#esther fic >>>> a healthy sleep schedule

[iamnicodemus]

Esther, what the actual fuck; how dare you give me all the warm fuzzies, only to deny me their first kiss and drive a cold knife in my back instead?! What’s that all about, huh? 🤨

All joking aside, their closeness in this chapter had me GLEEFUL. I was teetering on the edge of my chair smiling during their slow dance, and especially when their faces came so close. God, what a moment, made all the better by how beautifully you described it.

The way she kept centering Aemond when his thoughts went awry, when his insecurities kept welling up, was everything to me 🥺.

The things Aemond was thinking about himself? That hurt. Kills me to see how harshly he regards himself, how he feels so unworthy of her. That ending - him leaving as to not tarnish his memory of the night and her reaction to it - just about broke my heart. Definitely a roller coaster of emotions with this chapter lol (special mention to the laugh I got from her putting Aegon in his place).

This story has been brilliant thus far. I’ve had the pleasure of binging catching up on it this morning and I can’t wait to see how its remaining chapters unfold.

𝔈𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔢𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔞 𝔉𝔩𝔞𝔪𝔢

↳ 𝐂𝐡 𝐬𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧: 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐬

Aemond Targaryen x Reader/fem!OC

Series Summary: You made a promise to Aemond once, when you were young and naive, and the only friend he'd ever known; yet you abandoned him before you could fulfill it. Between broken bonds, a betrothal, and flames that still burn deep within you; this is the story of how you fell apart and found each other again.

A/N: This chapter has been long awaited for me ever since I thought of this series, hope you enjoy it. Please let me know what you think. The song that inspired it was this one. <3

Word count: 4,3k

Masterlist | Previous chapter

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was bustling with people; Princes, Princesses, Lords, Ladies, and all nobility in between. All gathered for the feast in celebration of Queen Rhaenyra's new rule. The hall's great oak-and-bronze doors remained open, as did the curtains of the high windows, allowing the hazy moonlight to shine through.

Hundreds of guests sat at the long tables on each side of the Hall, and the Targaryens had their seats on their own table—adorned with a banquet of meals for the night—in front of the Iron Throne. A group of musicians entertained the feast, and the center of the Hall remained free for the dance yet to happen.

After exchanging pleasantries with many boring nobles, and having a glass or two of wine to take you through it, you had taken a step aside to breathe. You leaned back against one of the walls of the Great Hall, watching from a safe and secluded distance as the guests relished in their time within the Red Keep. Plenty of them seemed to teeter on the edge of drunkness already—speaking about their lands and affairs a little louder than they should.

An amused smirk came to you, never having been fond of the royal court, but the drama that came with it would always be mildly entertaining. Alas, the corset of your gown had started constricting your breathing about an hour ago and the expensive fabric of the skirt began itching on your skin. Truthfully, this feast couldn't end soon enough.

"And what's a fine lady such as yourself-" A familiar voice caught your attention quite suddenly, and you watched with narrowed eyes as Aegon approached you with a sly smile and a golden chalice in his hand. "-Doing here all by herself?" The first Prince finished slowly.

Aegon eyed you up and down, causing you to straighten your posture. Aegon's cheeks were flushed, his silver curls were messy, pupils blown, and smile all too loose—unsurprisingly, he was drunk. He stumbled up to you, resting his shoulder on the stone wall close enough for you to smell the wine on his breath.

"Shouldn't you have a certain one-eyed someone keeping you company?" Aegon traced the rim of his chalice with his thumb, half-lidded eyes gleaming under the torch lights. "If you were mine, I would never let you out of my sight," he whispered.

With the side of your eye, you glanced in the direction you knew Aemond to be; still seated beside his mother at the table, with a vacant seat beside him—yours. As you looked at him, you caught a glimpse of him quickly turning his head forward again, averting his gaze.

You took a long and steadying breath, holding it in your lungs for a beat before allowing it to fall from your lips. This was no place to cause a scene—the many voices blending with one another around you and the musicians' tune reminded you as much—even if Prince Aegon seemed eager to taunt you for it.

"Hello to you too, Aegon," you tried a smile, leaning your head to the side as you looked at him, "Are you enjoying yourself tonight?"

"Oh much," he raised his eyebrows, never losing the smirk. "Though I understand if you aren't, we both know my poor brother is hardly the most entertaining to have as one's company." The Prince threw a quick glance Aemond's way as well. He walked closer to you, boldness born from the wine in his system; "I don't blame you… For going away."

You leveled him with a glare when he invaded your space, eyes turning as sharp as a dragon's. "Aemond is one of the few people here worth having around." And you weren't daft, you knew he'd hinted at the years you'd spent away, at Dragonstone. You leaned closer to him, voice low and steady; "And I haven't left, nor do I plan to."

"I was hoping you wouldn't." Aegon expressed in the same breath, one corner of his lips still raised, yet his gaze drifted lower on your face for a moment. "That was quite a show you pulled with my brother at the training yard," he held a pause, eyeing you with amusement, "The day before last."

You hummed, raising a brow.

"Bold," Aegon hushed, twirling the wine on his chalice.

"You were there, then?" You didn't remember seeing Aegon during the rainy day of your sparring with Aemond. But you weren't necessarily paying attention.

"For a bit." The first Prince shrugged. He took a long sip of his wine. "But even if I weren't, all the gossip about it would've been enough."

You refrained from rolling your eyes, glancing aside with pursed lips. No wonder some of the lesser nobles at court had been giving you poorly concealed stares lately, more than you were already used to; you could almost feel their whispers bouncing off your skin at times, another reason for you to prefer the company of your dragon on most days. "People talk too much, unnecessarily so." You focused back to Aegon, only to notice he'd come closer.

"Congratulations on the betrothal, by the way." He spoke only for you, as if it was still a secret, "I was most pleased to hear you'll be joining the family."

You scoffed. The only thing between you and him was the chalice of wine Aegon still had in his hand, and you were lucky most people had diverted their attention to the dance that had just begun in the center of the Great Hall. "I thank you, my Prince," you spoke pointedly, more in jest than anything else.

A low chuckle came from Aegon, he had his lips parted, tongue between his teeth; "Know that, if you ever grow bored of my dear brother… My door is always unlocked for you." It was all sultry and suggestive, like he knew he went over the line and was enjoying every minute of it, almost as if instigating a reaction; "Gods know you're too good for-"

And Aegon earned his prize when you cut him off by taking a fistful of his robes and forcefully turning him around, slamming his back onto the stone wall. A grunt escaped the Prince, the wine of his chalice spilling onto his fingers in a deep burgundy stain.

"Have a care on how you speak of my betrothed, Aegon." You all but growled at him, nearly ripping the fabric of his clothes with how tight you bunched it in your hands. "Or, may the gods help me, I ought to turn this feast into a funeral."

"Ah, so fierce." The first Prince's words were something breathless and bordering on needy, coming with a smirk and an eager chuckle from the back of his throat.

You shook your head at him, berating yourself for allowing him to get under your skin, and the look on your face only invited Aegon to lean closer, despite your hold on him. And if he leans closer still, his nose might touch yours. You wondered if that's what he wanted all along. He kept his hands to himself, but there was something all too telling about how he didn't try to get you off him.

"I have-" He ran his tongue over his bottom lip, gaze trailing down on your face, "Missed that fire of yours."

You raised a brow at Aegon. And amidst the music, the smell of scented candles, and the loud voices of the nobles; you leaned closer, innocent tilt to your lips while you held his gaze until you couldn't anymore, until those same lips brushed against the shell of his ear. "Go out, Aegon," you whispered to him, feeling a tingle of satisfaction when you heard him groan, "To the balconies." Pulling back, you took hold of both his cheeks with one hand. A harsh grip that made him wince.

"You're too far gone on your cups. Go and get some fresh air, before you force me to ruin everyone's night," You hissed between your teeth, pushing the first Prince aside as he pouted on your hold.

Aegon lingered only for a moment longer, from the corner of your eyes you could notice him bringing one hand to his face. "Yes ma'am." He downed the last of his drink, and with a clumsy curtsy to you, he was finally walking away.

The last thing you needed was to give the ladies at court more reasons to gossip about you, but Aegon had been a rock in your shoe ever since the days you'd run after him with a sword whenever he pranked his younger brother when you were children. He'd been insufferable then and you were less than pleased to know he'd apparently grown bolder. But then, so had you.

You turned back to look at Aemond and a long sigh of relief left your lungs when you saw him enthralled in a conversation with his mother, still seated at the table—good, there was no need for him to trouble himself with his brother tonight. You smoothed down the fabric of your gown and made your way back to your seat beside your betrothed.

Daemon caught your eye as you sat back down, he gave you a small smile, which you returned. The rogue Prince then extended a hand to his wife, the Queen. And you watched as she took it with a bashful smile before being led to the center of the Great Hall—they fell into a rhythm easily, following the melody as they danced.

It didn't take long for Aemond's attention to divert back to you when he felt your presence return to his side. He had a strong grip on his chalice of wine, knuckles white, but it loosened when you met his stare with a tight-lipped smile.

The Prince had been incessantly tapping his fingers on the table for the past fifteen minutes. Partly because he'd seen you with Aegon, partly because he was all too aware of the couples dancing in front of him.

The musicians' song was a slow one, dominated by a soft violin tune. The dance being shared looked nothing short of intimate, every Lord within the Keep had taken his Lady's hand when the melody began.

Distant telltales of the pain behind Aemond's eyepatch lingered. He worried that the headache might return at any point in the night. A few loud voices here and there had already made him wince and grit his teeth. He'd refrained from eating too much; the pain had been bothering him all day, making him less than inclined to put food in his stomach. But there was a nagging in his chest, like longing mixed with something bitter that wouldn't go away, and it grew stronger when the Prince spotted you with his brother.

You were his, after all—the one thing he couldn't allow Aegon to take from him.

Aemond cleared his throat, turning to face you. He was not meant to be a husband, for how could he ever be a good one? There was no gentleness in his life, the only love he'd ever known had been conditional; he didn't know how to do it. Aemond extended his hand to you, anyway.

"My lady," Aemond's voice was timid and hushed. He only looked up at you after a beat of hesitation. "Would you do me the honor?”

Within the most vulnerable parts of his heart, the Prince still hoped to win your affections, even if sometimes he thought himself a fool for it—you and he were stuck in a betrothal born out of duty, after all. With seven years cutting through what you once were. During these very moments with you that Aemond treasured so much, he couldn't help but feel a chill in his stomach.

The question caught you off guard even if it shouldn't have. Every Lord and their Lady-wife participated in the dance, so it would only be proper for you and your betrothed to join, as well. Aemond was performing his duty, that's all. But your mouth turned dry, and you struggled to find words. "The- the honor would be mine, my Prince."

You placed your hand upon Aemond's, his fingers closing around yours all too carefully, and he led you to the center of the Great Hall. "Was my brother bothering you, my Lady?" He couldn't keep himself from asking.

Aemond was more than capable of guiding you through this dance with his eye closed, and yet he faltered, only placing his other hand at your waist when you gently took hold of his arm and secured it there. Once he felt the curves of your body under his hand, however, his hold became steady and strong—nigh possessive. It sent goosebumps down your spine that you tried to mask.

"I'm afraid I'm well used to your brother's antics." You analyzed your surroundings, feeling oddly exposed even if you were amidst many other nobles. You kept your hold on one of Aemond's hands, placing your other hand on his shoulder. With your chest close to his, your breath ran shallow. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before, luckily he remains easy." With a shrug, you shifted your gaze forward, meeting the eye of your betrothed.

Aemond's attention on you shifted, he peered around as well. Maids whispered in each other's ears, noble ladies looked upon his hand holding you with a look akin to scandal, and Lords followed the sway of your hair hungrily. Everyone was looking. Everyone whispering about the second Prince's new betrothed.

"Hey." You stole back his attention, and he felt his destructive thoughts quieting down. The smile you wore was soft and kind, and it was for him.

"Focus on me," you breathed. And Aemond gladly would.

There was a small curl of your hair that had caught on one of your earrings. Aemond's eye slowly traveled your face until he saw it. The Prince raised his hand for a moment, only so he could delicately pull it free—his touch so careful you barely felt it when the tip of his fingers grazed your cheek—and then his hand settled back on your waist. You held your breath the entire time.

"I remember well." Aemond had the ghost of a smile that he tried to hide. "Aegon has always been intimidated by you." The Prince twirled you then, a steady motion that got your gown dancing around your frame, and then brought you right back into his arms.

The two of you fell into a rhythm together, as easy as breathing. Your bodies moved in synch with each other, as if you knew the movement the other would make before it even happened. At one point your fingers intertwined with Aemond's, fitting between one another as if they belonged. Your swaying along the expanse of the Great Hall slowed down to something more intimate, even more so than the soft melody of the musicians.

A trembled breath left Aemond's lips, his eye searched your face for something—and he must've found it, because you felt his hand at your waist close more firmly around you, the tips of his fingers traced your spine and he pulled you closer to himself. You in turn moved your hold on his shoulder to the back of his neck, hand disappearing beneath his long hair.

Aemond seemed caught in a trance, the color of his iris barely visible, only a small ring around the blown pupil. His lips were parted, something a little unsure, nervous. But he was close, so close. You could count each faded freckle, each twist and turn of the scar on his cheek.

There was something entirely too magical about Aemond. Too princely, as cliche as that may be. His pin-straight silver hair framed his face, you couldn't help but notice how wisps of it escaped over the strap of his eyepatch as well—once again you stopped yourself from reaching over, from tucking it behind his ear and allowing your touch to wander. He belonged in a castle, he belonged in royalty, you decided. For seeing Aemond under the fire of the chandelier as his careful hands guided you through a slow dance—bodies close, all intimate and tender—was bewitching.

You couldn't know who did it. Perhaps you met together in the middle. But you and Aemond swayed to a soft melody, hands interlocked, as your foreheads came to rest against one another. His nose bumped yours and you could see through your lashes how he closed his eye and leaned closer still.

And Aemond breathed you in, inebriated in the feeling of you. Your perfume was all-encompassing, your touch as warm as dragonfire, your breath fanning over his lips; he wanted you in his arms forevermore. The feeling all too foreign to him, yet he couldn't have enough of it.

Could duty ever evoke such a moment?

Was the question you distantly asked yourself. Right now, hands shaking for being a breath away from touching his lips with yours; you couldn't know the answer.

What felt like hours, lasted maybe a minute or two. Aemond pulled away, ever so slowly, almost as if it pained him to do so, and so you did the same. The look on your Prince's face was nearly unreadable, but not for the lack of emotion, rather for the overflowing of it. Aemond's eye glinted under the firelight. He looked very pale and very nervous, and a little… hopeful.

You were sure your face mirrored his.

"Why-" Your voice stumbled, a little breathless "Why is that, do you think?" You squeezed Aemond's hand out of instinct.

Your words gave him pause. Aemond opened and closed his mouth as he willed his hazy mind to catch up and remember what it was you were speaking about. A difficult task, all he could focus on was you—your perfume, your closeness, the outlines of your face highlighted in golden hues—you. "I uh-" He gulped, glancing away for a beat and two, to allow himself some respite, "You have an effect on people."

Blinking at his response, you were about to ask what he meant by it when Aemond ducked his head with a sharp intake of air. His brows scrunched and he let go of your waist to bring his hand to his face, over his eyepatch.

Aemond gave an involuntary grunt when his eye socket started throbbing, instantly bringing back the heavy headache surrounding his scar. it came suddenly, the once dull pain he'd managed to keep on the back of his mind now had each of his nerve endings burning. At the same time that the pain kept him from opening his one good eye, the skin around his scar felt numb and warm to the touch. It was the last thing the Prince wanted, his heart bled in his chest at the thought of ruining your night with his burden.

"Aemond?" Your gentle voice came almost like a soothing kiss over his pain. "Is something wrong? Are you alright?" You worried.

"Yes," Aemond forced out, heavy blinks getting his eye open again even if his sight blurred at the edges and blended with the warm lighting of the Hall. The Prince felt nauseous at the nearly unbearable pain, he could feel his face twitching and turned his head aside and away from your increasingly concerned gaze. "All is… well."

Only a fool would believe him. Aemond had turned tense, his face constricted in a weird way while he nearly crushed your fingers with his grip. "Are you… certain?" Yet you knew better than to call him out blatantly. If Aemond wanted to keep something to himself, he would, no matter what you did.

A breath stumbled past his lips, and Aemond cleared his throat, stalling his answer.

"Why don't we-" You paused, regarding him with unbridled worry and a heavy heart, "Why don't we step aside for a while? I can grab us something to drink."

Aemond nodded. "Okay." His voice was quieter than he'd wanted it to be.

You didn't let go of his hand as you dragged him aside, away from the commotion. You were not sure of what he was feeling, but you were almost certain that it was the same thing that had bothered him during the coronation ceremony. It wasn't your place to demand answers, not yet, but you wished he'd be truthful with you. You wished he'd allow himself to be helped.

Aemond's hold of your hand was a tight one, you weren't sure he even realized he did it. You held his hand between both of yours when you stopped just beside the long wooden table you'd been seated before. Running your thumb over his knuckles, hoping to calm him. It didn't do much.

"Forgive me, I-" The Prince refrained from looking you in the eyes, shame weighed heavy in his stomach. His lower lip wobbled with each of the heavy breaths he took. Clouded by pain, Aemond's mind conjured up punishing questions; what if this makes you leave his side again? What if you decide that someone as imperfect as he is not deserving of you?

"Don't fret," you spoke in the same beat, bringing him back to you—always bringing him back. "I was already going to suggest we stop for a glass of wine."

Pursing his lips, Aemond gulped. He mourned the wish of dancing with you until the first rays of sun peeked over the horizon. Aemond's nostrils flared with anger—if he weren't so weak, if he hadn't had his eye cut out, if he wasn't so damaged; he wouldn't have to end your night so suddenly.

"I'll be back in just a minute, alright?" You tried finding his gaze, leaning slightly closer, but couldn't.

Aemond grew restless at the idea of letting go of your hand, like it was a lifeline keeping him afloat—the thought of you leaving him again scared him more than he'd ever want to admit, it made his heart jump into his mouth, and turned his insides as cold as the north's winter. The past seven years might've left a deeper scar than the one on his face. But he did so anyway. It wasn't your burden to bear. He managed a crooked smile for you, the silver strands of his hair bouncing gently as he nodded.

The Prince watched your retreating figure, his eye following you as you reached the long table amidst the crowd and filled one chalice with wine and the other with water. There was something alluring about the way the light of the candles bounced off the embellishments of your dress, how it made your skin glow. Aemond wanted to keep that image of you with him forever, sewn neatly on the tapestries of his mind. He wished to remember this night like this; dancing with you under the golden lights, your hand in his, your eyes on him, your smile for him. And not by the pain that now left a nauseating twist to his barely filled stomach, that blurred his sight at the edges and tarnished the image of you.

Aemond wanted to keep the precious memory for what it was. And so he turned around, and left.

You held the two chalices in your hands. One with wine for you, and the other with water for Aemond. He seemed distressed, that much was clear, you'd noticed the skin around his scar spasming at the same time he'd wince—you'd figured wine wouldn't help with that.

However, a Lord with a fat belly that you didn't know the name of, thought now would be the perfect time to tell you about his lands and fortunes back home. You remained polite as his annoying voice rang into your ears, smiling rather awkwardly while slowly taking a few steps away.

"That is delightful, my Lord. Surely your vineyards are a sight to behold. But I really must-"

"Do fly to our land sometime, my lady. I have all the means necessary to build a formidable Dragonpit." The old Lord gloated, stuffing his chest where his brown beard lay.

"I uh-" Something between a chuckle and a groan escaped you, "I will… keep that in mind. But now I really should be going back to my husband." The word left your mouth before you could think better of it. And you surprised yourself by liking the shape of it on your tongue, when the person behind the title was Aemond.

The Lord, however, deflated in his pride after you spoke. He grumbled something under his breath before saying, "Be well, fair lady."

You didn't waste another second before turning on your heels and sped walking to the other side of the Great Hall, a huff of relief falling past your lips. You stopped at the same spot you'd left your Prince, but there was no sign of him. Turning your head left, and then right, and then back and again. You couldn't spot him.

There was a deep frown crinkling your features and a strange sense of emptiness inside your chest. You spotted Jace then, popping an olive into his mouth as he took a break from his dance with Baela.

"Jace," you called, stepping up to him. The young Prince turned to you with his mouth full but still sporting a smile. "Hey, have you seen Aemond? I lost sight of him." You looked over the bustling Hall again for good measure, but to no avail.

"Oh yeah, I did actually," Jace spoke after he'd swallowed his food, he gestured to the main oak-and-bronze doors, "He left."

You blinked, mouth agape as you looked from Jace, to the doors, and back to Jace. "What- what do you mean?" No—you tried believing—Aemond wouldn't simply leave your side without any regard, he was your partner for the night, your betrothed.

The Velaryon boy shrugged. His features were sympathetic, if a little lost. "He just left."

You nodded hesitantly, pointer finger tapping the rim of one of the chalices.

He just left.

What if duty was all there was, after all?

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Next chapter will be out soon.

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