give you a heart attack, Vitamin E can make you hemorrhage out of your eyeballs and stuff. And it causes strokes.”

“Oh snap!” Kimmie exclaims in horror, thinking that perhaps she barely escaped with her life. Heather is thoroughly amused.

You look at Aegon as he passes by you like a satellite whirling around the Earth, a blinking light in suffocating darkness. He’s right, but he shouldn’t be. He hasn’t studied medicine. He hasn’t studied much of anything. “How do you know all that?”

He replies curtly: “How do you think?” And then he resumes his orbit.

Rob attempts a shot and misses. “Ha!” Trent says, flipping his hair, and then starts lining up his own. As he leans over the pool table, he asks you: “So, where were you last night?”

Your mind, already hazy, goes useless. Cold sweat bubbles up out of your pores. “What? At home.”

“No you weren’t.” His eyes are on you like a wolf’s, like a beast’s. “I called the house. A couple times, actually. I felt weird about how we left things and wanted to apologize. But no one answered.”

“Oh, sorry, I mean I was at home, but then I went to go bowling with my parents.”

“No you didn’t.” Trent’s cue stick hits the striped red ball, number 11, and sends it hurtling into a pocket. “I already asked Dale. He’s in the bowling league, and he said you weren’t there.”

Two lies. And I don’t have a third. You stand there helplessly, surrounded by Christmas lights and tinsel and pine trees, your thoughts churning slowly, slower, dragging to a full stop. The chatter around you dies down. Wide eyes dart between you and Trent. Joyce closes her book. Even Dale is peeking over from the bar. His face is crisscrossed with lines of disapproval, of fascination.

“Where were you, huh?” Trent takes a step closer. He’s huge. He’s so fucking huge. Aegon picks up the black 8 ball off the pool table; no one else notices but you.

“Trent,” Heather scolds her brother, stunned. “Take a chill pill—”

“Where were you?!” Trent demands.

You try to conjure up an excuse, any excuse. All you can think of is how badly you don’t want to end up at the bottom of an ice-covered lake. I can’t die, I haven’t done anything yet. I haven’t been anywhere yet. I haven’t seen San Diego.

Trent begins one final time, still clutching the cue stick, his voice deafening: “Where were—?!”

“She was with me!” Kimmie bursts out, and everyone spins towards her. “I, um, I was upset. Devastated, in fact. Because of, um. Boy problems.”

Heather titters nervously. “What else is new.”

“So I called and I was an absolute blubbering mess on the phone and she offered to come over and hang out. Watch Buffy with me. Do my nails and stuff. It’s really embarrassing.” She smiles at you, a soft glowing smile. “Thanks for trying to keep my secret.”

“No problem, Kimmie,” you reply shakily.

“Oh, babe!” Trent says, his face splitting into a smile, pressing a hand into the small of your back. He even flips his hair in that simpleminded, horselike way. He can’t be the Ice Fisher. He can’t be…right? You flinch when he touches you. On the periphery of your vision, you can see Aegon rolling the black 8 ball back onto the pool table. “That’s all?! You should have told me!”

“It really wasn’t my situation to share.”

“Damn, I’m sorry.” Trent seems to mean it. “I’m really sorry. That was a dick move, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Hulk smash?” Rob says, and there is laughter, quivering with fresh relief.

“I think I have to go,” you say, rubbing your forehead. “I’m really not feeling great.” And that part’s not even a lie. “I shouldn’t have mixed Bacardi Breezers and appletinis, I’m a total lightweight. And I have work in the morning. I’m supposed to vaccinate like ten of Mr. Campbell’s reindeer.”

“You want me to drive you home?” Trent offers.

No! Definitely not! “Thanks, but I couldn’t bear to interrupt your pool game. Especially when you’re winning.” You can tell Aegon is looking at you. You intentionally don’t acknowledge him. And now you realize that you’re a little trapped: you can’t say you’re driving yourself home because you’re not sober, and you can’t say that Aegon is walking you back to his apartment because then Trent might murder you both right here in the middle of Ursa Minor, blood splattering the deer heads mounted on the wall, femurs and vertebrae littering the pool table.

“I’ll do it!” Heather volunteers. “I’m super not-wasted at the moment.”

“Um, well…”

“Come on.” She’s already going to get your parka off the coatrack. “I can’t in good conscience let you vaccinate those reindeer without a full night’s sleep.” You trail after her, powerless to refuse.

Out in the night-draped parking lot, you haul yourself—with some difficulty—into Heather’s Chevy Suburban. And as she turns the key in the ignition and begins defrosting the windshield, you tell her: “When you leave the lot, make a left, not a right.”

“What? Why?”

“Because you’re not taking me home. You’re taking me to Aegon’s apartment.”

“I’m…?” She gapes at you as it sinks in like an anchor through dark surf. “Oh my god. Oh my god…?!”

“Affirmative.”

“Oh. My. GOD.” She puts the Suburban in drive and, as requested, makes a left onto Main Street.

Sunfyre is delighted to see you when you arrive. He leaps, barks, pirouettes in circles, accepts copious scratches and Milk-Bone treats. You collapse onto the threadbare couch, and he stretches out on the floor beside you, his quiet snoring soon the only sound in the apartment. Your eyes blur, flutter, close up shop. Maybe twenty minutes later, you hear a key rattling in the front door.

Aegon walks inside, his boots dripping with snow. He doesn’t seem surprised to see you. “You alright, Appletini?”

“Yeah, I’m kind of woozy but I mostly just wanted to leave.” You consider him, wondering how to ask him the question that won’t leave your mind. It claws at the arched walls of your skull like a trapped animal, leaving streaks of blood where its nails were torn away.

“I don’t want to talk about the vitamin thing,” he says.

“I don’t want to talk about Trent.”

“Deal.”

He throws off his parka and boots, turns on the X-Files, and crawls onto the couch with you. You fold into him and he holds you, not hungrily, not asking for a thing. You freefall into sleep with your head against his chest, his heartbeat a distant roar like thunder.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Ice Fisher has left Juneau a Christmas present: Stephanie Nolan, his fifth victim. She was twenty-five years old, an avid knitter, a Blockbuster employee, mother of several adopted Himalayan cats, one of three sisters born barely a year apart. At least her parents still have some children left, you think. At least the pressure to make their sacrifices worthwhile wasn’t all on her. Your dad sneaks a few minutes of news coverage while your mom is in the shower. They’re replaying the press conference that Chief of Police Eugene Baker gave late last night on Christmas Eve.

“We urge all Juneau residents to remain vigilant. This is the time of year for celebrations and get-togethers, and we don’t want to discourage that in any way, but no one—and I repeat, no one—should be outside alone, especially not after dark. Ms. Nolan left her place of employment to take a ten-minute smoke break, and that was all the opportunity the killer needed. He is still out there, he is still dangerous, and no one is immune from becoming a target. If you have any information relevant to this case, anything at all, please call our anonymous 24/7 hotline at…”

There are camera flashes, uneasy clamoring, flailing hands of reporters begging to be called on. Your dad crosses his arms over his broad chest, his face grim. A reporter asks Chief Baker: “I understand that the Juneau PD has brought in FBI profilers to help them identify possible suspects. Can you share any new theories with the public at this time?”

“Well, there are a couple likely possibilities. The Ice Fisher might be someone who is new to the area, someone who arrived this past summer or early autumn. Residents should therefore be extremely wary of newcomers. However, it might be the case that the killer isn’t new to the area at all, but rather suffered some sort of destabilizing event—loss of employment, for example, or the death of a loved one—that triggered their otherwise dormant violent impulses. The last theory I’m prepared to share today is that the criminal now known as the Ice Fisher might have been active long before this recent string of murders. Some serial killers have been known to…to test the waters, so to speak…with murders that can be camouflaged as accidental or natural deaths. That’s a possibility in this case, and we are combing back through the department archives to see if there are any answers there…”

“I should go pick up Aegon,” you say.

“Ladybug…” Your dad stalls, not wanting you to take it the wrong way. “I’m not saying that I think Aegon is the killer, because I don’t think he is. I know he’s not, actually. He doesn’t have much rage in him. He has a lot of other things, I believe, but not that. I’m just saying…you have to be careful. And he can’t keep an eye out for you if he’s passed out drunk somewhere. Do you get what I mean?”

“I understand, Dad. I’m careful. Really, I am. And I’m never running around town alone. If I’m not with Aegon, I’m with Heather or Kimmie or Joyce.”

“Or Trent,” he adds. He likes this idea; Trent might not be able to snap a murderer in two like a KitKat bar, but he could definitely crack a few ribs. Trent would be a great Mortal Kombat character. He could skewer foes with a cue stick, right through the eye socket. An icy shudder rocks down your spine.

“Or Trent.”

“Okay. Good.” He turns back to the tv, his eyes vacant, his voice low. “Just making sure.”

Aegon is dressed in his Christmas best: dark jeans, black Converses, his hair loose and wavy, a festive red sweater with Gizmo from Gremlins on it. You’ve opted for a more traditional Rudolph turtleneck. Sunfyre has a large red bow tied to his collar. The three of you ride together back to your parents’ house, the radio playing Celine Dion’s O Holy Night, one of the back windows rolled halfway down for Sunfyre.

Dinner is a reindeer roast, rosemary apple stuffing, potato gratin, homemade macaroni and cheese, and creamed spinach; dessert is Christmas cookies eaten under the tree. You open presents as a parade of classics play on the tv: Frosty The Snowman, How The Grinch Stole Christmas, The Year Without A Santa Claus. Your parents give Aegon cold-weather clothing like hats and mittens, which he accepts with great appreciation. He gives them a bouquet of blue roses and three bottles of red wine, only one of which he drinks himself. You give Aegon a refrigerator magnet from Caribou Crossings, a grizzly bear with a salmon caught between its teeth, something to join the rest of his collection, something to help him remember Juneau once he’s gone. He gives you a handful of seashells from San Diego that he’s been carting around in his luggage for a year. Everyone gives Sunfyre Milk-Bones.

When Aegon takes the golden retriever out to the backyard, your dad goes with them. You can see them talking out there as snow falls and the sun sets and the horizon is inked with violet and gold, the wind whipping fiercely: Aegon’s hands moving in wild, dramatic gestures, your dad nodding along. They’re gone for so long you start to worry, your fingers trembling as you and your mom play chess with the new set you received for Christmas, not black and white but pet-themed: one side dogs, the other cats.

Your dad comes back inside first. He shuts the door and says to you, not accusatory but merely intrigued: “I didn’t know you were serious about wanting to travel, ladybug.”

“Oh, yeah, I guess so. One day. When I’m retired, I guess. Doesn’t everyone want to travel?”

“Huh. Aegon made it sound a bit more urgent than that.”

He watches you defeat your mom in chess, makes her some mollifying Earl Grey tea, and then offers to play Scrabble with her, a proposition she can never resist. When Aegon brings Sunfyre back inside—the sky fully dark now, the stars rising behind the veil of clouds—you lead him upstairs to your room. You sit on your bed together and flip through your travel magazines, scenes of Paris, Cairo, New York City, Rome, Tokyo, Cape Town, Buenos Aires, Beijing, Saint Petersburg, Sydney, Las Vegas, Cusco, Athens, Mexico City, Nairobi, California.

“It’s strange,” Aegon says. “Your parents like me, but they also kind of don’t like me. It’s as if they’re afraid of me. I can’t figure them out.”

You think of the cardboard box under your bed, the one full of Jesse’s journals. “My mom was married before. Vince is her second husband.”

Aegon looks over at you, attentive but not understanding. “Okay.”

“I was five years old when they got together. So Vince is my dad, but he’s not…like…he’s not biologically…well, you get what I’m saying.”

Aegon closes the magazine he’d been skimming, still looking at you.

“My mom’s first husband was named Jesse. And he was…from what I understand…he was a lot like you.” You tap your index finger against the crook of your own elbow so Aegon will understand. He was brilliant, but he was an addict. He was a blessing, he was a curse.

Aegon nods slowly. “I guess that explains a lot.”

“I probably should have told you sooner. But I’ve never really told anyone.”

“What happened to him?”

“He drowned in the channel. Maybe it was an accident, maybe suicide. Maybe it doesn’t matter which one. Maybe there isn’t much of a difference.”

“I’m so sorry,” Aegon says, his voice quiet and gentle.

“I don’t want the same thing to happen to you.”

“It won’t. I told you. I’m not that easy to kill.”

You wonder if Aegon has become a ghost to his family, if he haunts the Targaryens like Jesse haunts you, half-comforting, half-heartbreaking, if after six long silent years his shadow still lurks in corners and doorways. You wonder if a ghost is really so far from what you are. “I want to stop feeling like a potential person, to stop waiting for the life I’ve always dreamed of to drop out of the sky. I want to feel real.”

“You’re real to me.” He dusts his thumbprint across the curve of your cheekbone, flesh and blood that sing to each other. “Listen, we’ll go to San Diego together.”

“Don’t, Aegon.”

“No, I mean it,” he says. “Give me a month to save up, and we’ll go. We’ll take a long weekend and fly down there. It won’t be hot enough to swim, but it’ll be warmer than here. Sixties, sunny, sandy, waves and tacos. We’ll stay somewhere with a waterbed. Those can be a lot of fun.”

“Careful. I might not want to leave the hotel room. What a waste of a trip that would be.”

“I’ll just have to make sure you’re bored of me by then,” he purrs, grinning and mischievous, dragging you into his lap. He smooths your hair back from your face, gazing up at you as you straddle him. He kisses your lips, your jaw, your neck; his teeth skate across your skin without biting down, without leaving indigo bruises of ownership. Slowly, he turns solemn and hushed. Slowly, you begin to worry about him.

“What, Aegon?”

“You’re the best present I ever got. I hope you know that.”

You whisper through his windswept white-blond hair: “Then open me.”

He lays you down on the bed, unearths your needful bare skin and stifles his moans against your throat, unravels you like a blood-red ribbon from a box heavy with secrets.

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