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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 2 months ago

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The Silver Dragon (17)

The Legend of Gahaelon and Aeremys

After being reunited after so long, Aemond has one request of Arianwyn: to read him a story.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: none

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Arianwyn could have spent the rest of her life with her face pressed against Aemond’s cheek, savoring the feeling of his strong arms around her and inhaling his familiar scent of parchment and steel – now laced with brimstone. But the commotion from the Velaryon arrival was fading, and she knew the crowd’s attention would soon be drawn to the prince openly embracing a young lady in a way that was not entirely proper. She opened her eyes and pulled away from him. Still, he did not break contact, keeping his arms firmly around her waist.

As expected, those in the training yard and on the ramparts were staring at them—knights, courtiers, servants… and her stepbrothers.

Luke still cowered behind his brother, fearful now that the uncle he mutilated had become such a fierce warrior. Jace was far less intimidated. His stare was filled with the promise of retribution, and Arianwyn knew that as soon as he had the chance, he would report everything he had seen to Daemon.

Desperate to escape those dark, prying eyes, Arianwyn shyly looked back up at Aemond. “Do you need to return to your training?” she asked, “I believe Ser Criston is waiting for you.”

For a moment, she thought Aemond would not respond. He just stood there, looking at her as if she were some mythical being. Like he wasn’t entirely convinced she was real. “No,” he said, his voice low and soft, a rich sound that seemed to rumble through Arianwyn’s chest like thunder through the sky. “I have been here since dawn; I am long overdue for a break.”

With that, he took her hand and surged up the stairs, pulling her with him into the passageways of the Red Keep. Arianwyn was so delighted to be with him again, her jubilant laughter echoing off the stone walls, that she did not realize where he was leading her until they came to the door.

Her door.

She released her hand from Aemond’s and laid it on the dark wood. “Why have you brought me here?” she asked, tracing the runes they had carved into the door years ago to ward off monsters and spirits.

Aemond was nearly silent beside her, but she felt his presence as if it were the air she breathed. A heavy but welcome weight upon her heart – a perfect embrace. “They are your rooms. I thought you would be eager to see them again.”

She turned back to him and could not suppress her smile. After all these years, they were together again. They stood before the rooms in which they spent half of their youth. It felt like it was meant to be. As if they were always fated to be here again.

“Surely they belong to someone else now,” she said. “It has been eight years.”

A subtle smile spread across his lips, not the broad, toothy grin she remembered as he reached around her to open the door. Then, he stepped back and motioned for her to enter. She did so hesitantly, half-expecting them to be walking in on some stranger’s afternoon tea.

They did not.

Her solar looked precisely as she remembered it.

The same furniture, the same curtains and tapestries. Her old cloak, made of thick brown wool and lined with bear fur, was still draped over her favorite reading chair. Two ancient bronze swords, their fullers engraved with Runes, still hung above the fireplace. Hanging from their handles, tied with faded green ribbon, were scraps of parchment bearing Aemond’s writing – the translation of the Runes they had written years ago.

Arianwyn approached the mantle, reaching out to read the note written in Aemond’s youthful scrawl. The paper was brittle with age, but the ink had not faded. When she tied them on so many years ago, she had not realized that he had drawn a figure, whom she could only assume was the prince himself, wielding the blades as he defended a long-haired maiden from some shapeless beast.

“How?” she asked, unable to tear herself from the artwork.

Aemond came to her side, the space between them sizzling like air broken by dragonfire. “Ser Gerold wanted to empty it and bring everything back to Runestone after he and Lady Arryn failed to secure your release. I would not allow it,” he murmured. “Though he and mother lost hope after that, I knew that eventually, you would return to me… and to all of us.”

She, at last, looked away from the note but remained with her back to Aemond as she stared into the long-cold ashes in the fireplace. “I came close to losing hope as well.” So many times throughout those years, she would fall into loneliness and despair, and not even Brynna or Ser Adrew could draw her out. “I would have, were it not for your letters.”

Knowing that he was still out there, that he still thought of her each day and cared enough to send long, thoughtful letters even when he was infirm, was like the sun breaking through dark, stormy clouds. Each piece of fine parchment bearing his seal was a lifeline she clung to, each one still resting in a trunk in her tower, just below her favorite window. She would read them so often, not only for the lack of books at Dragonstone but –

“What is that?” As she turned to face him, her eyes were drawn to the far corner of the solar, where her bookshelves had once been. Upon closer inspection, she realized they were still there, only now buried within a massive pile of neatly stacked books so high it nearly reached the ceiling.

“That,” Aemond said, setting his hands on her shoulders and leading her across the room, “is eight years of reading for you to catch up on.”

“You cannot be serious!” Arianwyn let out a barking laugh as she craned her neck to take in the entire pile. It was so tall that she would not be able to reach half the books without assistance from someone taller. She took a step back, coming to rest against Aemond’s chest. “You’ve read all of this since I’ve been gone?”

“I’ve read more,” he replied with a smug smile that she could not see but heard in the lilt of his voice. “These are just those I thought you would like, or wanted to discuss with you, or… what I wanted to hear you read aloud.”

At that, Arianwyn turned to face him, the corner of her mouth quirking/”::: up in a wicked grin. She raised her brows in an expression of mock pity. “Are you still struggling with the big words?”

Aemond did his best to scowl at her, but it quickly faltered and morphed into that new small smile of his. “Not for years, Aria.”

Her laughter faded when he laid a hand on her waist, guiding her backward until she was pressed against the wall of books, and he raised one hand above her head. He was so close – their lips so near to meeting. All she had to do was lift her chin ever so slightly.

But before she could truly consider doing so, Aemond pulled away. He held a small grey book, a ribbon hanging from within. He tugged on it, coaxing it open to the page he had marked. “Some stories require your voice to do them justice.”

Arianwyn glanced down at the book. It was a collection of Valyrian myths, illustrated with lovely gilt illuminations. She did not recognize the title, The Legend of Gahaelon and Aeremys.

“Will you read it to me?” Aemond asked, as reverently as if it were a prayer.

Entranced by the intensity of his gaze, Arianwyn nodded. She slipped past him and walked to the velvet couch where they had often read together. The fabric had faded slightly but was kept clean enough. She sat in her usual place on the right, where she so often laid her head against the armrest while commanding Aemond what to write down.

After a moment spent simply staring at her, Aemond sat in his place on her left.

The air between them – smaller than she had remembered – crackled with something that would only take a single spark to ignite as she opened the book once more. Then, with one more furtive glance at Aemond, Arianwyn began to read:

“The island of Aethios was one of the greatest jewels of the Valyrian Freehold. The sands of the beaches sparkled as if made from pure gold, the forests lush and green, and the dragons raised on its shores grew large and strong.

This paradise was ruled by the dragonriders of House Cephaeos. Its Lords ruled wisely and justly for hundreds of years, making the island the greatest power in the Narrow Sea. It was even said by some that the Cephaeosi had made a deal with the Merling King to ensure the tides were always in their favor, for no man alive could remember a ship bearing its blue-scaled sails ever meeting a bitter end.

But so many years of good fortune so easily won often breed weak leaders. At the height of Aethios’ power, its throne fell to Lord Aeravon – whose most demanding trial came when he had to settle a dispute over the ownership of four crab traps. He was a boastful man, certain that the glory and honor won by his ancestors was also his to bear.

One day, Aeravon was feeling particularly prideful and boasted to his court that so great was the might of House Cephaeos that even the smallest of his family’s dragons – a young beast with scales the white of sea foam which his daughter had only just taken to wing – could surely best and devour any of the Merling King’s monsters.

The court fell silent. Surely their Lord would not be so foolish as to provoke the wrath of the Merling King? Aeravon’s advisors begged him to rescind his words, but it was too late.

A great wave, taller than the topless towers of Valyria itself, crashed over the castle, bringing the pale stone roof down upon Aeravon’s court. Then, the Merling King himself stood before Aeravon’s throne.

“Your tongue wags with dangerous words, boy,” the Merling King said, pointing his three-pronged spear at the prideful Lord. “You have no respect for the sea which I command nor for my children who you now insult without shame. For this, you must pay a price equal to the offense. Bring forth the dragon of which you speak, and we shall see how it fares against the youngest of my children.”

The Lord’s daughter, Aeremys, pleaded with her father to beg the forgiveness of the Merling King so he would spare her beloved dragon, but he ignored her desperate cries. He had been issued a challenge in his own castle, and his pride would not let him refuse.

The young dragon was brought to the throne room bound in heavy chains. The pitiful beast trembled in fear along with its rider when the Merling King lifted a clawed hand to summon his child.

The court cried out when one massive webbed foot, the size of a fishing boat, seized the side of the cliffs behind Aeravon’s throne. Another followed, and the blood-red head of the Caetus came into view. It loosed a horrible roar from its mouth, filled with jagged teeth longer than ballista bolts. The ladies of the court fainted as the beast hauled its enormous body over the edge of the cliff, propelling itself towards the castle with startling speed.

All that is, except for Aeremys, who continued to cry out for her poor dragon. As the creature was devoured, chains and all, by the fearsome Caetus, it was said that her wail shattered every piece of glass on the island.

Lord Aeravon looked on with unbridled terror at the dreadful might of even the Merling King’s youngest. His skin paled as white as his hair when the Merling King again pointed his spear at him.

“Foolish man,” the Merling King said. “To think that your feeble beasts could pose a threat to my children. You and your people will suffer for your vanity.”

Even Aeravon cried when the Caetus reached out and grabbed Aeremys, carrying her away from the castle and the island as quickly as it arrived.

“You shall watch as your innocent child is devoured by my waters,” the Merlin King decreed. “Only when your heart is broken, and you cry out to your fickle gods to save you, will I grant you the mercy of death. You. Your family. Your people. Your very island shall fall to my power.”

The ground beneath the island rumbled, and great spouts of water began to spray from the cracks in the throne room tile. But Aeravon was blind to the suffering of his people. All he could see was the stone pillar that had emerged from the sea, where his beloved daughter lay naked and chained, exposed to the roiling storm that had formed around the island.

He cried to the gods, begging them to spare her, begging them to spare him and his people and the island of his ancestors. They did not listen.

Aeremys resigned herself to a painful death, anticipating the sting of salt water in her lungs or the burn of lightning on her skin. But death did not come.

Her eyes, which she had kept tightly closed since the slimy hands of the Caetus closed around her, opened to find the rain falling upon her had ceased. Instead, she beheld the gleaming silver scales of the largest dragon she had ever seen, set aglow by the light of the storm.

Astride the dragon’s back was a fearsome warrior she had met once before. Gahaelon of House Belaerys, The Silver Knight of Valyria, who had flown the entirety of the world atop his steed, Tyvaros. There was no monster he could not slay.

As if it sensed the prowess of the new arrival, the Caetus again emerged from the sea, diving with an open mouth towards Gahaelon and his dragon.

“Dracarys!” Gahaelon shouted, and his dragon obeyed. A great cone of white flame enveloped the monster, boiling the water from its very blood. As the Caetus wailed for its father to save it, Tyvaros charged, allowing Gahaelon to carve it from tooth to tail with his greatsword, Aemandra.

Before the two halves of the beast could fall into the water, Gahaelon leaped from Tyvaros’ back, using the bloodied sword to cleave Aeremys’ chains and set her free. He held her close as he wrapped her in his cloak to hide her nakedness before mounting them both upon Tyvaros.

“Come, let us save your father!”

“No!” Aeremys replied. “He has made his choice. Let him suffer the consequences.” Gahaelon needed no convincing beyond the rage he found in her eyes.

The Merling King watched as the silver dragon flew away from his storm. Though he mourned the loss of the Caetus, he remembered how Aeremys begged her father to apologize and how she cried when her dragon was devoured. He watched as Gahaelon gently kissed the tears from her cheeks with a love the Merling King had not felt in millennia. Such a love deserved mercy, he resolved.

Then, the Merling King unleashed his ultimate wrath on the island of Aethios, reducing it and its people to stones and sand that sunk to the bottom of his sea.”

Aemond barely heard the story, though he knew Aria read it beautifully. She always did. But as she read, she had shifted closer and closer to him, and he to her. He could focus on little else but the way her head rested on his shoulder, his chin nestled in her hair.

She froze momentarily as if she, too, realized how dangerously close they were. Yet she didn’t pull away.

Emboldened, he slowly moved the arm he had slung over the back of the couch down until his hand was on her waist. She did not hesitate to lean back into his chest. Though his heart raced, and he was sure she could feel it, Aemond felt calmer and more at ease than he had in years.

“I never thanked you for the book of Runes you sent,” Aria whispered as she let the book fall into her lap.

Aemond took her hand, bringing it to his lips for a gentle kiss. “There is no need to thank me, Aria,” he kept his voice soft, too, as if any noise may shatter the small piece of paradise they found themselves in. “If anything, I should be the one to thank you for the gift you gave me.”

“Do you have it with you?” She looked up at his eyepatch as if she could see what lay beneath.

“I do,” he answered, though he was unsure if he wanted to show her. The last time she had seen what remained of his eye, she had fainted. He did not want her to be as afraid of him as so many were.

But then she looked at him with those perfect silver eyes brimming with fondness and reached with hesitant fingers for the edge of his scar. “Can I see it?”

How could he deny the woman he loved? How could he ever think she could fear him? Keeping one arm around her waist, he reached for the patch.

The moment his fingers touched the leather, the door to the room swung loudly open.

In an instant, Aemond realized how they must look, entangled in each other, alone in an empty room. Suddenly desperate to protect her reputation, he hastily uncoiled his arm from her waist and stood from the couch, leaving Arianwyn dazed by his sudden retreat.

Turning to the door, he was greeted by a smiling Queen Alicent, followed by Helaena and her children.

Perfect timing, he thought wryly as he forced an innocent smile to his face.

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