[dragnbane]

𓆰   dragnbane    a   dependent,  mutually  exclusive  blog  for  dragonsrot  ──  featuring  original  characters  crafted  lovingly  by:  is  (she/her). please  do  not  interact  unless  affiliated,  mature  themes  will  be  present.

       prince  aemon  targaryen‚ of  king's  landing.

[soulrcts]

chirps  from  the  birds  around  her  —  and  really,  she  should  not  be  so  harsh.  there  was  a  reason  why  the  court  had  never  suited  her  in  the  way  it  did  other  ladies.  while  kella  wished  to  discuss  books  and  the  intricacies  that  went  into  trapping  a  fearsome  predator,  taming  it,  and  becoming  a  force  in  the  vale  with  a  shadowcat  to  her  name  to  back  the  claim,  she  was  stuck  discussing  …  dress  patterns.  embroidery,  the  last  knight  in  passing  that  they  found  to  be  just  so  handsome  and  it  took  everything  to  not  release  a  yawn.  she  had  snuck  glances  at  all  of  the  targaryens  over  the  course  of  the  feast.  the  eldest,  to  the  next,  lingering  over  aemon  in  search  of  discomfort,  then  to  the  youngest  and  back.  searching  for  a  glimspe  of  their  mother,  then  allow  herself  idle  conversation  to  repeat  the  cycle  again.

when  she  first  noticed  aemon  missing  from  his  prior  place,  she  fought  not  to  frown.  missing  in  action,  likely  back  to  his  rooms  with  his  wife  without  a  word  and,  well,  it  was  to  be  expected.  marriage  changed  things,  being  in  the  keep  under  the  watchful  eye  of  his  father  exacerbating  the  differences  between  now  and  their  easy,  free  friendship.  still,  leaving  her  with  these  biddies  to  her  lonesome  ?  he  would  hear  her  protests  on  it.  “  i  think  ser  umber  may  win,  ”  she  had  began  as  aemon  appeared  in  her  vision.  this  time,  she  allows  her  lips  to  turn  downwards.  

“  issi  ao  sȳrī  ?  ”  are  you  well  in  clumsy  high  valyrian,  self  taught  aside  from  the  few  lessons  that  she  had  yanked  from  a  maester  in  the  times  she  had  visited  the  citadel  in  oldtown.  kella  easily  stepped  from  the  circle  she  had  found  herself  in  the  middle  of,  hand  light  on  his  forearm.  “  are  we  finally  going  to  braavos  ?  ”       

[dragnbane]

aemon  forces  a  smile  unto  his  lips,  something  that  does  not  completely  reach  the  eyes  as  it  normally  would  when  he  was  around  her.  there  were  people  watching  and  he  needed  to  be  on  his  best  behavior  around  them,  around  his  father  who  was  keeping  an  eye  on  his  children.  he  did  not  necessarily  miss  his  mother,  a  complicated  relationship  he  had  with  both  of  them,  but  at  least  she  did  not  watch  him  the  way  he  always  did.  "nyke  ēdrȳnta  iksan."  i  am  tired,  he  tells  her.  aemon  does  not  expect  kella  to  know  exactly  what  he  is  saying,  but  he  keeps  it  simple  enough  to  where  she  might.  there  is  a  comfort  she  brings  him  that  others  do  not.  a  curious  relationship  that  turns  heads  when  they  see  each  other,  but  one  that  aemon  shockingly  does  not  pay  attention  to.  he  is  not  interested  in  what  others  have  to  say  for  this  thing  and  this  thing  only. "do  you  believe  i  am  capable  of  making  it  all  the  way  across  the  narrow  sea?"  it  is  a  genuine  question  that  he  asks  her,  though  there  is  a  sorrowful  tone  to  his  voice  as  he  does.  perhaps  if  stormcry  still  lived,  the  journey  would  be  easier.  to  strap  kella  in  front  of  him  and  journey  across  as  they  had  always  talked  about.  yet,  his  dragon  did  not  live  and  the  adventures  he  was  meant  to  take  died  with  him.  "i  just  wish  to  spend  time  with  someone  i  do  not  have  to  speak  so  formally  to,"  her  arm  wrapped  in  his  own  as  he  leads  her  out  of  the  hall.  heads  turn  surely,  but  aemon  does  not  pay  them  any  mind.  "the  night  has  been  filled  with  pleasantries,  but  some  time  away  would  do  be  well  before  the  night  is  over."  his  head  turns  to  her,  a  smile  that  begins  to  bunch  up  his  cheeks  sets  onto  his  features,  "what  of  your  night,  sweetling?  have  the  lords  and  ladies  been  treating  you  well?"

[illuminvtes]

wylla was lost. it was a fact she was somewhat embarrassed to admit, made all the worse by the reason for it. somewhere amidst the endless procession of lords, ladies, servants, and knights filling the red keep's halls, she had caught sight of a butterfly unlike any she had ever seen before.

and then, quite sensibly, she had followed it.

the creature had fluttered through crowded corridors and bustling galleries with remarkable success, somehow avoiding both grasping hands and careless feet. wylla had trailed after it without much thought, weaving through the crush of people with her attention fixed entirely upon delicate wings painted in shades she had never encountered before.

by the time it finally settled, the noise of the celebrations had long since faded behind her. she found herself in a quiet stretch of the keep she did not recognize, and rather than concern herself with finding her way back immediately, she had decided to enjoy the solitude while it lasted.

settling beside a window awash in afternoon light, she removed her gloves and laid them beside her. the familiar chill lingered in her fingertips regardless, but the warmth of the sun helped. perched delicately upon one finger, the butterfly seemed entirely content with its new resting place.

so was she.

it was only when she heard approaching footsteps that her attention finally shifted.

looking up, she spotted the prince approaching and rose smoothly into a curtsy, careful not to disturb her small companion.

“your grace,” she greeted, a sheepish smile appearing despite herself.

her gaze flicked briefly down the corridor and then back to him.

“i must confess, i have absolutely no idea where i've managed to find myself.” there was a quiet note of amusement in her voice now. “but the silence has been rather lovely, and i have made a friend.”

she inclined her head toward the butterfly still resting peacefully upon her finger.

“i am beginning to suspect it led me here on purpose. would you care to join us for a moment?”

[dragnbane]

he  knew  most  did  not  enjoy  the  keep,  that  some  were  unhappy  to  be  here,  but  he  could  not  do  much  about  it.  the  most  he  could  attempt  was  to  make  them  comfortable,  especially  those  of  the  north.  his  wife  had  preferred  the  cold  and  he  was  sure  the  others  felt  the  same  way.  "it  can  be  rather  confusing,"  aemon  lets  out  a  short  laugh,  his  posture  still  rigid  even  if  no  one  was  paying  much  attention  to  them  in  the  moment.  he  had  learned  though,  over  the  years,  that  there  was  always  someone  paying  attention  to  him  even  if  he  did  not  notice  them.  "the  silence  in  the  places  you  find  yourself  lost  in  are  the  ones  i  happen  to  enjoy  the  most,  so  joining  you  would  be  an  honor." aemon's  legs  also  scream  for  a  break,  but  that  is  not  something  he  would  readily  admit  to  anyone.  he  did  not  believe  the  lady  redwyne  to  run  off  and  tell  someone  of  his  ailments,  but  it  was  always  better  safe  than  sorry  within  the  keep.  "has  the  purpose  come  to  you  yet?"  violet-blue  eyes  settle  themselves  onto  the  creature  that  rests  on  her  finger,  a  beautiful  sight  that  he  had  loved  about  the  gardens  of  his  home.

[soulrcts]

in  the  gardens  with  her  children,  calanthe  allows  the  mask  to  slip  slightly.  a  handmaiden  close  by  watching  the  youngest  play  should  he  feel  the  take  off  running  (  again  ),  jessamyn  having  given  up  pretending  on  not  wanting  to  play  with  him.  letters  that  had  gone  unread  in  the  transition  between  oldtown  and  king's  landing  laid  out  on  both  her  lap  and  the  bench  next  to  her,  reading  the  words  slow  when  she  heard  rustling  next  to  her.  “  garmon,  please  do  play  nicely.  i  understand  that  you  are  excited  to  see  the  melee,  but  there  is  no  one  here  that  can  practice  with  you.  ”  the  questioning  noise  from  the  other  side  of  her  had  calanthe  looking  up,  switching  from  words  to  meet  a  pair  of  eyes  that  were  not  those  of  her  child's.  “  oh,  my  apologies.  would  you  like  to  take  a  seat  ?  ”

[  closed  starter: day  three  of  the  festivities @dragnbane  ]

[dragnbane]

aemon  had  been  meant  to  be  among  those  on  the  tournament  fields,  it  was  expected  of  him.  his  father  had  told  him  such  that  morning,  reiterated  by  his  guard  who  had  told  him  walking  away  from  such  an  event  would  surely  result  in  scolding.  he  was  not  upset  that  they  had  reminded  him  of  such,  though  he  is  sure  if  they  were  to  speak  that  way  toward  anyone  else,  they  would  surely  get  a  gelding,  but  aemon  was  barely  of  importance  despite  the  title  he  held. that  was  the  excuse  he  had  used  to  get  himself  a  moment  away.  his  wife  had  already  taken  to  the  fields  — a  second  place,  but  still  the  winner  in  his  own  eyes  —  and  had  been  off  to  socialize  with  those  she  had  known  well  before  him.  perhaps  it  is  that  that  makes  him  wish  for  a  moment  away.  the  reminder  there  was  no  one  else  by  his  side  and  those  that  were  always  had  better.  or  perhaps  it  was  the  ache  in  his  legs  and  the  overwhelming  rush  of  wishing  to  be  alone. he  did  not  expect  to  find  someone  already  within  the  gardens,  no  one  came  during  this  time  of  the  day.  aemon  had  known  because  he  spent  nearly  everyday  here,  mapped  out  the  schedules  of  those  that  lived  within  the  keep.  though  he  should  have  expected  a  deviation  from  plans,  nearly  the  whole  of  westeros  had  made  his  home  theirs  for  the  week  of  festivities. "no  apologies  needed,  my  lady.  i  would  be  honored  to."  aemon  gives  a  gentle  smile  toward  her,  setting  himself  as  far  away  on  the  bench  as  he  can,  something  that  is  normal  for  him  to  do  without  thinking.  "have  you  been  enjoying  your  time  within  king's  landing?"  his  tone  awkward  as  he  rubs  as  inconspicuously  as  possible  against  the  burning  muscles  of  his  thighs.  "the  games  have  been  a  delight  to  see,  would  you  not  say?"

[bareruin]

for @dragnbane's aemon targaryen. kings landing, the archery competition

being asked as the prince’s guest to the targaryen viewing box was a mere courtesy. expected, even. a gesture of goodwill between men bound as family, and one he had accepted in turn. beside aemon now, avan watched from the shaded platform. the pair made little effort at conversation, offered only a few brief words punctuated by long silences as they studied each competitor - avoidant at best, pointed at worst. " my sister seems to have adapted well, " he offered the observation without warning, his gaze remaining on the field as raya claimed her mark. the words were simple enough, though hard spoken. " i should thank you, your grace. for your part in it. "

[dragnbane]

aemon  had  been  nervous  in  inviting  the  lord  stark  into  the  box,  but  had  been  advised  to  do  so  by  his  father.  it  will  show  good  will,  aemon,  we  need  the  starks  on  our  side.  side  for  what?  he  had  tried  to  question  his  father,  but  the  vacant  look  in  the  man's  eyes  had  returned  and  the  prince  had  known  that  his  time  with  his  father  was  over.  it  was  not  that  he  did  not  wish  to  make  good  with  his  wife's  brother,  but  aemon  was  easily  intimidated  and  how  could  he  manage  to  face  the  man  whose  sister  he  had  stolen  away?  well,  she  had  spent  more  time  in  winterfell  than  within  king's  landing  since  they  had  been  married,  so  had  he  really  done  that?  or  had  he  just  formed  an  alliance  without  the  meaning  of  marriage. he  did  not  know,  though  it  could  remain  to  be  seen  the  night  that  his  wife  and  he  had  shared  just  a  week  prior  could  mean  something  for  their  future.  aemon  chooses  not  to  think  about  such  a  thing  now,  not  with  her  family  sat  next  to  him.  it  surely  did  not  help  to  see  her  upon  the  field  below,  watching  as  his  wife's  strength  whipped  through  the  air  at  an  impressive  speed.  avan's  words  settle  in  his  gut  and  aemon  does  not  know  if  it  is  in  a  good  way  or  bad  quite  yet.  "i  do  not  believe  any  thanks  are  necessary,  my  lord,"  aemon  does  not  look  next  to  him,  for  looking  lord  stark  in  the  eyes  felt  daunting,  "she  would  fit  into  any  place  she  decided  to  settle,  that  i  am  sure  of."  there  is  a  fondness  choking  him,  a  gentleness  to  his  voice  he  cannot  avoid.  "have  you  found  the  city  welcoming?  i  know  it  is  much  different  than  winterfell  —  your  sister  still  prefers  it  to  here,  though  i  do  not  blame  her."

[fateofcrvwns]

Although there were still aspects of being away from home at Casterly Rock, especially in King's Landing of all places, that made Mirelle feel ill at ease in certain moments, there were portions of it she was relishing in. The tournament was chief among those. It had been some months after the birth of her son that the noblewoman had begun to return to the fully range of her usual activities and hobbies. Archery had been among the last two re-enter given the physicality and necessity of being out in the training yard or otherwise outdoors. Still, putting hands back on her bow had felt seamless, a sensation that was such a relief after how difficult so much of normal life had felt after bringing him into the world. So far she was actually almost having fun with the tournament, which in some ways was a foreign feeling, but a good one nonetheless. Even when she wasn't shooting the Lannister lady had been spectating. Hearing the prince's voice to one side, she glanced over to see him studying in a similar fashion.

"Prince Aemon. I did not see you at first." The words were a greeting and a substitute for an apology she didn't fully feel and likely he didn't want to hear. "When I first started, yes. I imagine much like performing any sport or task with observers the concern of judgement lingers in the beginning. Perhaps for some it never truly goes away. But I suppose I have been lucky enough to come to enjoy shooting enough that the eyes no longer bore into me the same way. I am, of course, aware of them, but I can never let them overtake my awareness and focus on the bow. "

[dragnbane]

"there  is  no  harm  done,  lady  lannister,  i  did  not  quite  wish  to  be  seen."  aemon  did  not  understand  it,  truly.  though  not  from  a  place  of  distaste  over  the  action,  but  because  he  did  not  have  something  he  was  good  enough  at.  perhaps  it  could  be  said  it  was  similar  to  his  standing  as  a  prince,  that  people  watched  over  his  every  move,  waiting  for  him  to  make  a  mistake.  they  never  had  to  wait  long,  aemon  was  always  doing  something  that  would  get  him  a  lashing  from  his  father  or  mother  whether  it  was  not  paying  enough  attention  or  sneaking  through  the  guards  to  lose  himself  within  the  city.  they  watched,  but  he  could  not  get  used  to  it.  "how  long  have  you  held  your  bow?  for  a  long  time  i  must  assume  if  you  are  comfortable  enough  with  it  to  weed  out  the  wandering  voices."

[dragnbane]

set  during  the  fourth  day  of  celebrations:  plays  and  performances.  tucked  away  towards  the  back  of  the  tent  is  a  little  brother  and  his  elder  sister,  @eatensins,  attention  beginning  to  fade  from  the  performers  on  the  lifted  stage.

aemon  usually  does  not  mean  to  act  like  such  a  little  brother.  he  is  sure  that  if  his  father  were  to  see  him  right  now,  he  would  scold  him  for  acting  like  a  child,  but  what  could  be  so  wrong  in  finding  comfort  in  his  sister?  it's  not  like  anyone  was  paying  attention  to  them  anyways,  they  were  tucked  all  the  way  in  the  back  and  everyone  was  too  focused  on  the  performance  to  even  take  notice.  he  uses  it  as  an  opportunity  to  lean  himself  against  rhaella  a  bit,  the  crowd  of  people  making  him  more  nervous  than  he  wished  to  admit.  if  they  noticed  them,  then  they  would  have  to  play  pleasantries  and  this  was  the  only  day  where  he  was  able  to  be  away  from  duties  for  just  a  few  moments. "rhae,"  aemon's  voice  is  quiet,  barely  above  a  whisper  as  he  speaks  to  her.  "any  chance  you  want  to  get  out  of  here?  i  was  thinking  of  taking  a  ride  out  into  the  fields  beyond  the  city."  he  was  sure  that  someone  would  be  unhappy  with  him  getting  onto  a  horse  without  supervision,  but  he  was  fine  and  he  would  have  his  sister  with  him,  so  nothing  could  truly  go  wrong.  "i  just  do  not  know  how  much  more  i  can  take  of  constant  love  confessions  on  this  stage."

[dragnbane]

set  during  the  first  day  of  celebrations:  the  welcome  feast.  the  prince  stands  with  a  circle  of  noblemen,  his  legs  aching  and  his  chest  tightening.  eyes  lock  with  the  lady  royce,  @soulrcts,  from  across  the  hall.

aemon  had  been  doing  his  best  to  be  present  in  every  moment  that  was  taken  from  him.  he  might  not  have  been  the  most  social  creature,  but  he  was  still  a  prince  and  he  was  taught  from  a  young  age  to  keep  his  back  straight,  smile,  and  pretend  like  he  cared  enough  about  the  conversation.  it  was  not  like  he  did  not  care  per  say,  he  was  sure  the  lords  were  speaking  about  some  matter  that  was  of  importance,  but  aemon  had  never  been  one  for  the  politics  of  the  realm  (had  never  really  been  given  a  chance  to  would  be  a  better  thing  to  say,  but  that  was  neither  here  nor  there),  their  voices  beginning  to  blend  together  as  the  size  of  the  room  began  to  close  in  around  him. the  feeling  of  needing  to  leave  hits  him  quickly,  the  ache  in  his  legs  intensifies  and  his  eyes  catch  the  only  person  he  knows  will  run  with  him,  across  the  hall.  kella  royce  looks  beautiful  in  a  way  that  aemon  would  dream  of  as  a  child,  but  something  he  has  had  to  give  up  as  he  aged.  he  excuses  himself  from  the  group  of  lords,  as  politely  as  he  can,  lets  his  legs  take  him  across  the  hall  in  hopes  that  no  one  else  would  notice.  (he  was  sure  they  would,  eyes  were  always  on  him.) "lady  royce,"  he  greets,  nodding  to  the  other  noble  ladies  that  surrounded  her.  aemon  knew  some  of  them  by  name,  it  was  sort  of  his  duty  as  a  targaryen  too,  but  he  had  no  interest  in  speaking  to  them  beyond  polite  pleasantries.  "would  you  care  to  get  some  fresh  air  with  me?  there  is  something  i  wish  to  discuss  with  you."

[dragnbane]

set  during  the  fourth  day  of  celebrations:  plays  and  performances.  the  prince  flits  through  the  keep,  tries  to  keep  to  himself  to  rest  that  is  needed  between  days  of  pleasantries.  the  lady  redwyne,  @illuminvtes,  stands  at  the  end  of  a  hall.

aemon  had  managed  to  shake  off  his  guard,  something  that  would  likely  come  back  to  bite  him,  but  he  needed  a  chance  for  some  reprieve.  it  is  not  that  he  disliked  them,  no,  he  rather  enjoyed  their  company  when  it  had  usually  been  just  the  two  of  them,  but  aemon's  legs  had  been  extra  sore  since  the  arrival  of  everyone  to  king's  landing  which  meant  that  his  guard  was  watching  him  like  a  hawk,  arms  at  the  ready  to  catch  the  prince  if  he  were  to  fall.  it  was  humiliating,  to  be  treated  like  such  a  fragile  being.  he  had  been  a  dragonrider  —  he  was  the  blood  of  house  targaryen  —  not  some  invalid. he  huffs,  ridding  himself  of  the  thought  as  he  strides  through  the  empty  halls  of  the  keep.  he  was  glad  that  most  were  watching  the  performances  that  were  being  held,  it  meant  he  got  time  to  breathe  and  forget  he  was  a  prince  welcoming  people  into  his  home  for  just  a  moment. a  familiar  yet  distant  face  greets  his  own  from  the  end  of  the  hall  he  turned  down,  one  he  can  only  place  vaguely  from  his  times  as  a  squire.  perhaps  the  drawing  of  the  princely  face  would  have  to  wait  just  a  moment  longer.  "lady  redwyne,"  aemon  greets,  a  smile  that  was  easily  placed  upon  his  lips  making  an  appearance.  "i  am  glad  to  see  you  have  made  it  to  king's  landing  safely.  is  there  anything  i  can  help  you  with  or  are  you  just  looking  for  a  quiet  place  to  rest?"

[ofravns]

sometimes, eleanor dreams of dragons. dragons as they were, or perhaps as they could be, majestic, and untamed, and free. sometimes she dreams of dragons as they are. dead. she cannot help but smile as the dragon prince approaches, almost careless (or untamed, or free) before the stillness sets. "i am afraid of no ghost. it is the living and breathing that frighten me." she herself feels like a spirit at times, treading a narrow parapet between worlds. at once soaring high above the earth and crawling through its roots. "in any case, i would be honored by your company, my prince." only then does she properly look at him, as though waking from some distant reverie. he is not a dragon of her dreams, nor one of the skulls that sleep beneath the red keep. only a young man, late to a feast he does not seem eager to attend. "perhaps we may be late together." she continues, her smile widening. "that seems far less frightening than arriving alone."

[dragnbane]

"i  do  not  believe  it  is  afraid  you  must  be,  just  aware."  aemon  had  learned  that  growing  up  in  the  red  keep.  with  kings  and  queens,  princes  and  princesses  roaming,  there  would  always  be  someone  watching  —  someone  that  lurks  beyond  the  shadows.  he  had  been  that  once,  perhaps  he  still  was  that  now.  tucked  into  a  corner  that  no  one  else  could  see,  but  he  could  see  them  perfectly.  it  allowed  an  unwanted  prince  to  see  a  step  ahead,  to  know  when  the  blows  would  come.  "the  honor  would  be  mine,  my  lady,"  the  young  targaryen  smiles,  something  soft  and  sincere,  extending  an  arm  to  let  the  lady  take  it,  "what  has  made  you  late?  if  you  do  not  mind  my  asking.  is  it  fashionable  or  had  you  been  held  up  somewhere?"

[lcstmisfits]

one would think that after two and thirty years of needing to attend events and feasts, that aegon would become accustomed to entertaining the great lords and ladies of the realm. he was always able to push through his worries and put on the charming, sociable face that was befit the crown prince, but there were times he wished he could enjoy these festivities with out so many eyes upon him. of course he would prefer to drink his weight in wine and enjoy the festivities like everyone else, but he felt that unrelenting pressure to be on his best behavior.

that is why he has slipped away from the crowd to find his little brother whom he knows will be hiding off in the shadows at an even of this size. a hand pressed against his stomach, the other grasping the opposite wrist, aegon walks over to aemon with a gait that was almost casual for the prince. "brother, please," he said with a slight wrinkle of his nose at the formality. though they both were aware of the formalities pushed upon them. "aye, as much enjoyment as can be had," he says, "a lovely welcome feast, as always." he didn't want to think about the very odd welcoming speech that their father had given, he would rather think of the food and drinks that were passed around the guests. "are you enjoying yourself? or are you over here waiting for your moment to escape as well?" a small jest, said under his breath to his brother.

[dragnbane]

it  is  not  that  aemon  dislikes  his  brother's  presence.  he  cares  for  him  deeply,  much  like  he  does  the  rest  of  his  siblings,  it  is  the  pressure  of  having  the  crown  prince  standing  beside  oneself  in  a  hall  full  of  the  greatest  nobility  in  westeros.  that  it  was  an  inevitable  thing  that  people  would  turn  to  look  in  their  direction,  that  they  would  watch  and  scrutinize.  aemon  was  used  to  it  of  course,  had  been  for  as  long  as  he  could  remember,  but  it  is  daunting  even  at  the  age  of  seven  and  twenty.  "apologizes,  my  prince,  but  i  am  afraid  what  father  will  do  if  he  hears  the  informality  of  my  tone." their  father  had  never  been  the  kindest  to  aemon.  he  was  not  horrible,  but  he  was  not  what  a  father  should  have  been  and  aemon  can  hear  the  scolding  already  beginning  to  pound  around  inside  of  his  skull  if  he  did  not  act  proper.  "you  can  say  what  you  truly  mean,  aegon,"  aemon's  eyes  grow  fond  as  he  looks  over  to  his  brother,  a  small  smile  begins  to  curl  up  the  corners  of  his  lips.  he  knew  his  brother  too  well,  perhaps  he  knew  all  of  his  siblings  too  well  from  hiding  in  the  shadows  his  whole  life.  "it  is  an  occasion  where  our  father  gets  to  boast  for  our  house  —  not  that  i  am  upset  at  being  a  targaryen  —  he  just  wishes  everyone  were  to  feel  that  way." traveling  had  never  been  aemon's  favorite  thing  to  do.  long  journeys  on  horseback  always  made  some  part  of  him  ache,  that  and  the  fact  he  had  to  hear  how  much  people  disliked  his  house  —  save  for  him,  the  smallfolk  would  tell  him,  you  are  a  good  child.  "have  you  ever  known  me  to  enjoy  myself  in  such  crowds?"  it  takes  him  a  second  to  swallow  down  the  laugh.  "you  remember  my  wedding,  i  was  trying  to  make  every  excuse  i  could  to  leave  and  it  was  my  own  celebration."  was  marrying  someone  as  celebratory  as  he  had  always  wished  it  to  be?  "i  am  hoping  to  at  least  be  able  to  retire  early,  perhaps  if  i  stick  around  long  enough  and  smile  at  a  few  lords,  kiss  the  hand  of  a  few  ladies,  father  will  be  satisfied  with  my  performance."

[dragnbane]

𓆰    the  grand  masquerade,   slinking  into  the  great  hall,  trying  to  make  himself  as  unnoticed  as  possible,  prince  aemon  targaryen  was  not  late,  but  he  was  not  early  enough  that  the  already  chatting  noblemen  would  notice  him. donned  in  traditional  targaryen  house  colors  and  a  sleek  look  that  was  made  solely  for  formal  occasions,  aemon  does  not  necessarily  stand  out  in  the  crowd  which  he  had  always  preferred,  but  the  valyrian  silver  hair  and  deep  purple-blue  eyes  did  not  do  much  to  conceal  his  identity  even  with  a  mask  on.  he  does  not  know  what  will  unfold  during  the  night,  but  he  hopes  he  will  at  least  get  to  retire  to  bed  early.

[dragnbane]

set  during  the  second  day  of  celebrations:  the  tournaments.  a  prince  that  floats  like  he  meant  to,  between  people,  but  trying  not  to  linger  too  long.  the  lady  lannister,  @fateofcrvwns,  watches  the  archer  intently  while  he  means  to  do  the  same.

it  was  expected  of  aemon  to  understand  most  things  that  happened  especially  when  it  came  to  arms.  he  did  not  unfortunately,  a  sword  had  never  felt  right  in  his  hands  nor  a  bow  against  his  cheek.  it  was  something  the  master-at-arms  hated  about  him,  how  worthless  he  was  at  defense.  he  watches  it  now,  the  precision  that  it  took  to  hit  a  target  dead  on  and  he  knew  he  did  not  have  that  in  him.  perhaps  that  would  be  next  upon  his  list  when  he  became  less  inept  with  a  sword. aemon's  head  tilts  in  curiosity.  he  watches  the  person's  form  and  the  way  they  gripped  the  bow  like  it  was  a  divine  creature  and  not  made  of  only  wood.  "it  must  be  difficult,"  aemon  says  out  loud,  not  meant  to  but  the  shame  of  saying  sorry  was  too  great,  "having  to  concentrate  when  a  crowd  of  people  watch.  do  you  experience  that  when  you  shoot,  lady  lannister?"  having  just  witnessed  her  upon  that  same  field  mere  hours  ago.

[dragnbane]

set  during  the  first  day  of  the  celebrations:  the  welcome  feast.  a  husband  that  is  sat  at  the  high  table,  chatter  fills  the  hall  around  him  while  his  wife,  @northernseer,  sits  beside  him.

the  clothes  in  which  aemon  wears  are  tight  against  his  chest.  they  had  been  for  the  hours  since  the  feast  began  and  the  time  before  that  when  his  maids  were  dressing  him.  emma  had  told  him  he  looked  handsome,  feeling  free  and  safe  enough  in  his  presence  to  express  that,  while  his  knight  had  assured  him  he  would  be  behind  him  at  all  times  if  he  needed  anything.  that  latter  made  him  feel  helpless  in  a  way,  like  he  was  some  fragile  thing  that  needed  guarding.  but  wasn't  he?  he  attempts  to  shake  the  though  of  yes,  you  are  from  himself  before  it  sits  too  heavy  on  him. a  sigh  leaves  his  lips,  something  he  did  not  meant  to  let  slip.  his  food  had  long  since  gone  cold  on  his  plate,  the  nervousness  of  the  evening  preventing  him  from  eating  much  and  the  watchful  eyes  of  what  seemed  like  everyone  in  westeros  not  helping.  the  saving  grace  is  his  wife  who  sits  beside  him,  looking  ever  so  beautiful  in  her  gown  that  he  had  specifically  purchased  for  her  for  this  night  weeks  ago  when  he  had  seen  her  arrival  in  the  colors  of  his  home.  "sweetling,"  his  legs  shake  beneath  the  table  despite  him  sitting,  "would  you  join  me  for  a  turn  about  the  room?"  a  chance  to  escape  the  eyes  of  everyone.

[dragnbane]

set  during  the  first  day  of  the  celebrations:  the  welcome  feast.  standing  at  the  outskirts  of  the  great  hall  is  a  little  brother  that  is  attempting  to  look  for  some  respite  when  his  oldest  sibling,  @lcstmisfits,  happens  upon  him.

aemon's  hands  are  behind  his  back,  his  fingers  fiddling  with  each  other  as  they  are  clasped  together.  his  eyes  do  not  remain  in  one  place  for  long,  looking  about  the  room  just  watching,  observing.  a  quiet  disposition  to  him  that  made  it  feel  like  he  was  smaller  than  everyone  there,  like  he  was  not  a  prince  at  all,  but  more  of  an  outsider.  he  was  sure  his  father  will  have  something  to  say  to  him  about  it  later,  already  having  locked  eyes  with  the  man  only  mere  moments  ago.  he  knew  sooner  or  later  someone  was  going  to  come  looking  for  him,  tell  him  to  talk,  but  not  too  much,  to  whoever  was  worthy  of  it.  (how  did  he  know  they  were  worthy?  they  never  let  him  in  on  that  information.) he  hoped  it  would  be  later,  when  the  night  wound  down  and  most  everyone  had  already  retired  to  their  quarters.  hopes  did  not  register  well  for  him,  for  it  always  seemed  to  have  the  opposite  effect.  proving  true  when  aegon  makes  himself  known  beside  him,  aemon's  posture  going  rigid  trying  to  make  sure  that  whatever  he  had  done  would  not  fall  back  onto  his  brother's  shoulders.  "your  grace,"  aemon  greets  his  eldest  sibling  with  a  properness  that  was  taught  to  him  at  a  young  age.  to  act  out  with  the  king's  heir  would  be  unbecoming  in  the  public's  eye,  "have  you  enjoyed  yourself  thus  far?"

[ofravns]

in the days since her arrival, eleanor had spent most of her waking hours in the godswood of the red keep — if such a place could be called that. her raven, bael, had taken to nesting in the great oak at its heart, and so lady blackwood followed her bird, seeking refuge from the sea of unfamiliar faces that filled the castle. she had been so eager to leave raventree hall behind, but now she found herself longing for it. she missed its familiar halls and ancient trees, with gnarled limbs that seemed far more alive than the young woods of the crownlands. the godswood offered little comfort compared to home, yet she lingered there all the same.

but duty called her away. her absence would soon be noticed by her siblings, and the purpose of a feast was to be seen, after all.

the passages leading from the godswood stood silent and near deserted. such places served little purpose in a castle ruled by different gods and different customs. yet as eleanor made her way toward the banquet hall, she found she was not entirely alone. "i did not expect to find another soul in these corridors," she said. "are you heading to the feast, my liege?"

[ open starter ! ]

[dragnbane]

"i  am  unfortunately  late  to  the  feast,"  aemon  does  not  mean  to  share  so  much,  he  rigidness  sets  into  his  posture  when  he  does.  a  reminder  that  he  cannot  be  friendly  to  everyone  he  meets  even  if  his  first  instinct  is  to  do  so.  he  had  gotten  the  scolding  from  his  mother  and  father  alike  when  he  was  a  young  boy,  gotten  it  again  before  the  feast  began  by  his  father  —  his  mother  absent  and  something  aemon  did  not  know  what  to  feel  about.  he  would  surely  be  in  even  more  trouble  after  this,  having  to  slink  up  to  the  royal  table  without  anyone  noticing.  to  slide  into  conversations  he  would  sit  at  the  back  of,  to  hum  and  nod  along  to  whatever  the  noblemen  of  westeros  said  to  him,  but  also  maintain  a  regality  to  himself,  something  that  does  not  make  them  question  his  own  status.  "but,  i  would  always  expect  to  find  one  soul  in  every  corridor,  they  linger  here:  ghosts.  though  more  lay  ahead  once  the  great  hall's  doors  open.  would  you  let  me  escort  you?"

[northernseer]

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

IN ANOTHER LIFE, UNDER different circumstances... perhaps raya stark would have been exceptionally charming. clever with her words, enticing. but in this one ?? social interactions were a challenge. a constant burden - do not push too hard. mind your manners. watch your tone. you are already avoiding eye contact, find another way to connect. remain kind. mind your words... everyone does not need to know every wretched detail of your sight. keep it to yourself. breathe. social interactions were a chore. boys ?? more so. too strange, they called her. too quiet. too reserved. she should smile more. laugh more. speak more. should have been... more. more exciting, more outgoing, more of a stark. and yet - deep within her marrow, she was every bit a stark. was she not ?? loyal, honest, reliable. unyielding, exactly like the northern blizzards the north constantly endured. and yet... she had never truly had to worry about boys. for long before she could even register the warmth upon rosy cheeks at the sweetened words of a young northern lord, she had already been promised to her dragon prince. and what good would it bring anyone to entertain anything else when duty was constantly tightening its grasp around her ?? emerald hues flicker around their chambers slowly, tongue gliding over heart shaped lips in an effort to ease herself. he would see her image every time he closed his eyes ? the thought alone nudges warmth onto olive cheeks. in truth... there were many things she did not remember about their weddings. neither the one they had in king's landing nor the one in the north. tiny details that perhaps passed her in a sudden haze. overwhelming amounts of guests, decorations, everything had been too... perfect. and yet... during the coldest most lonely nights within her childhood chambers in winterfell - an image persisted. and every time... it was him. aemon targaryen, stood beneath the largest weirwood tree of their godswood. silver locks tamed in his usual shorter length, a sight amongst the snow - rosy cheeked and every bit the poised prince he doubted himself to be. a hand outstretched, offered in her direction just before he guided her away from avan. his certainty brings forth a smile, genuine - warm, perhaps even shy. she does not argue. not anymore. what would be the point ?? her husband was clearly convinced he was right. and who was she to insist that he was not ? small hands had been steady and firm against the muscles of his thighs - as though this was second nature. the sound that had slipped from his lips had done little to still her motions, rather, urged more. curiosity had bloomed within her, an eyebrow arching ever so slightly. hidden from his sight as her gaze remained locked on her work. and then... she had lost her composure. weakened her resolve. locked their gazes. raya had risked whatever fragile peace there had been between them. risked everything with that look. and... gods, she would do it again.

the porcelain cup in her hold shakes, the tea within stirring ever so slightly. emerald hues study the ripples, bottom lip wedged tightly between her teeth. ❝ no ! ❞ it's let out immediately, too quickly. ❝ no. ❞ softer now, gentler, slower. she inhales, a slow breath forced into her lungs as she turns. the motion is slow and graceful despite herself. similarly, she sets the tea cup back on the table - hands threading through raven curls in a way that makes her feel... small. ❝ you have not made me uncomfortable. truly. i - just... do not... often maintain eye contact. it - it makes me... see. more than i normally do. ❞ her voice is just barely above a whisper, it is something about his honesty - vulnerability... it inspires reciprocity. and this... well, it is something she has never admitted to anyone other than avan. and her own family, of course. she stills, watching him intently as he speaks. his words, however honest he thinks they may be, ignite a fire of their own within her. how could someone have made a man like him feel this way about himself ?? did he not see how beloved he was by his people ? and yet before she can argue. before she can even properly try to get him to understand that he truly was not an inconvenience to her... he continues. and something inside her gives way. those walls. those strong tall walls she had spent her life building - are left in ruins. decades of hard work completely undone by one aemon targaryen. he has claimed the very breath from her lungs. children. a family. a home. the very things she had spent the last year pretending not to want. things she had long since believed she would never deserve. gods, how foolish she had been. silence settles between them once more. not uncomfortable... merely fragile. precious. like something neither of them wished to break. ❝ i know. ❞ the words emerge quietly. softer than anything she has spoken all afternoon. ❝ i know you would never push me. ❞ raya means to reassure him more than anything. but, somewhere, in the process - reaffirms her own words. he truly wouldn't and she knew it. ❝ there were days in winterfell when i convinced myself remaining there was best. days when i told myself i was protecting something. my family. my home. perhaps even us. ❞ a faint laugh escapes her. humorless, fond and entirely directed at herself. ❝ and then there were days when i found myself reaching for parchment simply because i wished to speak to you. ❞ emerald hues lift, flickering around their chambers. toward the untouched corners. toward the life they had never quite allowed themselves to build. assessing every last proof of absence before she exhales a soft breath. ❝ days where i missed you more than… perhaps, allowed. ❞ the admission settles heavily between them. ❝ yet i remained convinced distance was somehow the kinder choice. ❞ hands slip free from her curls, measured steps leading her back towards her husband. ❝ i want those things too. ❞ her heartbeat stumbles immediately - traitorous thing. ❝ a home... with you. ❞ more than anything. more than she had ever allowed herself to want anything before. green hues lift, taking in the valyrian violet mixed with house arryn's blue - a swirl so unique it makes her weak in the knees. something else swarms her, pooling beneath her ribs and flooding deep into the pit of her stomach. a strange thing. desire ? need ?? she needs him. in a way that she is entirely unfamiliar with. in a way that she's unsure she is even allowed to need him. want him, even. ❝ a bath... ❞ her gaze flickers towards the door to their bath - mouth suddenly dry. ❝ will you join me ? ❞ warmth blooms brighter across her cheeks immediately afterward, hand moving towards his own. what was she doing ?? ❝ not because you must. ❞ she adds quickly. ❝ but because i would like you to. ❞

[dragnbane]

there  is  a  memory  that  sticks  to  the  back  of  aemon's  skull  like  it  was  melded  there  by  fire.  he  remembers  being  a  young  boy,  barely  past  the  age  of  eight  and  he  had  just  wished  for  a  friend.  someone  who  would  look  at  him  and  see  him,  not  see  through  him  like  everyone  within  the  red  keep  would.  he  had  wished  to  have  someone  close  to  him  that  would  not  treat  him  differently  because  was  he  truly  so  different?  he  was  just  another  boy  —  a  prince  —but  still  a  boy.  what  was  so  wrong  with  that?  there  is  another  memory,  one  more  fond  when  he  is  on  the  road  with  his  ser  and  he  receives  a  message  that  he  is  to  be  wed.  it  sends  a  spark  down  his  spine:  you  are  promised  to  lady  raya  stark  of  winterfell.  he  did  not  know  her,  had  only  heard  her  name  in  passing  when  he  would  sneak  by  the  small  council  room  and  press  his  ear  to  the  door.  he  had  hoped  to  find  a  friend  within  her,  someone  who  would  like  him  enough  to  remain  at  his  side. aemon  had  believed  he  had  found  it  with  her  or  at  least  that  is  what  the  voices  in  his  head  chose  to  tell  him.  that  she  was  to  be  his  wife  and  there  was  no  way  she  would  not  love  him.  it  is  difficult  to  think  back  on  that  now  knowing  where  the  two  of  them  were  in  the  present.  that  aemon  had  driven  her  back  to  winterfell  one  way  or  another,  even  if  she  says  he  did  not.  why  would  she  run  if  not  away  from  him?  everyone  else  did.  he  does  his  best  not  to  dwell  on  the  thoughts  though,  even  if  he  still  does  it  all  the  same.  she  did  not  have  to  like  him  and  it  was  childish  of  him  to  ever  believe  otherwise.  even  if  own  parents  did  not  love  each  other  like  the  stories  he  had  been  read  would  say.  so  what  about  him  could  be  the  exception  to  that?

"what  do  you  see?"  he  asks  without  an  ounce  of  judgement  in  his  voice.  there  truly  was  none,  just  an  open  curiosity.  if  he  had  known  right  away  what  she  had  been  speaking  of,  he  would  have  told  her  that  he  had  heard  of  dreams  before.  perhaps  they  were  not  quite  the  same,  but  it  felt  like  the  same  sentiment.  when  rhaella  would  wake  and  find  him  tucked  into  the  farthest  corner  of  the  keep,  she  would  curl  next  to  him  and  talk  while  he  listened.  he  could  not  say  he  understood  what  she  was  telling  him,  but  he  listened  and  did  not  make  her  feel  like  she  was  other.  it  would  have  been  the  same  with  raya  had  he  known  what  she  saw  in  his  eyes.  except  he  doesn't  know  and  not  being  able  to  see  the  precious  emerald  of  her  sight  makes  something  hollow  sit  within  his  chest.  "i  just  wish  to  look  at  you,  it  is  a  wonder  that  i  was  allowed  to  marry  such  a  beautiful  woman." it  had  been  in  talks  when  he  had  gotten  sick,  whether  or  not  aemon  had  been  fit  for  this  marriage.  he  was  half  conscious  in  his  bed,  sweat  beading  down  his  forehead  and  a  burning  in  his  muscles  that  would  make  him  scream  with  pain,  when  the  whispers  of  those  around  him  would  filter  through.  the  prince?  oh,  he  will  not  last  another  few  months.  perhaps  it  would  be  best  to  find  someone  more  suited  for  lady  raya  than  he.  or,  it  was  a  silly  union  anyways,  what  could  the  dragonbane  ever  give  to  her?  followed  by  jovial  laughter  that  haunted  him  every  time  he  had  closed  his  eyes.

he  is  grateful  now  though,  that  raya  is  his  own,  a  horrible  feeling  punching  him  in  the  gut  whenever  he  thought  about  another  lord's  hand  in  her  own.  she  was  meant  to  be  his.  he  knew  that  deep  down,  but  it  was  hard  to  believe  that  she  would  ever  be  okay  with  the  union  as  he  was.  was  she  meant  to  give  up  her  life  for  him  and  his  family?  was  she  meant  to  sacrifice  herself  to  the  targaryen  name?  aemon  would  not  allow  it,  not  when  he  had  known  through  the  letters  and  correspondence  that  her  home  was  the  most  important  to  her.  he  had  just  hoped  one  day  she  would  be  able  to  say  he  was  as  well.  "what  were  you  protecting  us  from?"  he  asks  it  all  too  quickly,  a  need  to  know,  but  he  shakes  his  head  after,  an  instant  regret,  "no—  that  is  invasive,  please  do  not  answer  that."  part  of  him  wondered  if  he  knew,  would  it  hurt?  "winterfell  is  lucky  they  have  a  protector  in  you."  he  states  it  so  tenderly,  yet  melancholic  if  one  were  to  listen  closer.  "your  letters  were  well  received.  i—  reread  them  too  often,"  a  quiet  admission,  a  statement  in  hopes  to  say  i  wished  you  had  been  here  or  i  with  you.  "there  is  no  fault  in  going  with  what  your  heart  is  telling  you,  sweetling.  maybe  distance  offers  the  chance  for  it  to  grow  fonder." his  heart  jumps  when  the  words  are  spoken.  he  had  not  thought  of  it  as  such  before,  a  quick  realization  with  words  he  had  not  thought  about  before  speaking.  it  does  not  stop  as  their  eyes  lock.  a  sharp  thump  hits  his  chest  as  green  becomes  all  he  can  see  and  his  mouth  falls  open  slightly,  in  awe.  she  was  so  beautiful.  the  color  searing  into  him  that  he  was  sure  he  was  to  see  it  whenever  he  closed  his  eyes  from  here  on  out.  "let  me  build  you  a  home."  he  wants  it  more  than  he  believes  he  could  want  anything.  a  need  crawls  up  him:  to  provide  for  her,  to  give  her  all  she  could  ever  want.  for  the  first  time  since  the  wheelhouse,  aemon's  hand  finds  her  own.  the  softness  of  her  skin  lights  a  fire  within  him,  he  did  not  wish  to  melt  her  with  it,  he  wished  to  mold  himself  to  her  in  whatever  way  he  could  get.  "yes,  i—"  he's  out  of  breath,  "i  would  very  much  like  that.  do  you  wish  to  call  for  the  maids?"  an  outstretched  hand,  a  reminder  the  red  keep  could  also  be  her  home,  that  his  own  was  hers.  "whichever  scent  shall  make  you  happy,  my  wife,  i  will  gladly  bathe  in  it."