#i’m a sucker for pale haired men with terrible reputations

[pearlsinmyhair]

𓆱 a dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

an idea post for a possible aemond targaryen fic, the fawn and the dragon

Aemond is twelve when the words tumble from his sisters lips, and no one but him pauses to listen.

Heleana stares into the flames in the fireplace as she utters her prophecy. Aemond has heard her whispered words enough to know that there is always truth laced in, no matter how deceptive the tellings are.

A dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

A tear drips from her eyes as she repeats the words again, and Aemond feels something in his gut turn. In the dragon pit, Vhagar opens her eyes from sleep and hisses a warning to an invisible enemy.

Eleven years before this exact moment, a babe was pulled from its mothers cooling corpse, the tears still fresh on her cheeks as her widower husband clutches her lifeless face to his chest.

The midwife runs a warm cloth over the newborns body, checking for injury and imperfection as the man weeps.

“It���s a girl, my lord.” the woman says, her breath caught in her throat as all attention turns to the grieving Lion at the side of the bed. “You have a daughter.”

The Lion holds his hands to the bundle of blankets and pulls his baby to him, blinking as he takes in the wisps of dark hair on her brow and scalp, the rose petal lips, the soft cooing as she turns her face in search of a mother’s milk.

The Lion kisses his baby girls forehead and whispers a prayer to the Seven.

“Emma.” he dubs her, his voice trembling as he exchanges a wife for a daughter, their lives passing through his fingers without his control. “She shall be called Emma.”

She will grow into the spitting image of her mother, with the mirthful gaze of her father and the calculating eyes of her older half-brothers. A Baratheon mother and a Lannister father make her one of the most beautiful and the most wealthy women on the marriage market. Men of all shapes and sizes, all ages and houses, will barter for her body in their beds and her dowry in their pockets. Only one will ever lay claim to her, and his hold will only be half as tight as hers is on him.

They will be united by fire and blood, their bodies burning to one alight flame. They will dance as war plays behind and above them. Black will lay with blonde, and purple will mix with brown.

A dragon and a lion and a stag. Blood between them, violence intertwining their destinies, palms pushing them towards one another.

The lion will roar for fire, and the dragons will listen.

Red silk flips to reveal myrish lace. A candle flame is snuffed by a sharp exhale. A fur lined hood is pulled back from white hair. A rumor is uttered into attending ears. Mouths meet skin. A cloak is pulled over dark-clothed shoulders. Fingers drip with blood. A scream. A cry. A whisper.

Fate is cruel, and the wills of men are fickle.

Aemond’s chest tightens once more, and he rolls his shoulders back to try and alleviate the feeling. Across the continent, a dark haired girl shifts as warmth drips down her thigh, only to find that the trickle is red.

A dragon will burst the belly of a lion, and a stag will rise from its blood.

Through her tears, Heleana Targaryen smiles.

𓆱

[gwen-tolios]

Bryn

I knew from a young age the only job that would satisfy me was something with lots of violence.  The army would work, lots of gun and killing for glory, but the action wasn't constant outside of war.  And while I loved the idea of being on the front lines, I knew no war was forever and eventually I would need more violence.

It was a necessary as air for me to keep my sanity. I had to fight, and if possible, use explosives to do it.

I joined the army anyway. Earned a reputation as a pyromaniac, trigger happy, son-of-a-bitch, but still made it to the elite forces. But the violence wasn't enough, the missions my unit went on were too passive and too few.  As the years went on, I needed more and more violence to calm 'my' soul and when I couldn't get it from missions I turned on my unit.  I blew up our safe house, 10 pounds of C4, on a mission in Turkey.  I had put a mug under each of their beds before pressing the trigger to collect blood. Only two didn't break, and neither were full – should have used bowls instead for a wider collection hole – but I drank the blood they collected nonetheless.

Needless to say, I was declared rouge and became a wanted criminal.

Working freelance was much more my style. A kill almost every week, once I had built up a clientele. There was no need for a vacation, killing, and killing violently, was my joy. I gained a reputation for dealing out gruesome deaths of fire.

But then, on a hit in Tokyo, I saw you.  And I knew you were different, like me. You weren't in possession of your own soul either.

I followed you, trying to figure out your past life. I never saw you angry, even though your job as a peacekeeper for the UN had to be stressful. And you had a sucker's heart, you might have suspected that the poor kid trying to selling you gum was going to pick your pockets, but you bought from him anyway.  You also had a soft spot for young girls, enough where I would have called you a lesbian pedophile if I hadn't watched you take men to bed.  

In addition, you were paranoid about your health. You only drank filtered water and had a portable filter for tap water. Your bathroom mirror had a supply of vitamins behind it and you only bought organic.

I broke into your hotel room one night; you were in Beirut and hoping to help with peace talks between Israel and Palestine – again.  I took one look at you, with your pale skin, bleach blonde hair, and sapphire eyes, and knew you as soon as you walked in the suite and saw me sitting on the middle of your bed.

“You're a unicorn.”

And you said, “You're a dragon.”

I hadn't been aware of you watching me as I watched you, so something had to have given me away. Maybe you could smell the blood on me from a recent kill, or maybe you had sensed the danger you were walking into and picked the most dangerous mythical creature known to be reborn into a human. Or maybe it was a power of unicorns, to know what type of mythical soul they were looking at.  

I had only been identified as a dragon twice before. Once by myself when I realized where my violent tendencies came and another when I killed another mythical soul. A phoenix, who when he came back to life knew what I was.  In both cases, the realization had been met with a display of what it might mean to be a dragon.  As a human, 'my' soul couldn't fly but it still belonged to a dangerous predator who knew its way around fire, quick strikes, and long blades.

But you, when you said it, I did not feel the need to show you what being a dragon meant. You, or maybe your other soul, had looked past that to the darkness at my core, at your core. All mythical creatures are of a darker nature than others, human or animal, even one as peace loving as a unicorn. Their souls were born in a darker time, where they weren't allowed to live in peace. Mine is full of violence and yours, yours is full of self-loathing because you know most maidens present a trap but you walk to them anyway.

Unlike medieval times, where your pure soul would call out to a match in a human, in these times your match is me and other mythical souls, those as dark as yours, even if the shade is blacker.

I don't know what that connection felt like to you, on that one night we met and stayed awake in the bed and destroyed the pillows, but to me it reminded me of the time before I set the kitchen table on fire and my parents sent me to a boarding school for difficult children.  I felt fully human, something I never thought I would ever feel again. I felt like I was at home.

But the next morning, you were gone before I woke and left a note saying that while you knew I could find you again you would appreciate it if I didn't. Next time, you'd do the finding.

And I was okay, if it was you following me.  Still, I was terribly upset at losing you.  I blew up a bank, I'm sure you've seen it in the news.  And I've found myself since you left needing violence even more to placate the dragon soul inside of me. You looked at it, saw the darkness deep inside, and cupped something that could be called light within your hands. Now that you're gone, the darkness of 'my' soul is inkier than ever and my kills bloodier.