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house-strong · 1 year

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— DRAGONS BANE, chapter four ʾ ⋆

CHAPTER FOUR — the pawn and the queen

glossary ; chapter one, chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five, chapter six.

summary ; while aemond is continually struggling to understand what these feelings that he’s experiencing are, he can’t help but continue to be vexed at his mothers newfound fondness for you. you, on the other hand, are trying to navigate court in the way your father had taught you.

notes ; lots of dialogue and character building,, includes aemond's pov and his thoughts,, whose ready for when i destroy this,, also this gif? shiyittt,,

taglist ; @cypherpt5fttaehyung @tachibubu @underatreedrinkingtea @anita-alice @shnadaidas @kitkat-writes-stuff @itisjustwhatitis @rosedovve @mistalli @thesnugglingduck @miaowchan17 @fancylisoo @merakiaes @sanguinalia @ephemeralninon @averageperhaps @sana-within-you @thegreat-annamaria @tina-theslytherin @signyvenetia @vikingsisthenewsexy @mitsuyaws @andysnewgroove @gloryekaterina @fandoms8 @aemond-apologist @lizajane2 @witchymermaid12 @sunscreenfeverdream @marytvirgin @s0ph-3 @starddustt @redridingpants @aaleksmorozova @riddlerloveb0t @bcon24 @sonyascreams @queenofshinigamis @myspy @woodandwaxwings @camilbarnesss @muddleofnervouswords @dudfahsn @noisyinfluencerstrawberry @kpoppunk18-blog @aphroditeisamilf @dottie-witch

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a sudden spout of soft giggles compels you to return to the real world.

thoughts that once contained the night festivities from days before had continued to plague your mind. there was a certain uncertainty about that night; was aemond showing his true colors or was there something more deceptive at play? you’ve tried to recall the techniques that your father had taught you beforehand; what was aemond’s reasoning for wanting to get on your good side?

“sweet girl, has anyone ever told you how adorably witty you are?”

your gaze raises from the cup of wine in your hand, a small smile forming on your lips at the compliment the queen mother had given you.

“once or twice from my lord father, though i must admit, it is very nice to hear that from you, your grace.”

your reply seems to soften her resolve, for she sighs in content and fans her slightly flushed face. you assumed it was both the alcohol and her laughter than caused the rosiness of her face. she clears her throat, tucking a strand of dark curly hair behind her ear.

she takes another sip from her cup, “how have you been faring here, my dear? i hope my daughter isn’t giving you too much trouble?”

now, you’re faced with a choice. you can either tell the truth and explain to her of her youngest sons inability to stay on your good or bad side, explain how he causes aggravation and irritation in his wake, and how helaena has been nothing less than a sister. or, you could lie; tell her that everything is peachy and fine, no disturbance whatsoever in your time being here.

you assume it’s appropriate to tell her a half-truth. it wasn’t necessarily lying.. was it?

“just as i’d hoped,” you start, fingers lightly tapping against the gold goblet, “helaena is good and kind, she treats me as if i were of her own.” you lick your lips as you weigh the next words in your mind before on your tongue, “but i must confess, i have a strange longing for home.”

queen alicent has gotten up from her cushion on the other side of the room and has crossed the median, sitting beside you and setting her cup down on the table. she coos gently before taking one of your hands into hers. her hands are tender and warm, almost motherly.

her smile only seems to become more genuine and happy, if that was possible, “i’m very glad to hear that.”

“i know it must’ve been strange to see brother wed sister, but i am glad that you are supportive of helaena.” supportive. that was one word for it. alicent looks away, smacking her lips once she finds the words, “sometimes duty is what we must sacrifice love for.”

unsure if the queen was alluding to herself or helaena, you simply nod in understanding as if the piece of advice had given you some clarity. you slowly raise the cup of wine, taking a sip.

“how about aemond?” the question causes you to sit up a little straighter.

“forgive me, your grace, but what exactly about aemond?”

“has he been kind?” she asks, one of her hands leaving yours and finding the stem of her cup. her fingers curl around it before raising it to her lips so she can take a drink. was this a trick question?

another truth or lie situation. aemond was.. an enigma, that was sure. he was hot and cold; one minute he could be giving you a genuine smile after he had chuckled (him chuckling was something very special to you), then the next he could be emotionless and devoid of any sign of human life. he could be kind, but then he could turn into a force you wouldn’t want to reckon with.

you could compare him to storms and lemons, two drastically different things but served the same purpose when dealt in the same sentence as aemond. storms come and go, pretty in the distance with the smell of petrichor, then an unrelenting force when the clouds break lightning and thunder over your castle. each strike rattling the foundation and making you wonder if your home would survive the typhoon.

lemons, well, lemons were a beautiful yellow, bright and promising. but when you take a bite, instant sourness attacks your tongue and leaves you bitter.

you swallow the sudden thickness in your throat, “he has kept me company.”

it wasn’t exactly a lie. aemond has been someone who was very constant in your life since living here in grandeur of the red keep. he’s like a plague on your freedom, invading anything and everything he can; the godswood, the library, insulting your family memory, or even ridiculing your occupation.

queen alicent seems content by this answer, but before she can reply, a kingsguard opens the door. he has warm, sun-kissed skin and unruly black hair. you were sure this was criston cole, aemond’s master-of-arms and ultimately, queen alicent’s personal shield.

“prince aemond, my queen.”

aemond struts in after the kingsguard, his expression placid. he stops in the middle of the room, one hand enclosed around his wrist that’s settled at the front of him. he’s looking between the two of you, eye shooting back and forth. that’s only when he notices that his mothers hand is still enclosed around yours and how close you two were.

this only seems to anger him as his jaw becomes set, adding to the sculpture of his face. the hold on his wrist tightens to show the bone underneath the skin.

“i fear our time together has been cut short, my lady.” the queen says as she refocuses on you. she gets up and you follow, one of her hands finding your shoulder, which she rubs. she stays like that for a moment, eyes observing your features before she pulls you in to give you two chaste kisses on your cheeks. “off you go, my dear.”

you curtsy at the queens leave and set your cup on the table. you turn and make way towards the door, offering aemond a smile that he doesn’t return. safe to say, he doesn’t even look at you. some newfound feeling starts to pluck at the strings of your heart as you exit the room.

once you’re surely out of earshot and the wooden door closes behind you, aemond blinks at his mother, “do you plan to treat all wards of the crown with such familiarity?” his voice borders the bitterness of ice.

queen alicent, already sensing where this conversation was going, simply sits back down and rubs at her temples, “aemond, don’t start.” her hands join together in a fold where she places her head on top of. “you’ve been sweet on her too.”

aemond wants to tut and roll his eye at the comment. it’s as if his actions were enough to excuse hers. he chooses to hum with irritation instead, moving to sit on a chair nearby. silence drapes over them and they stare challengingly at one another, as if the other was pleading to give them an excuse to start an argument. aemond gladly takes the bait.

“she’s been here for little over a month and yet you’ve treated her with more kindness than aegon or i combined have ever seen.”

alicent, unsure as to what to say, stays silent–this only furthers aemonds growing resentment.

“you can’t even be bothered to deny it.” aemond’s voice was borderline hurt and his furrowed expression only backs that. he starts playing with his hand, cracking the knuckles where he can as he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth.

“i don’t blame you,” he says, his stare unwavering on alicent, “she’s everything you could have possibly want. hair like yours, a certain wittiness, a fondness for duty–she’s not like aegon, helaena, or i.”

after a moment of silence and despite his best wishes, he swallows the lump that’s grown in his throat, “do you despise us?”

alicent weighs aemond’s words in her mind before deciding to respond. perhaps she should’ve stayed silent. maybe he would have found more comfort in no response than the one she comes up with.

“if you truly think that, then you are not as clever as i thought you to be.” the statement doesn’t do much to quench the fury he felt bubbling in his stomach or warm his aching heart. he, however, has decidedly given up and clears his throat. the answer he wanted wasn’t one he was going to get. disappointment is obvious as he stares down at the floor.

the only sound within the room is the fire that cackles loudly and the clang of a flagon against the table in the middle of the chairs. alicent has reached for it and poured herself a fresh cup. she leans back in her chair, sipping on the contents slowly while she’s deep in thought.

despite being unable to voice her affection for her children properly, alicent was sure that aemond was the child she favored over helaena and aegon. his brother was an incompetent drunk who often whored his way down the street of silk, scurrying away in the shadows like a rat to enjoy his nightly activities. what they were, alicent couldn’t find out, but she was sure she didn’t want to know, or even, she didn’t care to know.

helaena, ever the dear, was a force that alicent simply couldn’t understand. what alicent couldn’t understand, she was often irritable towards. helaena was quite cryptic and involved in her own hobbies; little creatures of bugs and insects stored comfortably in her room, stitching these same bugs as blankets for the child she was currently carrying. it’s possible that alicent couldn’t care to involve herself in her daughters odd passions.

what ever disconnection alicent had, perhaps there was some truth to aemonds words about you. you reminded alicent of herself when she was younger: bound by duty.

“aemond,” his name almost feels foreign and distasteful on her tongue after his outburst, “i fear i must ask something of you.”

aemond, despite the annoyance and discouragement he felt welling within him, turns his head to face his mother, “name it and it shall be done.”

his compelling need to win his mothers love and affection through devotion and loyalty was something that never went unnoticed, especially by her. he couldn’t help but sometimes feel like a dog being whistled up to do as its masters bidding.

alicent takes another sip of her wine before rising from her seat. she begins to toy with the rings that adorned her fingers while she’s in thought.

“the tyrells are the seatholders of highgarden and therefore, wardens of the west. your grandsire often talked about how their endless fields produce bountiful crop–enough so that it makes up most of the realms food.” she begins to pace back and forth. aemond watches her carefully, “the tyrells have always been sympathetic towards matriarchy–his family was the first to bend the knee to princess rhaenyra, i have no doubt he wants to pass highgarden to his daughter.”

aemond crinkles his nose at the mention of his half-sister. he was so sure he hasn’t been summoned to his mothers quarters on the pure need to share a lesson in history, what was her point?

“do you recall me explaining to you that our spies were sighting rhaenyra and daemon flying to highgarden?”

aemond nods his head, “i do.”

“i believe rhaenyra was planning on joining their houses–our dear, little flower to her son, jacaerys.” alicent turns around to look at aemond. his leg is now crossed over the other and he is well in thought–obvious realization dawning on his face as he realizes what his mother is trying to tell him.

“jacaerys is barely a man with any hair on his chest,” he responds.

alicent smiles and sits on the cushion that’s closest to aemond. she settles her elbows on her lap and leans forward. one of her hand goes up to tenderly stroke his cheek and aemond almost feels the need to lean into her touch. he simply closes his eyes and enjoys the warmth of her single digit against his skin.

“you, aemond, are a man grown.” her hand drops from his face. a few moments of silence and aemond reopens his eye to meet her look, “you will woo her and convince her to marry you.”

aemond wants to laugh, but all that comes out is a half-assed chuckle that’s mixed with a breathless scoff. he looks at her as if her proposition was some kind of joke. even if she was serious, aemond couldn’t find it in his.. heart to even try to begin properly courting you.

he had so many grievances against you; your family was conspiring with princess rhaenyra (which, in his mind was already traitorous enough even if she wasn’t technically a rebellion against the throne), you had won the affections of his mother (which should’ve been his by his own birth, but that’s a subject he doesn’t want to argue about anymore), and.. what ever this feeling was that he had swallow down the night of helaena and aegon’s wedding celebration.

it felt like bile was stuck in his chest, unmoving and forever keeping him in agony.

he turns his head away, the hardness returning into his jaw, “anything but, mother.”

“aemond, please,” she softly, “if not for me, then your brother– your sister. if rhaenyra comes to power, there’s no telling what she will do to you three.”

aemond, despite everything in his self interest, knows she’s right. bound by his desperation to keep his family together and happy, aemond casts an unhappy look towards his mother.

“i’ll do what i must.”

alicent gives him a fond smile once his reply reaches her ears. despite everything that was said, alicent can’t help but feel a sense of pride swell in her chest. even though he was vengeful and oftentimes full of an anger she couldn’t comprehend, she could admit that his loyalty to his family was one of his limited strengths.

“i know you will, sweet boy.” sweet boy. that was the first affectionate name his mother had given him. was it wrong to still feel resentful? was it possibly too late to start letting her affinity towards himself be known? was this merely the lemon on top of a lemon cake that will help ensure his success in wooing you? aemond couldn’t tell, but he knew that he did not like being called sweet boy.

aemond purses his lips and licks his teeth, “can i go now?”

“you may.” the affirmation of his leave is enough to make him stand, give his mother a slight bow, and saunter out of the room without a second thought.

he paces the halls of the red keep, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek as he thinks about his newfound mission. what was he to do about you? how in seven hells was he supposed to muster the strength to not only gain your friendship, but your love? what did he know about love?

aemond was sure he didn’t know anything about it. his mother hated being a mother and never properly put her heart into caring for them. his father, well, his father was tiptoeing between the line of living and being dead. when he was younger, he had always watched his father favor his nephews over his actual sons. maybe that was the reason aemond was so spiteful against them and the world.

he rounds a sharp corner and nearly knocks into a body. his hands shoot out on instinct and grip the shoulders, his eye taking in the person before him. you. how convenient. the parchment you were holding drops to the ground and gets trampled over, much to your dismay which is vocalized with a groan.

“we have to stop meeting like this.” aemond is unsure whether it was a tease or if he was being mean, but it looks like you’ve receipted it as a tease.

you bend at the knee and pick up the piece of paper, “maybe you should look where you’re going.”

aemond’s brows furrow and he’s ready to make a combative comment, but the grin on your face tells him that you weren’t being an ass. maybe he needs to get out more.

“what’s that?” he motions with his chin towards the ruined paper in your hands.

deciding to make fun of the situation, “this was a letter meant for the princess explaining all your whereabouts as i am her spy.”

if aemond could physically bristle at your jest, he would now. his eye opens wide and he makes a grab for the paper. your brows furrow in confusion and you swat his arm away, pulling the paper out of his reach.

“that was a joke, aemond.” your voice is scolding and aemond doesn’t like that.

“if it was then let me read it.” maybe aemond was out of line for asking, or rather telling, but he just needed to be sure.

you scoff, “no, this is a letter for my father. it’s personal. besides, i thought we weren’t friends?”

you don’t miss the way aemond rolls his eye at your last comment. touché. he huffs in defeat, his eye narrowing pointedly at you.

“i could command you,” he suggests, his hands joining behind his back as he leans against the wall. you stare at him challengingly and he can’t help but notice the fury that brought out a certain light in your eye. maybe this wasn’t the best way to woo you, but he was never one to accept defeat.

“then you’d be losing the closest thing to a friend that you have,” you retort back. was he incapable of being decent? incapable of returning to the man that you’ve laughed with those days ago? “if you want friends, my prince, then i suggest you don’t use your power over them.”

with that and an angry exhale through your nose, you turn sharply on your heel and leave him alone in the courtyard.

aemond can’t help but feel discomforted at your use of ‘my prince.’ he was doing well, he reckoned, as you called him by his name earlier in your conversation. maybe he egged you on a little too much.

maybe.

#aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen #hotd x reader #hotd imagine #hotd fanfic #hotd fic #hotd #my writing #dragons bane

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house-strong · 1 year

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— DRAGONS BANE, chapter five ʾ ⋆

CHAPTER FIVE — light side of the moon.

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

summary ; spending days away from you presence after your squabble, aemond is contemplating on the task his mother had set for him. you, on the other hand, were doing your duty as a servant to the crown. you accompany helaena on all her adventures. today, whilst remembering your home castle, helaena talks about a festival within the city walls. you're tempted to go, but have no willing chaperone. rules are broken and there's a new light shining from above.

pairings ; aemond targaryen x reader , platonic!helaena targaryen x reader , jacaerys velaryon x reader (mentioned)

notes / warnings ; omg this is nearly 5k words LMFAO,, more bonding 🧡 uhh slight mention of a man being gross but it isn't explicitly stated. aemond is still an ass and you and helaena share a tender moment. aemond also talks about losing his eye,, DEVELOPMENT !

taglist ; @gloryekaterina @andysnewgroove @mitsuyaws @vikingsisthenewsexy @signyvenetia @tina-theslytherin @thegreat-annamaria @sana-within-you @averageperhaps @ephemeralninon @sanguinalia @merakiaes @fancylisoo @miaowchan17 @thesnugglingduck @mistalli @rosedovve @itisjustwhatitis @fandoms8 @lizajane2 @sunscreenfeverdream @witchymermaid12 @marytvirgin @s0ph-3 @starddustt @redridingpants @aaleksmorozova @riddlerloveb0t @bcon24 @queenofshinigamis @myspy @ilovepornstaches-69 @woodandwaxwings @muddleofnervouswords @kittykat5742 @moonstruckbucky @tomshollandz @myspotofcraziness @jenoix @bluecatton @ashloonie @zanmorgan @preciouslosers @kirithewitch @m00n5t0n3 @heykathchuu @fulviaflaccaisbae @anapnovo-blog @matilda97 @nighttwingg

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“do you ever miss home?”

helaena’s voice is sweet to your ear. the question is honest and sentimental, her gaze soft as she eyes you. though, you can’t help but feel that the question is a taunt, but you know better than that. you wonder why she was suddenly curious about your home – perhaps it was the poem that made her question you about your feelings on yours. you think about it for a moment, tongue licking your teeth.

you play with the ends of your hair, looking up at her through your lashes, “i do, princess. but, my place is here with you now.”

helaena’s fingers fiddle with the papers of the poetry book. she rolls the paper back and forth, deciding to crease the corner to serve as a temporary bookmark. you grimace at the action but say nothing.

“what’s highgarden like? is it different from kings landing?” she probes, her head tilting slightly as she shuts the book that was in her lap. instead, she rests her elbows on the hard cover, leaning forward as if you were sharing interesting gossip.

“it’s beautiful,” your words are laced with a forlorn sentiment, one that softly tugs at your heart. even though it’s barely been half a year serving as helaena’s handmaiden, you’ve already forgotten what home was. it was easy to take every spectacle for granted since you once saw them every day. but now, without the constant reminder of flower walls, perfectly rounded shrubbery, and the marble statues – it was easy to forget. “it’s more flowers and art than anything, no dreary buildings to block out the sky.”

helaena seems to sigh at the notion. highgarden was truly magnificent and words couldn’t even begin to scratch the surface on how breathtaking it actually was. your lips twitch downward as you continue to think about it – your friends, your family, how were they doing? has any of the flowers changed since you last saw them? any new sculptures or rooms? your hands collapse into your lap and you begin to fiddle with your fingers.

“highgarden often hosts party’s and festivities, don’t they?” you raise your head to acknowledge helaena’s next question. you smile and nod your head, the words unable to come out and affirm what she was asking about. it was weird, no doubt, to be talking to someone who had no absolute idea on what kind of grand, social soirées took place at highgarden – it was often the talk of the reach. “i believe there’s a festivity tonight within the city.”

if your interest wasn’t piqued now, it sure was.

your brows raise and your mouth parts slightly, though the words that were supposed to come out were interrupted by a man – “festivity? it’s nothing more than a fuckfest.”

you head turns and it’s aegon with aemond trailing after him. the latter gives his older brother a sour look, his brows furrowed and his lips pursed. you turn your head the other way and roll your eyes, not missing the double take aegon seems to give you.

“aegon.” his name seems to flow off the tongue of yours and aemonds at the same time, a scold evident. the word is, eerily enough, the same pitch and volume. you both cast each other a glance before continuing to glare at aegon. it’s aemond who continues the conversation after a tut - his voiced is hushed, “such use of language around your wife isn’t appropriate.”

aegon waves his hand in the air as if he’s swatting away the scold. he rounds the furniture and stands behind helaena, a grin parting his lips as he gently clasps her shoulders. she seems uncomfortable now, the smile she bore now replaced by a thin line. though it’s been sometime since helaena and aegon’s wedding, you can’t help but still feel unnerved at the mention of the word wife.

“come, my darling wife,” aegon says, sucking in his bottom lip and teething it. “i want to show you something.”

the look he gives her makes you feel icky and you must admit, the look on helaena’s face is enough for you to be disturbed. you’ve never asked helaena about the relationship – she always seemed like a candle snuffed out in his presence.

helaena gingerly takes his outstretched hand and rises from her seat. she casts you a look, slightly tipping her head in a silent goodbye. you give her a reassuring smile, but it doesn't do much. you cross your legs, fingers thrumming against the wooden table as their receding footsteps come to ear. soon, silence befalls you and aemond. you take a look at him; he's paying you no mind, except his jaw is set and his fingers are rubbing together in though. no doubt, he was also bothered by their absence.

you clear your throat and he almost seems to glare at you out of the corner of his eye.

"have you been there?" you offer. aemond turns his head this time to full look at you, eye squinting.

"where?" his voice is monotone and low, drastically different from the light airiness of your own. it sends a shiver down your spine and you don't like that.

you want to roll your eyes, "the," you begin, suddenly feeling shy underneath his watchful stare. you look down at your hands, fingers already starting to pick at the skin of the nailbeds. the action was absentminded and hardly your own. "the festival."

"it's unfit for a lady."

"i wasn't asking if it was fit for a lady."

both phrases are calloused and harsh, two sentences that shoot out like swords that clash in the air. he tilts his head, his stare hardening. you jut out your chin and raise your brows questioningly. defiance meets defiance, but aemond seems to give in a little too easily.

"i have," he finally says, "but i must confess, being your tribulation is much more amusing."

you roll your eyes, of course, "i'll decide that."

aemond, intrigued by your response, turns his entire body and leans forward to rest his elbows on his thighs. he's facing you now, legs, chest, and face attuned to your direction. he gives you a sly grin, one that's almost challenging your statement.

"and how will you accomplish that, little flower?" he asks, his finger pointing at you almost accusingly, "you have no chaperone."

you snort, shaking your head. you hadn't thought this out too far – you hoped that he wouldn't be too keen on questioning you, but alas, your plan fell short. you chew on your bottom lip, trying to decide what to say without outright pleading him to take you. you wanted to be granted this one night of fun – a night that would remind you of home.

"hm?" aemond taunts when you don't reply. in response, you glare at him. he seems satisfied by this; the grin he had on his face only grows with each passing second.

you sigh in frustration, "i'll go on my own."

despite the confidence in the way you say it, the idea outright terrifies you. to be a highborn lady, alone, on the streets of kings landing was unheard of and definitely avoided. your father had always warned you of the beasts that men become after a cup or two of too much wine. you would be devoured by them, squabbled over like children to their toys. you're unnerved at this point of your own thoughts and aemond can tell. though, he likes this newfound fire. he wants to poke at it and feed air to it, to breathe a new flame of ferocity into it.

undoubtedly and without confession, he wants to experience the raw and unfiltered version of you.

he continues to stare. there’s a mischievous gleam to his blue eye, one that seems to make the iris glow iridescently. you take this moment to observe his face – strong and sharply sculpted, as if he was carved by the gods themself. his lips, despite being constantly curved into a sly sneer, are perfectly imperfect. his top lip casts a shadow over his bottom one and there’s a bow within the top that gives it more dimension. your gaze moves down toward his chin, where it proudly protrudes – and this is the first time you notice that there is a faint dimple in the middle. your eyes trail back up; his brows are fluffy and unkempt, baby hairs flaring out from both the top and bottom. the softness they give contrast to the harsh lines of the rest of his face.

he’s pale in this light, yes, but he’s indubitably gorgeous when he’s not brooding, taunting, or snapping his jaws at those near him.

"i'll pray you don't return," he says, clearly with amusement. you scoff and roll your eyes once more, getting up with such force that the chair screeches with abuse. you turn abruptly and walk away, grumbling about his scorn. you exhale deeply, slipping between the door and the crack to get away from him. despite his beauty, he was a nuisance – a head-splitting headache.

it's not long during your roam through the castle's hallways that you are summoned to princess helaena's room. the servant who brings you this summon, instructs that helaena desired to be bathed. you oblige, stopping by the linen closet to grab cloths to wrap the princess with and smaller strips at well to scrub her skin with. your feet carry you quickly to her private quarters and enter only after your knocks are met with an acknowledgement.

there's a bath filled with steaming hot water. you approach, setting the linens nearby before grabbing nearby bottles of soaps and oils. you open the oil bottle and shake a few droplets into the steaming water. instantly, the room is filled with the pleasant aroma of fruits. you turn and helaena is sitting quietly, staring down at the small piece of sown cloth. there's a spider on it, sown neatly with little to no errors.

"helaena," you call, approaching her slowly as not to startle her. she's broken from her trance and suddenly remembers where she's at. the princess gets up and closes in on your location, slowly tugging at the strings of her loosened chemise. you help her undress and ball the clothing up, discarding it into a bin that you mentally note to take to the chambermaid. you help her into the water and she sinks in, sighing at the warmth that soothes her muscles. you roll up the sleeves of your dress before continuing.

you grab a strip of cloth, soaking it into the water. you wring it out and drag it across skin that's surfaced. you notice, out of the corner of your eye, that helaena relaxes into your touch. you continue like this in silence, the sound of water dripping from the cloth as you repeated your actions. you move from her arm to her shoulders, over to the length of her back, and then to the other arm. you work meticulously, even going as far as to scrub at the undergrowth of her nails. you hand helaena the rag, abandoning her side to grab some soap for her scalp. the princess dunks her head into the water, hands running through the strands of silver hair in order to soak it through.

this felt like a routine to you and you both worked in perfect synchrony. once she's done wetting her hair, you move to the end of the tub and lather the soap into your hands. the substance becomes suds and in turn, you begin to massage it into her scalp.

"have you thought about names?" your voice is gentle and bordering a whisper. helaena smiles and meets your eye – hers sparkle with what you could call motherly tenderness.

"i was thinking jaehaerys.”

the name is undoubtedly targaryen – no doubt a tribute to the former king. you muster a smile that matches hers and coo in response.

"a name fit for a prince." you both giggle and she continues to scrub at herself.

"i pray so," she says after a moment. she looks up at you through her lashes, "have you thought about having children?"

the question causes a pang of hurt to radiate through your body. though you're sure it wasn't meant to intentionally hurt you, you can't help but think about the romances that simply didn't work. first, it was the boy from highgarden. what his name was, you couldn't remember, just that he was unmistakeningly handsome and had a smile that would put the gods to shame. then, there was prince jacaerys.. the kindling that never happened. you smile at the thought of the latter, though it's laced with disappointment.

"no, not really, my princess." helaena frowns and notices that she's plucked at the strings of your heart. her wet hand reaches out for you, gently holding you in place as she gives you a look. it's knowing and almost apologetic – most importantly, it's her showing that she understands.

"you can leave me, my friend. i can see myself to bed." you smile gratefully at her and lean forward, placing a chaste kiss on her temple.

"good night, helaena. i will see you on the morrow."

she bids you good night and you see yourself out, rolling down the sleeves of your dress. there's spots of wetness – spots that begin to irritate the skin underneath. you reach your room after walking through the corridors. your feet ache and there's a dull pain in your knees that starts to crawl up the bone of your thigh.

you finally reach and enter your room, locking the door latch once you're safely inside. you slump on to a nearby sofa, rubbing at your legs with a soft moan. you, however, were fully intent on celebrating the night festivites. how, you didn't know, but you would figure it out and play it by ear. once you're rested enough to not audibly complain about the feeling in your legs, you get up and change out your dress. this one is darker in tone and still long-sleeve. it's plain; less adorned with jewelries and designs. you change out your shoes and search your closet for a shawl, something you could wear to keep you warm.

once you've figured out what you were wearing, you look at yourself in the mirror. hopefully, your clothes wouldn't be such an exclaimer on your status. you grab a coin pouch and pull out a few coins. you figured if you kept your purse light, you wouldn't be an easy target. hopefully.

you quickly braid the length of your hair, tying it off with a leather bound before tucking it into your hood. you tuck the pouch into your clothing and make your way to the door. fingers expertly unlatch the lock and you swing open the door. your eyes are met with an enclosed fist and the sight of silver hair.

"aemond?" brows furrowing, you look at him up and down. he's wearing almost the same exact thing you are. you tut and narrow your eyes at him.

he moves past you, as if his presence wasn't a surprise, "good, you haven't left yet."

"excuse me?" you make a face, watching him as he entered your room. you shut the door and walk towards him, arms crossing over your chest. "why are you here?"

"we're going to the festival."

"when did me become we?"

he rolls his eyes at you, "don't be childish, little flower. did you believe i would have let you go, unaccompanied?"

"i did, yes," you shoot back. aemond moves about your room, studying the walls with an interest that confused you even more. what was his deal? "i was hoping to be blessed with a night without you."

his search is broken by your words and he gives you a pointed look, his eye narrowing, "now, now, i'm being charitable. you should be thankful."

charitable? thankful? annoyance begins to bubble in your stomach and you're ready to curse him, yell at him for being so assumptive–

there's a loud creak that seems to shake the room. aemond is pressing on the wall and despite it being carved out of stone, it moves.

"come now, the festival won't wait all night."

you close your mouth. maybe you shouldn't argue with him just yet. besides, his way of escaping in the night was much more.. practical. and, he would also be a valuable chaperone. he had a sword, a dagger, and all the means to protect you. without a second thought, you move forward and follow him wordlessly. you're moving through the passageway, steps light.

"i never knew these existed," you mutter after observing the walls. they're not at prettily crafted as the ones that decorate the main hallways of the castle. they're hastily built and forego any beauty. there's droplets of water coming from somewhere, though it seems more like an echo rather than a nearby source.

"not many do. aegon showed me the day he took me to the street of silk on my thirteenth nameday," aemond responds. he stops at a fork in the road, looking left, looking right.

your brows furrow at his words and reach his side, "street of silk?"

he seems to falter at his echoed words. he thinks for a moment, distracted by the notion. aemond grimaces at his vivid remembrance. "yes."

"but-"

aemond picks the left passageway and interrupts you, "this way."

dumbfounded, you watch him trail away. street of silk? what in gods name, would he be doing in the street of silk at thirteen? you frown, assumptions beginning to cloud your once excited mood. you hurry after him and stay silent for the rest of the twists and turns. soon, the exit is within sight.

you two leave the castle and you are amazed at what you see. the kings landing that existed during the day was nothing compared to the splendor of the night festivity that was going on. lanterns littered the streets, spouts of fire causes shadows to dance in the distance, and from the looks of it, there's people dancing.

aemond leads the way down the steps and into the streets. music becomes increasingly louder and you pull your coat tighter around you as a cool breeze flows within the air. you notice that aemond has tucked his hair into his own cowl and has pulled up the hood to conceal his hair; a smart move.

you're open-mouthed and practically gawking at everything you see. the parties at highgarden are nothing compared to the rawness of kings landing. people are laughing, drinking, fucking in alleyways, and are absolutely visceral – basking in their freedom. you see a vendor and tug at aemond's lapel, though, he doesn't turn around. you huff and wander off, politely excusing yourself through the crowd.

candied berries, mugs of a brown liquid, bread, and other items litter the shelves of the shop. you eye the candied berries and point, asking the vendor for a handful. once you learn the total, you pull out your pouch and grab a few copper pennies and an extra silver dragon. you give it to the man, offering him a smile as you exchange currency for food. he's astounded by the coins you give him and he yells over the crowd his gratefulness. you wave and tuck both the pouch of your coins and your berries into your belt.

you wander off once more, eyeing the buildings rather than where you were walking. your eyes trail to the streets, then in front of you where you encounter a man standing in your way. worry begins to pickle at your skin and you utter an 'excuse me', but it seems as if it goes in one ear and out the other.

he begins saying some obscenities, not loud enough for you to hear, but enough to make you uncomfortable. you back away slightly and he advances, though, it's cut short. his once lewd face falls into a fearful one, and he instead, backs off. you turn around and sigh in relief at the sight of a hooded aemond.

"you shouldn't wander off." you're unsure if it's a scold or not. aemond's eyes move down, eyeing the two pouches that were tucked away. before he turns to lead the way, you could swear that there was a smile twitching the corner of his mouth. was it the berries or your purse that caught his attention?

you follow wordlessly, paying closer attention to where he was going. he's leading you somewhere less crowded and noisy, somewhere where it's a view due to the steps you both climb. soon, he reaches a ledge where it oversees the lively streets. he moves his cape, settling down on to the grass with ease. his legs hang over the ledge and dangle lazily. you opt for more grace; bending at the knee and keeping modest as you sit cross-legged. you smooth out your dress before reaching for your candied berries.

dipping two fingers into the pouch, you pull out a berry and toss it into your mouth. you munch on it politely, savoring the sweetness it brings. you take another one before offering the pouch to aemond. he turns his head to fully look at it when he notices it out of the corner of his eye. his blue eye widens, enough so that the whites of his eyeballs show. he looks up at you through his lashes, offering a few, slow blinks. he waits for a moment, as if testing you, before he reaches in and snags a few berries for himself. he puts two in his mouth and chews on them. he's surprised at how juicy and sweet they are, dousing his tastebuds in pleasantry.

his hesitance is obvious to you, and you feel the need to voice it, "are you so tainted with hatred that you've forgotten what kindness is?"

"kindness is often masked as deception, it dissuades me," he divulges. his gaze shifts from the pouch to your eyes, and from behind the sapphire hue, you can see the umbra of hurt. you eat another berry, thinking carefully.

"the celebration here reminds me of home," you confess after a moment. aemond looks back out at the scenery, but your sight remains fixed on the outline of his face. from this orange glow, it's soft and almost romantic. it's drastically different from the harsh lines he had in the sunlight. feeling like you're staring a little too long, you clear your throat and look away – he seemed to notice.

"d’you miss it?"

his question nearly catches you off guard. you'd expected him to ignore your comment and pretend like you didn't say anything.

"i do."

side by side, you and aemond snack on the rest of the candied berries. you're both caught up thinking in your own minds, almost forgetting each others presence. you then think about aemond, then his eye. despite your best efforts, you can't help but feel curious about the tragedy of his left eye. did a cat claw his eye out as a child? were the whispers true and he had plucked his own eye out? you bite your lip.

"may i ask the truth of you eye?" the words are meek, clearly afraid of any possible outlash like from the first encounter you had with the prince. his jaw becomes set and you hear an audible breath be released from his nose. he turns his head to give you a look; perhaps aemond should have known better. had you lulled him into this peaceful tranquility just to dull your curiosity? was your berries a deceptive tactic in order for him to confide in you?

aemond thinks he's being a bit too harsh by being accusing. then again, his words replay like a broken tune in his head. kindness is often masked as deception.

"it happened years ago, when i was a child," he begins, looking down at the grass. his hands move to play with the green tufts and slender fingers deftly pluck separate strands. "my nephews did not like that i claimed vhagar."

your brows furrow and you scooch over just a bit. aemond is confused by the proximity, but thinks nothing of it.

"she was riderless and i without a dragon. when i returned, we fought." aemond doesn't miss the way your face contorts, was it horror or disturbance? he knows the face all too well – it's the same face every person he tells the tale to makes. at this point, aemond starts to feel as if his words are moving you against him – as if you're not understanding his side of the story. why did everyone assume he was the villain?

"y'think that was the right thing to do?" despite the softness and carefulness that lingers in your words, there's no doubt a beast stirring within aemond – and he doesn't like the way your question doubts him. it's annoying and most of all, hurtful.

"you don't?" he responds back callously.

"vhagar is a dragon and he took my eye," aemond is growing increasingly irritable. he spits the words out like venom through clenched teeth. whoever the ominous he was, you assumed that aemond had a disclosed abhorrence for whoever it was. he was robbed of his eye, his vision. his fists closes in balls on the grass and the hands shake, "i was a child and they berated me, and they beat me for claiming a dragon."

his speech is now uneven, laced with the hardness of anger. the once calculated, even-tongued aemond targaryen, had now descended into a brazen mess of incoherent feelings. pent up feelings from long ago were beginning to bubble over.

aemond feels his lip twitch and you feel sympathy coil in your stomach. you gingerly reach out, hand enclosing over his bicep in an attempt comfort him. he's ready to swat it away, but soon enjoys the warmth that seeps through his clothes. its benevolent and sweet, almost bearing the same consolation as his mothers hold. he thinks he likes it.

"it's all right, aemond. it's the past, we cannot rewrite what's already written in the stars."

he stays like this for a moment, evening his breaths and settling himself down. he doesn't like the fact that he became berserk, unwound by a single topic from his childhood – a scar that felt like had reopened. he swallows the rest of the pain away and rises with ease to his feet. he outstretches his hand in offering to help you up. you take it.

"we must return, i'm sure someone is bound to be curious about our whereabouts." without another glance or word, aemond pretends like the ordeal didn't happen and instead leads the way back to the secret passageway. the journey is silent and full of reverence for it.

aemond turns back to glance for your whereabouts, probably reassuring himself that you hadn't wandered off. you two climb the steps back to the passageway then enter through the hidden door. he leads you through the hallways with expert precision, retracing the steps you took to exit. you wouldn't have remembered where to go and were thankful for his memory.

a yawn parts your jaws and tug once more at aemond's cloths. he notices it this time and turns around, his brow raising questioningly. you lick your lips, looking into his eye with sincerity.

"beneath the brooding, pompous facade you throw on for others," you take a breath, "there is some good in you, aemond. i just wish you made it known."

"hm."

the ridges of aemond's mouth purse into a thin line. he blinks, casting a glance down before turning around and continuing to lead the way. you're suddenly afraid that you've upset him, though you did want to tell him your truth. sincerely, aemond is someone who wasn't all vile, nasty remarks. he's clever, dangerously so, and often is nice to talk to when he's not teasing you. you follow after him and reach the door that leads to your room.

you're hesitant to enter and call out in a hushed yell when you notice aemond has already started walking away, "aemond!"

his steps slow to a halt and he turns halfway, only his side profile obvious in the shadows. you're about disappointed when you realize he was leaving without a goodbye. you swallow the feeling.

"thank you."

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