ficeacs

[ficeacs]

Spring Into Summer

Aemond Targaryen x YiTish Reader

Synopsis: Winning battles had always come naturally to Prince Aemond Targaryen. Winning back the woman he loved would demand something far greater: the willingness to become a man her world could accept.

Warnings: Miscommunication Trope, Fluff, Yearning, Slight Jealousy, Second Love Interest, Down Bad Aemond

Word count: 5.9k

Part: I, II, III, IV

Spring was nearing summer, and the coldness of winter had truly gone. Though fire ran through his veins, Prince Aemond had never once felt such heat until he spent the early days of summer in your homeland. He sat uncomfortably in his leather tunic and trousers, the Eastern sun blaring down upon him as he had his guide, Gerald, hovering over him as he tried to accustom himself to the traditions of your land. 

It was the third day of the week, your grandsire's name day celebrations still in full swing as nobles and commonfolk alike continued to fill the streets with laughter and song. Though the festivities had yet to cease, Prince Aemond found himself far from the village square. Instead, he spent the better part of the morning trying to grasp steamed grains and wrapped ground pork with two slender sticks. 

The ivory was growing warm and slippery in his hold, and he grunted in frustration as another morsel slipped from his grasp and fell unceremoniously back onto the porcelain plate. Gerald let out a patient sigh. "Relax your hand, my prince."

"It is relaxed." Prince Aemond gritted out, and in his frustration, he simply used one of the dining sticks to stab the steamed dumpling and raise it to his lips. He resisted the satisfied sigh that urged him to leave his lips. 

The Red Keep’s cooks were celebrated throughout Westeros for their dishes, but the moment he had a taste of the delicately seasoned pork wrapped within the soft dough, he begrudgingly admitted that the East rivaled them. "My prince...You are not to spear the food." Gerald pinched the bridge of his nose.

Aemond swallowed before glancing at the dumpling impaled upon the ivory stick. "It reached my mouth, had it not?"

"That is hardly the point, your highness." Gerald sighed as he glanced out the window, witnessing as Prince Xianyu walked beside the lady the Western Prince wished to court. "It should be." Prince Aemond retorted and used the ivory utensil to shovel rice into his mouth. His action was barbaric and unacceptable to the other nobles, whose approval he must gain. 

Gerald let out another weary sigh, one that had become all too familiar over the past two days. Ever since the prince had decided to see through his courtship with you, you had entrusted Gerald with his training. Prince Aemond was determined to win your hand. And in his determination, he had barely let his guide rest as he was insistent that Gerald should teach him all he must know. 

"Should the lord see you dine in such a manner, he would believe you lacked refinement." Prince Aemond scoffed. "I have dueled seasoned knights since I was but a boy. I have studied beneath maesters and septons. I speak High Valyrian more fluently than the Common Tongue. I had tamed the largest dragon in the world." He placed the dining stick upon the table with a dull clack. "And all of that is cast aside because I stabbed a dumpling."

Gerald smiled knowingly. "No, my prince." He leaned forward, adjusting the prince's grip upon the ivory sticks. "It is cast aside because you are no longer trying to prove yourself to Westeros." Prince Aemond fell silent.

"You are trying to prove yourself to her grandfather, the lord of this land. A lord whose favour already lies upon the Emperor’s only son."

The prince's eye lingered upon the pair of dining sticks resting between his fingers. After a long pause, he released a quiet breath and picked them up once more. "Then show me again." He conceded and relaxed his fingers as best he could. It was rather difficult to do so, as he had been taught to hold on to everything he could grasp tightly. 

Gerald watched as the prince awkwardly maneuvered the ivory sticks once more, his movements far too rigid to be of any success. "No." Prince Aemond paused, his lips in a tight line. "You are treating them as though they are weapons.” Gerald sighed once more. 

"They are sticks." Prince Aemond countered as he heard sudden cheers from the open window.  "They are an extension of your hand, not your sword," Gerald explained. Aemond glanced down at his fingers before reluctantly loosening them.

“Better,” His guide said as Prince Aemond was able to grip a piece of roasted duck. It still fell onto the wooden table after a few moments in the air, but it was still notable progress. “What if I simply do not eat? Surely I need not learn this nonsense if I am never to use it.” Prince Aemond grumbled as he tried to pick up the fallen piece of roasted duck. 

“In YiTi, when a guest does not consume their host’s food, it is taken as an insult,” Gerald explained patiently as he retrieved the fallen piece of roasted duck and replaced it with another upon the prince's plate. “A refusal of their meal is a refusal of their hospitality.”

“I have already accepted their hospitality.” Prince Aemond gritted out, his patience overly thin. “You have.” Gerald nodded. “Now you must show them.” The prince glanced down at the porcelain dishes spread before him. Bowls of fragrant rice, braised vegetables, steamed fish adorned with ginger and scallions, and dumplings folded with impossible precision. Every dish had been prepared with painstaking care.

“Every meal shared beneath a roof is an extension of trust.” Gerald continued. “When the lord invites you to dine, he is not merely offering food. He is inviting you into his household.” Prince Aemond remained silent.

“And when you spear a dumpling...” Gerald looked pointedly at the unfortunate victim still impaled upon the ivory stick. “...you tell the household that you care little for the customs they have spent generations preserving.” 

The prince sighed as he tried to capture a clump of rice. If he had loved you less, he would not have debase himself in this humiliation, but every lesson, every failure, every morsel that slipped from his grasp brought him one step closer to you.

“Might we go over the histories instead? I can retry this later on. I have lost my appetite.” The prince snapped, and Gerald sighed but agreed. Perhaps dining etiquette would be learned through experience and not constant practice. 

“Very well,” Gerald murmured as he unfurled the parchment between them. “If you wish to court the lady, you must first understand the people who raised her.” Prince Aemond leaned forward without complaint. “Tell me.” He ordered. 

“YiTi has stood for thousands of years. Dynasties have risen and fallen long before the Andals ever crossed the Narrow Sea. Their people place great stock in ancestry, tradition, and filial piety. Every action reflects not only upon oneself, but upon one's household.” Aemond listened intently.

“So when the lord judges you...” Gerald continued, “he does not merely judge Prince Aemond Targaryen, he judges House Targaryen… And Westeros. Gods, does the lord despise the West.” Gerald sighed. 

The prince frowned. “Then why had he sent his kin to our land?” Prince Aemond questioned. His mind briefly replayed the moment you arrived at his home. A shy little girl who hid behind her father’s legs and tightly grasped her mother’s skirts. 

“He had naught a choice. The Emperor had chosen his house to be diplomats in the West, seeing your lady’s house is famed for their even temper and level-headedness, and ability to settle disputes.” Gerald explained as he carefully rolled another parchment open beside the first.

“Their post in the West was only supposed to last five years. But as you had come to see, the five-year term became another. Eventually, a temporary post became their new home.” Prince Aemond nodded, his mind memorizing all that was said about your home and house. “What else?”

The older man smiled to himself. For all his impatience, the prince never tired of learning. “If you seek the lord’s blessing,” Gerald began, “you must understand that courtship in YiTi is seldom won through grand declarations. It is won through consistency.” Prince Aemond's brow furrowed. “Consistency?” He questioned. The word was almost foreign to his tongue.

“A single bold gesture may earn admiration.” Gerald looked toward the open window, where the sounds of celebration still echoed through the streets, and he witnessed as Prince Xianyu placed a flower upon your hair, breathing a relieved sigh that Prince Aemond did not witness such actions. “But it is a hundred quiet ones that earn trust.” Prince Aemond was rendered silent. 

No wonder you were not impressed by extravagant gifts and his fleet of strengths. The moments he found progress in your courtships were the constant moments he found you in your silent spaces in the Red Keep. Where he would join you each morning to watch the sun rise and each evening to witness the sun setting. 

Gerald watched the realization settle upon the prince's face and smiled faintly. "You understand then." Prince Aemond nodded slowly. “Before, I had tried to win her with extravagant gifts, but she never seemed impressed, even if I showered her with all the gold in the West.” Prince Aemond recalled. 

“The lady was not raised to waver under riches,” Gerald replied with a small smile. “Gold may earn admiration, but it has never earned devotion. Besides, your lady has been constantly showered with crates of gifts by her grandsire, the moment she and her parents had sailed to King’s Landing– shinny trinkets would no longer impress her, your highness.”

Prince Aemond let out a grievous sigh once more and nodded, another surge of determination coursing within. He would do anything to win your favor. He would suffer through all these lessons if it meant he would have your heart by the end.

“Be kind, grandfather, he is trying.” You whispered softly as you sat by your grandsire’s side. You two were perched on a raised platform overlooking the village square, where musicians filled the warm afternoon with the melodies of flutes and strings. 

Prince Aemond stood stiffly next to Prince Xianyu as the two had listed their names before the village elder tasked with overseeing the day's contests. Around them, commonfolk gathered in eager anticipation while nobles watched from shaded pavilions. It was a friendly competition held every year during your grandsire's name day—a display of wit, composure, and skill rather than brute strength.

The lord merely hummed. "I am being kind." He countered as he tapped his cane thrice on the wooden platform, the attention of the crowd quickly shifting toward the two of you. You hid your frown as you looked between the two princes, completely clueless about how the events of the day would turn. 

You did not question Prince Aemond’s prowess in combat, but you knew his skill lay with the sword. You had no idea how he fared when it came to the quieter virtues so cherished in your homeland. "The first contest," the village elder announced with a smile, "shall be poetry." You nearly choked.

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. "If he wishes to stand beside my granddaughter for the rest of his days, then he may begin by standing beside the man who currently courts her." Your grandfather hummed, and you sighed as you knew fully well that the prince had no care nor talent for poetry. 

A part of you even wanted to leave. Not wanting to witness him struggle with the tasks and see him quit and change his mind about your courtship. However, whatever doubts you harbored faded with each moment Prince Aemond stayed. 

Prince Aemond sighed deeply as he glanced at his competition. Prince Xianyu kneeled before the parchment with the ease of a man who had spent his entire life surrounded by scholars and poets. His brush glided effortlessly across the paper, each stroke deliberate and graceful.

Beside him, Prince Aemond stared at the brush as though it were a foreign weapon. You felt your stomach twist. "Grandfather..." You whispered once more. The old lord merely hummed. "Observe." 

The village square had fallen into a peculiar silence. Even the musicians had softened their melodies, allowing only the gentle plucking of strings to accompany the scratching of a brush against parchment. Prince Aemond exhaled slowly. Then, to your surprise, he sat.

You waited rigidly in your seat and breathed in deep breaths. The crowd was on the edge of their seats, their eyes curiously looking upon the two princes who competed for your grandsire’s favour. 

“Why not swordsmanship? It seems rather unfair to pit a prince of war against a prince of poetry.” You muttered beneath your breath, your eyes never leaving Prince Aemond's rigid form. Your grandsire's lips twitched.

"If the prince wishes to wed into our household, he must learn that life is not won solely through war." You frowned but said nothing more.

Below, Prince Xianyu had already begun writing. The crowd watched with eager anticipation as elegant strokes flowed effortlessly from his brush. Even from your seat, you could see the beauty of his calligraphy.

Prince Aemond, however, had yet to move. You waited in fear as the time began to trickle away. A moment passed, and you jolted from your seat as the sound of a gong echoed throughout the village square. 

All watched in anticipation as a village elder moved to Prince Xianyu and inspected what he had written. A small pleased smile on the elder’s lips as his eyes traveled through the eligible strokes and flowery verses the Eastern Prince wrote.  You held your breath as it was Prince Ameond's turn. 

You studied each facial expression of the village elder’s face carefully. His lips were in a thin line as he read what the Western Prince had written. You crowded the edge of your seat as the village elder took the parchment and headed to your grandsire.  You tried to peer over the parchment and read its contents, but the prince’s strokes were difficult to decipher from where you sat. 

Prince Aemond stood under the warm Eastern sun and watched as elderly men began to swarm over the words he had written. He had no gifts for poetry. He found it superfluous and nonsensical. But if flowery verses paved the road that led to you, then he would write until his hand bled and his pride withered.

The silence stretched. One elder frowned, another hummed, a third adjusted his spectacles and reread the same line twice, and by the time a fourth elder ticked his tongue, your heart sank. Gods. You knew that look. It was the same look Grand Maester Orwyle wore whenever Prince Aegon submitted an essay. A look of disappointment and suppressed frustration. 

You turned to your grandsire, hoping to glean some hint of mercy from his expression, but the old lord remained as inscrutable as ever. His fingers merely tapped against the jade head of his cane.

Prince Xianyu, meanwhile, stood with the quiet confidence of a man who had spent his youth composing verses beneath flowering trees and moonlit pavilions. Prince Aemond stood like a man awaiting execution.

Finally, one of the elders cleared his throat. "Prince Xianyu's poem," he began, "is beautifully written." The crowd erupted into applause, and you tightly closed your eyes and let out a sigh. 

"His calligraphy is exquisite. His metaphors elegant. His understanding of classical form impeccable." Prince Xianyu bowed gracefully. 

Then the elder lifted Prince Aemond's parchment. The applause died. "Prince Aemond's poem..." he began. "...is terrible. It is barely a poem at all."

Your heart pitted as the village square burst into laughter. You felt your face burn and your stomach twist. Even Prince Xianyu looked startled by the bluntness. Prince Aemond merely blinked. "The structure is poor. The brushwork is atrocious. The rhythm is nonexistent."

You dared to look at Prince Aemond. He stood unmoving. Proud and silent. Wearing the same expression he wore whenever he lost a duel as a child, and refused to show pain. Then an elder smiled. "However, there is honesty in it."

“The first time I saw her, she hid behind her father's cloak and refused to look at me.” Your breath caught in your throat as you met Prince Aemond's gaze. “The second time, she spoke to me because she pitied me.” A few chuckles rippled through the crowd, but you were deaf as you stared into his lilac eye. “The third time, she laughed.”

Prince Aemond let out a breath of relief and let his embarrassment fade with each moment he stared into your eyes. All that he had wished to say was now uttered by another’s tongue. 

“I have spent years learning war, history, philosophy, and dragons. Yet the greatest lesson I have ever learned was that I wished to hear her laugh again.” The square fell silent, and you held your breath. “I know little of poetry. I know less of courtship. But I crossed half the world because, after two years apart, I discovered there are some silences a man cannot survive twice.”

“Words spoken with honey are often bitter underneath.” Your grandsire remarked as he caught you with a small smile that refused to leave your lips. He found you near a window in the inn’s parlour, your mind still floating with the words read aloud earlier in the day. 

You had not seen the prince again as he was escorted to prepare for the next challenge, but your mind refused to forget what he had written. How he stood before you and your people, ready to face ridicule and humiliation for a chance to remain by your side. 

With a deep breath, you turned to look upon your grandsire, who had his eyes upon the town square. “You had chosen the challenge, grandfather. And he had won it fairly.” You defended, but the old man simply sighed, shook his head, and sat beside the wooden bench you sat upon. 

“One challenge won hardly proves that he is worthy of you.” He mused. “Do not forget what he had done, my child. Do not forget the tears you have shed, the meals you have missed, and the sleepless nights you have had.” You bit your tongue at his words, a dull, persistent ache in your heart. “You even decided to stay here, far from your parents’ care, because of the betrayal he had committed. Do not let your young mind be swayed so easily,” he added. 

“We cannot let a mistake mar a lifetime of good.” You whispered softly, though the conviction behind your words wavered the moment they left your lips. Your grandsire turned to look at you. “A mistake?” He repeated. You lowered your eyes to your hands folded in your lap.

“What else should I call it?” You asked quietly. He did not answer immediately. Outside, the festivities continued. Laughter echoed through the streets below, accompanied by the distant melodies of flutes and strings. Yet within the inn's parlour, all seemed strangely still.

“A mistake is forgetting a name. Or speaking out of turn. Or arriving late to supper.” He leaned upon his cane and regarded you with an expression that was neither angry nor disappointed. Merely sad. "What Prince Aemond did was a choice.” 

You feel your heart twist at the remembrance. “He had made his choice years before.” You admitted. “But he has also made his choice to rectify his mistakes now. He flew on dragonback here– he flew all the way to YiTi for me.” You said quietly, head bowed, as you could not bear to look upon your grandsire. 

Your grandsire was silent for a long while. The old lord looked out the window toward the village square, where banners fluttered in the summer wind, and children chased one another through the crowd. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than before.

“My child.” He reached over and took your hand into his weathered one. “I do not doubt that the prince regrets what he has done. I do not doubt that he suffers. But what I do doubt is his intentions.” 

You frowned at his words. “I do not understand. He has nothing to gain from this. I hold no title or riches. I am not even a noble of Westeros.” You explained, uncertain of what your grandsire meant. It would be a different discussion if you were the heir to a great house. If you held dragons or armies or lands to your name. But you held none of those things. Your grandsire smiled sadly. “Exactly.”

Your frown furthered. "I do not understand," you confessed, and he patted your hand. “You believe that because you hold no title, no wealth, and no political advantage, that no man could ever pursue you for the wrong reasons.” He sighed and turned his gaze back toward the village square. “That is because you have never understood what it is you possess.”

Your heart skipped a beat. A part of you had the answer at the tip of your tongue, but a greater part was simply clueless. “And what is that?” You asked, somewhat fearing the answer.  Your grandfather smiled softly. “Peace.” 

You blinked slowly, confounded by his answer. “Peace?” You echoed, and he slowly nodded. 

“Your father was chosen to represent our people in the West because he wields it. Your mother cherishes him because he possesses it. And you, my child… had inherited a great deal of it.” You sat silently, unable to grasp what your grandfather meant. 

“Have you never wondered why men seek your company?” He asked gently as confusion overtook your face. You softly shook your head. You had always believed it was your unique face that attracted the courtiers in Westeros. They did prize uniqueness after all. 

“Why servants tell you their troubles? Why children follow you? Why even wounded animals allow you to approach?” Your grandfather questioned further, but all he received was another shake of your head. He sighed with a small smile on his lips. 

You make people feel safe– at ease. You have this calmness– this serenity that others spend their entire lives seeking and never find.” Your grandsire said quietly. “And there is no rarer gift in this world.” 

“He does not seek your hand because you are rich. He seeks your hand because in you, he found peace.” Your grandsire clarified. And you nodded meekly. “Is it because I am often quiet?” You asked, and his laughter soon followed. “No, my child. Peace and silence are not the same.” 

You sighed and nodded your head. “But if Prince Aemond found peace with me, are we so cruel to deny him of that?” Your grandsire laughed once more, but this time, it was without humour. 

“He may have found peace with you, but that is of little consequence to me. You forget, he is not my kin. You are my only grandchild– you are the one I am to protect. I cannot leave this earth without knowing if you will be properly cared for. That you would be with a man whose attention and devotion would not waver.” You pursed your lips at his words. 

“A mere poetry challenge is not enough to convince me, my child. And it should not be nearly enough to convince you to spend your life with him.” You were rendered silent at his cutting words. When you spoke not a nother word, your grandsire stood. “Now come, there are much more challenges to preside over.” 

“Did she truly look at me?” Prince Aemond could not help but ask his guide, Gerald, the question that had consumed his thoughts since the morning. The prince sat in a copper tub filled with steaming, scented water. He was being prepared for the afternoon’s events. A test of knowledge and memory. 

Gerald resisted the smile that wished to inch his lips. “She did, my prince.” He confirmed as he readied the prince’s linens. Prince Aemond smiled to himself as he lowered himself into the water, his aching body and pitted heart renewed at just a simple confirmation. 

“I would advise you to save your moment of triumph, my prince. There are still plenty of challenges before you.” Gerald informed, but quickly regretted speaking as he saw the sudden scowl on the Western prince’s face. 

“What is the next challenge then?” the prince asked sharply, standing from the milky bath and waiting for Gerald to wrap the white linen around him. “A test of patience and history,” Gerald replied as the prince stepped out of the tub and reached for his leathers, only to be hindered. 

“A tea ceremony, your highness.” Gerald continued. “And for such ceremonies, you are required to wear the traditional garb of this land,” he said cautiously. 

Prince Aemond blinked. His lone eye glancing upon the traditional robe that hung upon a paper divider. Silk instead of leather. “There is no armor.” He frowned and said bitterly. 

“It is a tea ceremony, my prince. Not a battlefield.” Gerald hummed as he took the fine robe into his hands. “I refuse to wear that. I would be vulnerable to attacks.” Prince Aemond gritted. “I understand your hesitancy, my prince, but rest assured, YiTi is not as uncivilized as the West. There would be no arrows piercing through the skies nor swords drawn tonight.” 

Prince Aemond pursed his lips as he gazed upon the silk robe. His fingers instinctively reached for the familiar weight of the leather resting upon the dressing table. Worn and weathered from years of riding dragons and training yards, it had molded itself to the prince's frame long ago. Leather embraced him like a second skin. Every buckle sat where it belonged. Every strap served a purpose. It was heavy, protective, and reassuring.

The robe Gerald held was none of those things. It shimmered beneath the afternoon light, woven from pale silk embroidered with silver cranes whose wings seemed to drift whenever the fabric caught the breeze. It looked impossibly delicate. “I refuse to wear this.” He stubbornly dismissed and took hold of his tunic. “But my prince–” 

“I am a prince of Westeros. I am in YiTi simply to regain the hand that had long been mine. I do not aim to conform to whatever ceremonies her grandsire so wished.” He gritted as he wore his trusted garments. Gerald sighed heavily but obliged. 

“Very well, my prince. But I do warn you that your decision would not be taken well.” Prince Aemond simply scoffed and brushed off his words. 

By the courtyard, you sat with your grandsire inside a hut that was perched by the edge, where servants moved with quiet efficiency beneath the shade of flowering trees. The tea pavilion stood upon a polished stone platform overlooking a tranquil pond, its waters broken only by drifting koi and the occasional ripple of a summer breeze.

You watched as Prince Xianyu approached first. He had exchanged his court robes for flowing silks the color of jade, his long sleeves embroidered with golden bamboo. His dark hair had been neatly gathered and fastened with a carved hairpin of white jade. Every step he took seemed effortless, every movement practiced from years of ceremony. Your grandsire gave a small nod of approval.

Moments later, another figure entered the courtyard. Every conversation ceased as Prince Aemond strode through the stone gates clad in black leather and fitted riding trousers, the afternoon sun glinting against the silver clasps upon his tunic. The heavy boots upon his feet echoed across the courtyard with each measured step, stark against the near-silent grace of the YiTish nobles.

You felt your heart sink. Beside you, your grandsire released a slow breath, his gaze turning to Gerald, who had approached first. An apologetic look upon his face. “I have tried to warn him, my lord.” He whispered and bowed. 

Prince Aemond paid little mind to the stares that followed him. His shoulders remained squared, his chin held high. Had he entered the Red Keep dressed thus, none would have questioned it.

“Do our garments not suffice your taste, my prince?” Your grandfather questioned sharply. All eyes were upon him as you lowered your gaze. "They are finely made." The prince answered evenly. "But I saw no need to exchange my own garments." 

Your grandsire hummed and shook his head. “How unfortunate.” He sighed. “You see, my prince, it is customary to wear such robes for a ceremony as sacred as this. Your refusal to do so means you are not eligible to join.” The lord announced, and you feel your heart skip a beat. You raised your gaze and saw the satisfied look upon Prince Xianyu’s face and the quiet rage upon Prince Aemond’s. 

“Because of Prince Aemond’s refusal, this challenge is automatically won by Prince Xianyu!” Your grandsire declared, and a round of cheers and claps erupted upon the once quiet courtyard. “Well done, your highness.” Your grandsire smiled upon the Eastern Prince as you avoided the burning gaze of the Western one. 

Prince Aemond's jaw clenched. His eye never left your grandsire. "I crossed half the world for this challenge."

"And you crossed the courtyard unwilling to honor it." Your grandsire replied evenly. The prince took a measured step forward. "I came to prove my devotion to your granddaughter." He proudly announced, head held high. 

“Yet you cannot even respect the customs of her land.” Your grandsire replied evenly. “We have no need for another Westerner who believes his ways superior to our own.” A murmur of agreement swept through the gathered nobles, and Prince Aemond's jaw tightened. “I never claimed such a thing.”

“You did not have to.”  The old lord gestured toward the prince's attire. “You announced it the moment you walked through those gates. A reminder, my prince. You are no longer in the West. Our people are not so easily impressed nor intimidated by silver hair. Nor do we appreciate the disregard for our culture.” Prince Aemond's fingers twitched at his sides. “Your said devotion for my granddaughter could not be seen when you cannot even be bothered to regard her own culture.” 

Prince Aemond breathed in deeply as he reigned in his rage. "I crossed kingdoms and seas for her." He repeated, his voice measured. "Surely that speaks louder than a change of garments."

"It would," your grandsire agreed without hesitation. "Had the journey taught you anything." The prince frowned. "You speak as though crossing the sea were the greatest sacrifice made." The old lord slowly rose from his seat, leaning upon his cane. "My granddaughter crossed that same sea when she was but a child."

"She learned your language. She learned your customs. She dined as Westerosi dined. She greeted your nobles as Westerosi expected. She altered herself out of respect for the land that welcomed her." His hardened gaze remained fixed upon Prince Aemond. "She asked nothing in return."

"And now, when fortune asks you to wear silk instead of leather for but an afternoon..." Your grandsire sighed softly. "...you call it too great a burden." Prince Aemond's eye twitched as he glanced before you with your head bowed.

Your grandsire sighed and cast his eyes upon the courtyard. Countless attendees bearing witness to another Westerner refusing to accept a culture that was not their own. "You believe love is measured by the distance you have traveled. We measure it by the distance a man is willing to move from himself.” 

The courtyard fell silent. Even the summer breeze seemed to still amongst the flowering branches. Prince Aemond looked upon you. You had yet to raise your eyes. For the first time since arriving in YiTi, he wondered if every lesson Gerald had drilled into him had not been about dining, history, or ceremony at all. They had all been about this. About learning that love did not ask a kingdom to bend around him. It asked him to bend first.

"You fear silk because it leaves you vulnerable," your grandsire continued quietly. "Yet you ask my granddaughter to entrust her life to a man who refuses even the smallest discomfort." The prince's jaw tightened. “Either you bend or break, my prince. The choice is yours.” 

You flinched as the dinner gong sounded out through the great hall. The chatter of attendees grew quiet as servants began opening the carved cedar doors leading into the banquet hall. You did not even bother to raise your gaze as you knew the lone lilac eye you wished to see would not come.

After the ordeal in the courtyard, you had to watch the Prince stomp away. And moments later, your province had to hear the mighty roar of his dragon and witness the great beast fly away into the horizon. Prince Aemond left once more, and with him, he took his empty promises, as you witnessed firsthand that you were not enough.

Your shoulders slumped as you followed your grandsire into the banquet hall. Lanterns of painted silk hung overhead, casting warm amber light upon lacquered tables laden with steaming dishes. The scent of jasmine tea mingled with roasted duck, ginger, and freshly steamed rice, yet the feast felt hollow.

You quietly took your place beside your grandsire. The seat reserved for Prince Aemond remained empty. A dull ache settled within your chest. You hated yourself for hoping once more. That you had ignored all of your grandsire’s warnings as your heart sought a fair-haired stranger that had never truly been yours.

“Eat, my child.” Your grandfather said softly as you simply sat by his side, unmoving. The steamed rice and various dishes before you lay untouched and have grown cold from neglect. “You starving yourself will not make him return,” he added, and you sighed, yielding as you took hold of the ivory sticks, but before you could eat, the cedar doors opened. 

You kept your gaze lowered even as the guests ceased their talk once more. You feel your grandfather still in his seat, yet you paid no mind. You sighed deeply as you tried to lift the first mouthful of rice to your lips. 

The murmurs that filled the banquet hall gradually ceased. One by one. Until the only sounds that remained were the soft crackle of lantern flames and the distant song of cicadas beyond the paper screens.

You frowned. It was too quiet. Against your wishes, you slowly lifted your gaze, and your breath caught in your throat. Standing beneath the carved cedar doorway was Prince Aemond.

Gone were the weathered leathers that had become as familiar to you as the sapphire set within his eye. In their place flowed robes of pale silver silk embroidered with cranes whose wings seemed to glimmer beneath the lantern light. The long sleeves draped neatly over his hands, bound at the waist by a dark sash of woven silk. His silver hair, once loosely tied behind his head, had been gathered properly and secured with a carved jade clasp.

You could see it in the stiffness of his shoulders, the unfamiliar way he held his arms, and the subtle restraint in each measured step he took across the polished floor. Yet he did not falter. Gerald followed several paces behind, relief so evident upon the older man's face that you almost smiled. Prince Aemond did not spare the hall a glance. He walked directly toward your grandsire.

He stopped before the old lord. Then, without a single word, he lowered himself into a deep bow. So deep that the embroidered sleeves of his robe brushed against the polished wooden floor. “I refuse to break, my lord. I refuse to leave without my lady.” 

You breathed in heavily as his eye landed upon you. Spring was changing into summer, and you witnessed not only the changing of the season but as well how the prince was willing to change for you.

Part V: Mystery of Love (Coming soon)

Tag List (based on prev comments): @missmontiopath, @sunset18rose, @lovelyric, @palomavz, @adorelights, @worksforthedevil, @er-0-os, @multiversejumper, @norwayxo, @lizz-blizt, @juninnyxriddle, @therealmreader, @kissyourdemons, @br66klynbaby, @mousedit, @vampiremiguewecstacy, @lovethemoons-stuff, @summery-bat, @ctrlbean, @funkaoverwar, @lunascerebro, @crimdream, @kimkhyuna, @sg-11, @kissyourdemons

Thank you so much for your support! And if you have not noticed yet, this story is heavily influenced by my learning from Postcolonial theory, and I can only hope I do it justice! <3

[ficeacs]

Would That I

Aemond Targaryen x YiTish Reader

Synopsis: Prince Aemond Targaryen crossed half the world to court the woman he loved, only to discover that in YiTi, love alone was never enough. Before he could win your heart, he would first have to prove himself worthy of the people who had held it long before he ever did.

Warnings: Miscommunication Trope, ¿Forbidden Romance? Fluff, Yearning, Slight Jealousy, Second Love Interest, Courtship, Down Bad Aemond

Word count: 3.8k

Part: Part: I, II, III, IV

The fire roared as grand celebrations took place. You sat tensely between two princes, one from the East, the other from the West. You dared not glance at either one, your eyes trained heavily on the dragon’s dance. Countless yards of silk and satin molded to look like dragons danced before you, talented men twisting and weaving beneath the fabric as the beast surged through the crowd. The steady thunder of drums echoed through the village square while cheers erupted from every corner. 

You breathed in deeply as you felt your shoulders brush against the princes who sat silently at each of your sides, their eyes upon the performance dedicated to your grandsire. Your mind was still spinning from the events that unfolded. An hour had barely passed since you saw Prince Aemond once more, and yet everything had changed.

 The prince had come. The realization still felt absurd. Almost impossible. You even doubted your mind; you feared he was a simple figment of your imagination, but no, he was here. The two of you were under the same moon, breathed in the same air. He was sitting next to you, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his frame.

For two years, you had convinced yourself that he had forgotten. For two years, you had swallowed every disappointment and forced yourself to accept the silence he left behind. But now, the silence was deafening as neither of you had yet to speak with one another. 

You blinked slowly as you felt eyes upon you, the villagers and other nobles curiously eyeing the princes by your side, but none of their stares burned as much as the steady gaze of your grandsire, who had his lips in a thin line. 

As hospitable as he was, you could feel the disdain emitting from him the moment he realized that the Targaryen Prince had come uninvited. That Prince Aemond had the gall to suddenly come and disrupt the peace you had spent two years painstakingly building.

You breathe in heavily as the performance ended, a round of applause and cheers surrounding the town square, but your mind ran with what to say to the newly arrived prince. You mustered every ounce of courage you had as you partly turned your head at his direction, your lips already parted, ready to speak, but Prince Xianyu spoke first. 

“You have traveled quite the distance, Prince Aemond.” He stated as he leaned forward to meet the eye of the Western prince. You stilled in your seat as Prince Aemond did the same. There was fire beneath his cold, lilac gaze as he looked upon the Eastern Prince. 

“Aye,” Prince Aemond grunted, and you shifted in your seat at the rather curt and almost boorish response. However, you were thankful as Prince Xianyu did not seem to notice. Perhaps Prince Aemond’s coldness was lost in translation. 

Aemond gritted his teeth as the man who dared to feed you sweets spoke to him. It took everything in him not to cause a scene as he saw the exchange unfold earlier. 

The prince had crossed half the world. Flew over mountains, deserts, and seas. Only to arrive and find another prince hovering at your side, making you laugh, looking at you the way Aemond had always wished to. The realization made bile rise to his throat.

Yet the prince endured. For you and only for you.

You breathed in deeply once more, parting your lips to finally speak, but a sigh left your lips as Prince Xianyu spoke once again. “I imagine dragonback is not a comfortable means of travel.”

You nearly groaned.

“It is not.” Prince Aemond replied curtly. Prince Xianyu nodded thoughtfully. “Then your journey must have been difficult.”

Aemond resisted the urge to roll his eye. The prince had not crossed half the world to discuss travel conditions. “It was,” he agreed. 

“Then might we inquire why you had journeyed perilously for?” 

Prince Aemond swallowed thickly. His eye shifted from the Eastern Prince to you, who sat rigidly by his right. He waited for a moment. Waited for you to cast your gaze upon him. And when you finally did, he felt all the tiredness and toll from his journey dissipate. 

“I came for my lady.” That is what he wished to say, but before the words left his lips, your grandsire appeared before the three of you. 

The old lord stood tall despite his age. His jade-headed cane rested firmly against the ground. The conversations around the square gradually quieted as many noticed his approach. You immediately straightened in your seat.

“Grandfather.” You acknowledged with a small bow of your head. He simply hummed as his gaze drifted first toward you. Then toward Prince Xianyu. And finally, Prince Aemond. The warmth vanished from his features.

“What an unexpected surprise. I was not aware that the West would send one of their princes to attend my name day.” You licked your lips at the tone of indignation in his voice. “Had you known about this, my child?” He asked with a hum, and you immediately shook your head, the bejeweled hairpin that held your hair swaying with the rapid movement of your head. 

“How curious,” He hummed, his once warm eyes turning cold as he placed it upon the silver-haired prince who dared ruin the acquaintance forming between his only granddaughter and the Emperor’s only son. “Have you come as an emissary then?” 

Prince Aemond glanced towards you, who cast your eyes upon the cobblestoned ground, his hands forming fists as the Eastern Prince inched closer to your side, as he slyly tried to gain your attention. 

“No, my lord. Pardon my intrusion, but I have come for your granddaughter,” he announced proudly, and you took in a sharp breath at his words. 

Was it true? Did he truly come for you? 

Your heart raced at the thought. An unsettling rush that you had not felt in almost two years quickly overcame you. Hope bloomed within. Dangerous, foolish hope. The kind you had spent countless nights trying to extinguish. The kind that refused to die.

Your gandsire hummed, tapping his cane upon the cobblestone thrice before resting his gaze upon you, who had color vivid on your cheeks. “Is that so?” Your grandfather questioned, and Prince Aemond nodded without doubt or hesitation. “Very well then, if that is your purpose, I apologize as you had come at a rather busy time. My granddaughter is currently being courted.”

You almost choked once more. 

You dared to raise your gaze and saw a satisfied look upon your grandsire’s face. His eyes upon Prince Xianyu who straightened in his seat and nodded enthusiastically, his action only furthering the smile on your grandsire’s lips. 

Prince Aemond felt his heart pit at your grandsire’s words. His gaze immediately flew towards the other prince, who held a rather smug look upon his serpent-like face. His eye then turned to you, the same shock in his eye mirroring yours. 

“Now, if you would excuse us, I believe the first dance of the evening is saved for Prince Xianyu and his chosen partner.” 

Before another word could be uttered, you were pulled by the hand by the Eastern Prince. Your confused gaze turned to Prince Aemond for the briefest of moments before your grandsire moved to stand between the two of you.

Aemond's jaw clenched. The prince had faced storms at sea, bloody battles, and dangerous dragons. Yet none of them tested his patience and composure as much as the sight before him. You, his lady, being led away by another man. 

His fingers twitched at his side. The old instinct to reach for Dark Sister nearly overcame him. But he hindered himself with the reminder that he was in a foreign land. That he was in your home. That he did not wish to offend you, as he stirred chaos during your grandsire’s name day. 

Instead, Prince Aemond had to bite his tongue and dig his nails into his palm as he had to watch you dance with the Eastern Prince.

“I knew you were well sought after, my lady, but I had not thought that I would compete with another of your suitors tonight.” You breathed heavily as you heard the prince whisper near your ear. You glanced behind Prince Xianyu to only see the seething gaze of Prince Aemond, his lilac gaze following each step the two of you took. 

Your cheeks heated as you took a misstep, uncertain if your mistake was brought forth by your acquaintance with the traditional dance in your land or the prince’s heated, cold gaze. Your body almost collided with the ground, but with one swift movement, the prince caught you by your waist and used his frame to steady you on your feet before regaining a modest distance. 

“In all honesty, I, too, did not know he would arrive. I have not heard from him for almost two years.” 

Prince Xianyu hummed as he spun you around, his almond eyes glancing towards Prince Aemond, a sly smirk on his lips as he could practically feel the jealousy radiating from the Western prince. “He had neglected you for two years, then suddenly came? How queer. Is this a custom in the West our people are not privy to?” He questioned, and you feel your heart spike once more at his words. 

“I’m certain he has his reason,” you replied, and a scoff left the prince’s lips. “You need not defend him, my lady. A pearl such as yourself should not spend her days explaining away another’s neglect.”

Your heart sank. There was an uncomfortable truth in his words. One you had spent two years attempting to ignore. Prince Xianyu's hold upon your hand remained respectful as he guided you through another turn. The lanterns above blurred into streaks of crimson and gold. But your eyes sought for lilac and silver. 

“If one wavers in courtship, what more during marriage?” 

Your lips parted at his words, but you had no time to reply as the dance had ended and you were left to stew in your thoughts. 

Prince Aemond sat silently as he suffered through a banquet filled with chatter and laughter. His eye traveled upon the various yet unknown dishes before him. 

Platters of roasted duck glazed with honey. Delicate dumplings folded into intricate shapes. Steamed fish adorned with herbs he could not name.

He had crossed half the world. Yet not a morsel appealed to him. Not when every few moments his gaze drifted toward you.

The prince sat before you now, Prince Xianyu still by your side, and the long table was the only thing separating you from him. You sat close enough that he could still see the way the lantern light danced against your features.

Gods. You had grown more beautiful, and the realization enraged him. Not because it was untrue. Because he had not been there to witness it. He had not seen the gradual changes. The subtle differences. The woman you had become during his absence was a woman he wished to know all about. Yet here he was, a stranger to you and your land. 

He watched as you moved to take a piece of shell-looking morsel of food, but before you could reach it, Prince Xianyu reached forward and placed it upon your plate using an odd-looking utensil that resembled two slender sticks.

Aemond's eye twitched. The Eastern prince smiled as he explained something to you, and the sight only worsened the foul mood that had plagued him since his arrival.

You looked down at the sticks. Then at the food. Then to Prince Aemond, who sat with his plate empty.

There was a trinkle of pity that overcame you as you saw him unable to eat. You sighed and reached forward to take a piece of duck, three pieces of pork dumplings, as well as a steaming bun and placed them upon his plate. As much as you held contempt for his silence, you could not bear to watch him starve. 

Prince Xianyu pursed his lips as you called upon a servant, requesting a set of Western cutlery that was rarely used in your land, only saved for emissaries that would come on diplomatic purposes. 

Prince Aemond, on the other hand, felt his heart skip a beat at your actions. The gesture was small. Perhaps insignificant to anyone else. Yet to him, it felt monumental. Because despite everything—despite the years, the silence, and the hurt he had caused, a part of you still cared. 

He could not help but let a ghost of a smile inch to his lips. You still had not met his eye clearly, nor had you spoken a word to him, but your actions were enough. It was enough to rekindle the burning fire of his love and devotion for you. 

A new day broke, but sleep did not come to you. You tossed and turned on the canopy bed of the inn you resided in, the resting place for the esteemed guests for your grandsire’s name day celebrations. Throughout the night, you caught yourself staring blankly at the fine linen draped over your bed, mind running with the events that had transpired the night before. 

By the other side of the inn, Prince Aemond stared at the wooden ceiling. Sleep did not come to him as his mind kept replaying the small gesture you had bestowed upon him during supper. A small smile upon his lips as he replayed the image of you reaching forward and placing pieces of food upon his plate. His mind was occupied the entire night with how he could repay your gesture. On how he could speak to you once more. 

He did not plan to stay long in YiTi. He was certain the entire Red Keep was now abuzz with speculation as to where he went, but he could not leave without his lady. He needed to return home as soon as possible, but he was certain he could spend his lifetime in YiTi if it meant he could stay by your side.

When the eastern sun rose higher in the heavens, the once quiet town and inn began to stir with life. Merchants rolled open their stalls, the scent of steamed buns and sweet rice cakes drifting through the open lattice windows. The distant toll of temple bells mingled with the chatter of townsfolk preparing for another day of festivities, while servants hurried through the wooden corridors with basins of warm water and freshly brewed tea.

Prince Aemond rose before the rest of the guests. He had scarcely slept, and what little rest he found was plagued with dreams of you—of smiles he had nearly forgotten, and words left unsaid. He dressed quickly, fastening the leather belt at his waist before glancing toward the lacquered box that held the trinkets he had purchased the day before.

A carved wooden rabbit. A jade hair ornament shaped like a plum blossom. Silk ribbons, the same shade of the sea that separated your homes. His gaze lingered upon them. Gods. Even after two long years, he still had no idea how to court a lady. 

He battled with himself for a moment before leaving his chambers without the gifts he procured for you. What use would they be? He had already learned that purchased presents were futile in winning your heart. The flowers he once brought you suddenly seemed childish. The carved figurines he had spent hours searching for no longer felt enough after two years of silence. He had crossed half the world with unwavering certainty, yet now that he stood only a few streets away from you, he found himself entirely lost.

Aemond sighed heavily as he reached for the door, but before he could place his hand upon the nob, it swung open, and a man dressed in traditional YiTish robes but with the appearance of a Westerner stood before him. The man paused. His blue eyes widened the moment they settled upon Prince Aemond's silver hair.

"Your Highness," he greeted instinctively before quickly correcting himself with an awkward bow. "My apologies... my prince." Aemond regarded the stranger with narrowed eyes. "You are Westerosi."

"Aye." The man smiled. "Though it has been nearly twenty years since I last called the West my home." The prince's brow lifted ever so slightly. Looking upon the stranger with great caution. “Why are you here?” The prince questioned, his hand already on the hilt of his sword.

“The lady had sent me as your guide.” The man bowed once more. His eyes warily glancing upon the hand of the prince that rested on his sword. “She feared Your Highness would lose your way in our town and customs.”

Aemond stilled. "...She?"

"Aye, my prince." The stranger reached into the sleeve of his robe before carefully producing a folded strip of crimson silk. "She instructed me to deliver this into your hands should you awaken before the rest of the guests."

Aemond's eye lingered upon the silk for a long moment before cautiously accepting it. His fingers unfolded it, almost desperately. Upon the delicate fabric were only a handful of carefully brushed characters. A single line written in the Common Tongue.

Meet me where the lotus blooms.

The prince's breath caught. "She wrote this?"

"She did." His guide confirmed.  A smile, small and entirely involuntary, crept upon Aemond's lips. The first genuine smile he had worn since arriving in YiTi.

Aemond’s thumb traced the edge of the silk. You wished to see him. And he wasted no time before exiting his chambers and seeking you where the lotus bloomed. 

“It’s in the other direction, my prince!” The guide called after him as Aemond had already taken several determined strides toward the western gate. The prince halted. He turned slowly, a hint of annoyance settling upon his features, but nonetheless went East to where you waited for him.

He made furious steps through the halls, and by the end, he found a clearing that led to a courtyard. Aemond felt his breath hitch as he saw you. You knelt before a pond, wearing a lavender silk robe with delicate peony embroidery. Half of your hair was styled in an elegant bun that you had always worn, a jade hairpin keeping the silky, raven strands together while the other strands swayed with the breeze, like branches of a dancing willow tree.

Prince Aemond paused for a moment, admiring the way the sun cast you blindingly aglow and how your fingertips danced on the edge of the water, large fishes with orange and silver scales kissing your skin and bringing a small smile upon your lips. Prince Aemond was content with simply standing near you, observing you, and memorizing each part of your face once again, but the idea of finally speaking with you tempted him. 

He breathed in a deep breath and approached. The moment he stood by your side, he felt relief overcome him. It felt familiar, it felt safe, it felt like he belonged. You did not turn.

The ripples upon the pond betrayed his presence before his footsteps ever could. “You came,” You said softly, afraid any raised voices would wake the others. “Of course, you called.” Prince Aemond hummed in triumph as he finally heard your voice and the words meant for him. 

Aemond moved crouch down as well, wanting to be near you as much as propriety would allow. He observed your face, a grievous look upon your enchanting eyes that made his heart drop. 

“You cannot court me here.” You said solemnly, unable to meet the prince’s lone eye. The prince felt as if an arrow had struck his heart. 

There was a beat of silence that wrapped around the two of you uncomfortably. You could not bear to turn in his direction, but you could clearly see his face through the reflection on the water. Devastation and perhaps even anger were overcoming his striking features. 

“Is this a rejection?” He gritted out. Trying his best to let his voice waver. He watched you sigh once more. “Meet my eye.” He said quietly. You shook your head. “Please.”

There was something in his voice you had never heard before. No command. No pride. Only desperation.

Slowly, you turned. The moment your eyes met, his heart sank. There was no hatred in them. Only grief, perhaps even fear.

‘You cannot court me here.” You said once more. Voice steady as you looked upon his unique gaze. “Why?” Prince Aemond questioned. He had crossed the sea to be with you. Five simple words were not enough for him to leave. 

You sighed and shook your head, song birds now replacing the silence between the two of you. “Courtship is different in YiTi.” You explained. 

“We are not ruled by the standards in the West, you see. In King's Landing, our courtship was simply between us. The only favour you had to gain was mine.”

You lowered your gaze to the koi that lazily circled your fingertips.

"But here..." A heavy sigh escaped your lips. "A man does not simply court a lady." Prince Aemond remained silent, intently listening to each word you uttered. Gods. He missed your voice. 

"He courts her household." You looked back toward him. "Her grandfather. Her family. Her people."

"Only when they have deemed him worthy may he seek the lady's heart." Aemond frowned.

"And if he has already won it?" The question caught you off guard. You feel your heart beating in your ears and feel heat spreading to your cheeks. Your lips parted, yet no words came. His lone eye searched yours.

"Does he begin again?" Your heart tightened. "...No." You said quietly. Voice barely a whisper.

"Then why tell me I cannot court you?" the prince questioned bitterly.

You swallowed thickly and shook your head. "Because you are courting the wrong person."

The prince's brows knitted together in severe confusion. "You need not win me."

Your voice had softened into scarcely more than a whisper. "You must win my grandfather."

Prince Ameond sighed as he lowered his head. His mind in great contemplation, and in his silence, you prepared yourself for another goodbye. “Very well.” He said decisively, and you caught yourself frowning at his words. 

You raised your gaze and met his eye, which seemed to be consumed by flames of determination. “I shall court you and your grandsire if it is what is required. “Would that I must gain the favor of every soul in YiTi, then so be it.” He declared without a moment's hesitation.

You stared at him, your lips parting slightly. He truly meant it.

There was no trace of jest upon his face. No reluctance. No frustration. Only the same unwavering determination that had carried him across mountains and seas.

Part IV: Spring Into Summer

Tag List (based on prev comments): @missmontiopath, @sunset18rose, @lovelyric, @palomavz, @adorelights, @worksforthedevil, @er-0-os, @multiversejumper, @norwayxo, @lizz-blizt, @juninnyxriddle, @therealmreader, @kissyourdemons, @br66klynbaby, @mousedit, @vampiremiguewecstacy, @lovethemoons-stuff

Thank you so much for your support! I had doubts about this story, especially since there aren't many YiTish Reader fics, but I'm so glad the story found you guys! <3

[ficeacs]

How You Get The Girl

Aemond Targaryen x YiTish Reader

Synopsis: For two years, Prince Aemond Targaryen endured a punishment no battlefield could rival: life without you. When longing finally outweighed duty, the prince crossed mountains, seas, and kingdoms to find the lady who had never once left his heart.

Warnings: Miscommunication Trope, Fluff, Yearning, Slight Jealousy, Second Love Interest, Down Bad Aemond

Word count: 3.2k

Part: I, II, III, IV

Prince Aemond stood like a ghost in the rainy garden. His lone eye stared off into the countless ripples made on the lake that you had once frequented. He had been a foolish man, and now he lived as a hollow shell when, as the girl he courted, the girl who had consumed each of his waking thoughts, the girl he loved was gone. 

It had been nearly two years since he last saw you, and each day, he foolishly thought it would grow easier to have you not by his side. However, the truth was that each day was a perilous punishment. He felt himself unable to eat, unable to sleep, unable to breathe in your absence. 

He thought countless times of simply acquiescing and accepting the fact that you had left, but the simple thought of it made his skin crawl and made bile rise to his throat. Each day and night, he would spend hours underneath the willow tree, waiting for your return, but he was left spurned. 

He would have thought that his already dwindling hope would finally break, but his stubborn heart, which he had tried his best to hide, still held on to the day when he would see you once more. 

“You shall catch a chill with your actions, my prince.” Ser Criston Cole remarked as he caught the prince in the halls. He was sopping wet, and a trail of water was left on the stone he walked upon. “I am not so fragile.” 

“Yet you still mourn over a lady who had clearly rejected your courtship.” Prince Aemond gritted his teeth. His once pin-straight hair growing unruly as it dried from the rain. “I was not rejected.” He defended. “Aye, you were not rejected. How can one be rejected when the other is all the way across the narrow sea?” The knight sighed as he had grown tired of seeing the prince pine over a lady. 

The prince had grown distracted over the past moons, and the realm was beginning to take notice. It greatly concerned the knight along with the prince’s kin, who could no longer ignore the worsening attitude of the second-born prince. Nor could they stomach the rage and temper he showed day to day, which only worsened when he was reminded that his lady was gone. 

“Find another and be done with all this bother, my prince.” 

Prince Aemond stomped off, his eye twitching in rage. They need not say it, but he knew they disapproved of the connection he formed with you. They were riddled with jealousy that he, a prince they had all expected to yield to duty and form alliances for the sake of the crown, found a lady that he wished to be with, not because of duty but because he loved you. They could not stomach the fact that he found love while each of them were forced into marriages for the sake of power. 

The prince was still as practical as he ought to be. His mind never strayed from the duty required of him; however, his distractions and frustrations lay in your absence. The only reason why he grew distracted was that his mind could not physically rest without knowing how you were. He was only restless because you were not by his side to provide him peace. The only reason why he was enraged was that you were not by his side– because you were not his. 

He tossed and turned in his bed that night. The dull ache in his heart was unrelenting, and so were the thoughts in his head. 

The image of when he saw you last flashed in his mind with each blink he took. His heart ached with the image of you standing on the ship during sunrise. The ocean air scattered your hair into the wind, a small smile on your lips as you waved goodbye to Aemond, who could only stand by the docks as the ship took you away. 

Aemond sighed as he could still hear the last words you uttered to him. “Court me in YiTi, my prince.” If only it were that simple. If only he could leave his duty. At the thought of it, his heart skipped a beat. It was simple.

He was a second son– his brother already had his son. In truth, he had no grand duty to bear. The crown would not rest on his brow; why then was he making great sacrifices for the sake of it? Prince Aemond quickly stood, his lithe frame shuffling around his chambers as he searched for his riding leathers. Adrenaline coursing through his veins as one moment he was lying restlessly, then the next, he was atop his dragon riding to YiTi.

You sat alone in the great gardens of your home, a reflection pond that glimmered under the Eastern sun before you. You let out a heavy breath as songbirds were your lone companions for the morning. It had been nearly two years since you last set foot on Western soil, and it had been almost two years since you last saw the prince with a lone lilac eye and silver hair. 

Days were spent trying earnestly to forget him. You had done your best to distract yourself from being reminded about the prince. 

From attending your grandfather’s court and mingling with courtiers. To travel through the different lands of YiTi and acquaint yourself with others, just in the hopes that their company would replace the one you had lost. 

You strayed away from dark, lonesome corners and desolate places because the moment you were surrounded by the silence and solitude you once relished in, you were quick to long for the presence that would find you wherever you hid. 

“Still thinking about your prince?” your grandfather suddenly spoke as he approached the stone bench you sat upon. Your eyes widened at his words, a flash of heat coming to your cheeks before you quickly shook your head. 

“He is not my prince, grandfather.” You said solemnly. The singing of the birds died the moment the prince, who never left your mind, was mentioned. 

You hear him exhale a laugh and sit by your side, resting his cane with a delicate jade handle between the two of you. “Then if he is not yours, why then do you act as such?” 

You bit your lip and lowered your head at his words. “You’ve been home for two years, and for two years, I’ve had to ward off suitors throughout YiTi and the free cities who beg for just a moment of your time.” Your grandfather sighed. 

“You said the reason why you had stayed was to mend what the prince had broken… I refuse to let you sit there and let the broken pieces lie when there are others who can mend it.” 

You breathed in deeply, the smell of dewed grass invading your senses. “Apologies, grandfather.” You said solemnly. “I do not wish for your apologies; I wish for you to live! To forget about the prince. To find amusement in your own home.” He clarified with a comforting smile on his aging lips. 

You nodded meekly, a speck of hope in your heart that you could finally forget about the prince. It was useless in mourning a man who had made it clear that his interest in you had dwindled. 

It was useless to force yourself upon a prince entirely different from you. 

You were water, and he was fire. He was darkness, and you were light. He was a Targaryen Prince, and you were a lady of YiTi. You were in the East, and he was in the West. 

The two of you were simply different, unmatched– not meant to be. 

The western winds blew against your hair as a week filled with feasts and festivals commenced. It was your grandfather’s eightieth name day. A milestone rarely seen in Westeros, as you had seen the quick demise of many men who barely lived through the second half of a century. The winds were punishing as you readied yourself to travel to town, leaving your grandfather’s palace for the night as accommodations and attractions were waiting for you in the city. 

“I fear it might rain.” You observed meekly, your eyes upon the sky as a dark shadow began to show itself and loomed over your grandfather’s land. “It is merely a cloud; it shall pass. Do not fret.” Your grandfather replied as he ushered you to enter the palanquin. You dip down near the ground as you board the small box that was to be carried by your grandfather’s men. 

You sat alone in the confined space, peering towards the sky through the small slats, your frame jostling as you were lifted and transported to town. You bit your lip as you stared at the dark patch in the rather clear skies, your breath hitching in your throat as it drew closer at a hastened pace. 

Muffled shouts were heard as you were not the only one who had noticed the odd dark cloud that loomed over the great Eastern skies. The once hurried steps of the men who carried you halted as a strong gust of wind came. 

You breathed heavily as you pried open the wooden door of the palanquin, your eyes already cast upon the heavens just to see the belly of a great beast. You saw as your grandsire’s men grew mesmerized as a dragon flew in the skies. In the West, the Targaryens’ dragons signaled fear, but in the East, dragons were a sign of luck. 

You breathed heavily as you heard your grandsire’s guards cheer, claiming that such a sighting on his name day only meant great fortune. You kept your eyes trained on the skies, unable to believe that the beast you saw was Prince Aemond’s mount. 

Surely he would not come. His neglect and silence were enough to convince you. You felt foolish to even think of such a thing– to let your heart hope once more. A heavy sigh left your lips as you shook your head as if to shake away the stupid thought. 

Prince Aemond would not come for you. Prince Aemond had forgotten about you. The thought left a bitter taste on your tongue, and all you could do was swallow the truth, however unpleasant it was. 

As you reached town, you marveled at the preparations made for your grandsire’s name day. You had attended countless feasts in the West, but not a single party or ball could compare to the celebration before you now. 

You marveled at the countless paper lanterns that had set the streets aglow. The warm hues of crimson, gold, and jade illuminated every corner of the village as though the stars themselves had descended from the heavens to celebrate your grandsire's name day.

The air was filled with music and gleeful chatter, and for a moment, a quick, peaceful moment, your mind drifted away from the Western Prince. 

“My child, come, I wish to introduce you to our esteemed guests.” You hear your grandsire call as you still stood near the palaquin that delivered you to merriment. You glanced to your right and saw a group of nobles standing before your grandsire, and you took hastened steps to reach them. 

You smiled politely as they were introduced. Three lords from different provinces, two ladies who held the same face, and the Emperor’s only son. You stilled as he moved to stand before you, giving a low bow that seemed to please your grandsire. 

You bit your tongue and curtsied lowly, but heat quickly bloomed on your cheeks as you heard the lords and ladies let out a breath of a laugh that came along with whispers. “I see the Western influence has rooted itself in you, my lady,” the Prince Xianyu remarked with a small smile when he stood to his full height. 

“She’ll be rid of it soon enough,” Your grandsire remarked with a fond smile. All you could do was sheepishly smile as well. It was an odd sensation to be a stranger in your own land. The customs taught in childhood were barely remembered now, for the customs of another land had taken their place. 

“Apologies, my prince,” You say quietly, head lowered in embarrassment, but a small, kind laugh left his lips. You dared to raise your gaze and saw his almond eyes crinkle in slight amusement.

“No apologies needed, my lady. You’ve spent most of your life in the West– of course, we shall understand.” Relief washed over you at his words. You looked before his eyes, the color of oak, and resembled yours. It flew about the festivities and decorations that surrounded you. 

“Though I am curious,” He suddenly remarked, and you glanced towards your grandsire, who began to speak with the other lords and ladies, leaving both of you to have a conversation of your own. 

“Of what, my prince?” You questioned as you followed his gaze. “Of your life in the West. Do their celebrations rival the ones here?” 

Your gaze wavered as the prince met your eyes. “I’m afraid they don’t. I’ve never seen such extravagance and merriment before.” You confessed, and another laugh left the prince. “Then, if I may, let me escort you through the festivities.” Heat immediately rushed to your cheeks once more.

Before you could respond, your grandsire's delighted laugh reached your ears. “I think that is a splendid idea.” He agreed completely before gently nudging you closer to the Eastern prince. You bit your tongue as you matched his steps that drifted farther away from the group. 

The two of you walked silently as you passed countless stalls and attractions. The awkwardness that initially settled between you slowly faded the farther you ventured from your grandsire and the other nobles.

You paused before a merchant selling hand-carved ornaments. Tiny dragons fashioned from jade and ivory sat upon the table. The reminder of the carved wooden dragon left on your doorstep years before left another bitter taste on your tongue, but you could not help yourself as your fingers hovered over one.

“Dragons seem quite popular here.” You observed a tone of indignation staining your voice. 

“It symbolizes luck, even if dragons no longer exist, what they represented never disappeared.” Prince Xianyu explained as he picked up one of the jade carvings.

“They do,” You whisper to yourself, but the prince still heard your remark. “Pardon, my lady?”

“Dragon still exists,” you said more clearly, and confusion overcame his face before a spark of realization overtook it. “Oh, of course. Your hosts in the West are famed for their great beasts.” 

You nodded meekly, turning your back on the dragon carvings as you did not wish for another reminder of Prince Aemond. When Prince Xianyu felt a shift in your demeanour, he was quick to escort you to another stall. 

You silently thanked him for it. The prince did not press. Did not pry. For that, you were grateful.

The two of you stopped before a merchant selling silk ribbons and painted fans. The stall was crowded with young ladies, all admiring the intricate embroidery sewn into the fabrics, before their attention shifted to the prince by your side.

He picked a paper fan and unfolded it effortlessly to show you the design. A willow tree delicately painted upon the creased paper. You feel your heart skip a beat once more. “Some artists here paint the same design over and over again in hopes they’d master “Some artists here paint the same design over and over again in hopes they’d master whatever subject they choose.” He explained, turning the fan over in his hand. “Willow trees, dragons, cranes. Eventually, their hands remember what their minds no longer need to think about.”

You stared at the painted branches. Long and drooping and overly familiar.

You gritted your teeth as you forced yourself to nod. “I quite like their ribbons better,” you said as you distracted yourself by taking a silk ribbon the color of a sapphire sea between your fingers. Prince Xianyu immediately set the fan down and hovered near where you stood as you admired the ribbons that as well reminded you of the gifts that the prince once gave you during the first days of your courtship.

Before Prince Xianyu could speak once more, you let go of the silk ribbon and turned to another stall. Any stall that would not remind you of a silver-haired prince. Your eyes settled on a stall that sold sweets. Your feet carried you swiftly, and you feel Prince Xianyu follow you with haste. 

“Are you fond of sweet, my lady?” He questioned, but the sweets presented before you were different from the candies lemons and oranges you indulged in the West. Instead, the stall was filled with delicate pastries shaped like flowers, glistening fruits coated in hardened sugar, and sweet rice cakes molded into dragons and cranes.

You stared at them curiously. “They are beautiful. Too beautiful to eat, in fact,” you remarked, and the prince smiled fondly as he took a candy molded in the shape of a peony between his fingers and boldly raised it to your lips. You still, as your lips brushed against the sweet. 

“As pretty as they are, they are still meant to be eaten, my lady,” the prince remarked as he brought the candy closer to you. You swallowed thickly at his expectant gaze, your jaw hesitantly and gently unhitching to accept the sweet. The candy melted almost immediately upon your tongue. Floral and delicate, and unlike anything you had tasted in the West.

You almost let yourself ease at the taste of the sweet, but as your eye caught the familiar gleam of silver hair against the light, you choked and broke into a coughing fit. 

Prince Aemond froze. For a terrible moment, he feared he had imagined it. The silver-haired prince stood amongst the sea of strangers, his lone eye fixed entirely upon you. You and only you. But his eye hardened the moment he saw another in your company. Another who dared to feed you sweets with his own hand. Another that had taken his place. 

“Are you well, my lady?” Prince Xianyu asked in grave concern as he stepped closer, but you shook your head and took a step back, uncertain if what you saw was true. Could it truly be him? Could it truly be Aemond?

You breathed heavily as Prince Xianyu stepped closer once more, his hand on your back as he ordered water to be brought to you. Soon, you took a porcelain flask into your hands and greedily consumed the water inside, hoping the burning in your chest would cease. 

You blinked rapidly, your gaze upon the Eastern prince before flying to the Western prince who stood a few leagues behind him. 

“I–” you tried to speak, but the words caught in your throat as you saw Prince Aemond fast approaching. What you had thought to be an apparition turned out to be true. 

Prince Aemond marched furiously towards you. He wished for you to know that he was here– that he had come for his lady. 

Part III: Would That I

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[ficeacs]

First Love / Late Spring

Aemond Targaryen x YiTish Reader

Synopsis: For years, Prince Aemond Targaryen wrestled with a question no maester, knight, nor king could answer for him: how does one court a lady like you?

Warnings: Miscommunication Trope, Fluff, Courtship, Soft Aemond, Down Bad Aemond

Word count: 4.5k

Part: I, II, III, IV

He met you on the last day of spring. You were a shy little thing, hiding behind your father's legs and clutching onto your mother’s skirts as they tried to introduce you to the queen. Aemond had stood beside his mother then, his eyebrow raised as you slowly stepped away behind your parents and curtsied low before them. Your eyes were steady on the ground, and Aemond almost laughed when you quickly hid yourself from their gazes. 

You were an odd one, he thought for a while. He did not mean to spy on you, yet he often found himself hiding behind a pillar or bush just to observe the odd and overly quiet girl from Essos. You were born in YiTi. A land so distant and different from them, and Aemond had believed that your oddness was because of your land’s customs. However, as days and moons passed, he learned that you were truly just different from the other ladies of the court. 

Aemond was no stranger to the peculiar. He had seen eccentricity before, his family being a prime example. His sister was overly interested in bugs and murmuring to herself. His eldest brother had a strange fascination with women twice his age. Even his father, the king, was hyperfixated on the miniature models, spending most of his time on them instead of caring for his children. Aemond was not in a state to question nor critique your demeanour, he was simply curious. 

He was curious why you hid yourself in the desolate corners of the gardens, the shade of a weeping willow tree near a pond being your favourite. He was intrigued by why you barely spoke, and if you did, you spoke so softly, as if you were whispering a secret that was only meant for certain ears to hear. But most of all, he was eager to learn why he was so interested in you. 

Perhaps it was your appearance. Admittedly, there were not many YiTish in court– there were only three, you and your kin. Perhaps it was that. Aemond was fascinated by your fox-like eyes, heart-shaped lips, and your silky onyx hair. And as you two grew older, your already striking appearance only furthered. It was a shame you hated attention, as you were always the center of it. Aemond could not recall a day when not a single knight, lord, or even prince did not look back at you as you passed them in the halls. He noted how their pupils would always dilate ever so slightly, and some would even let their mouths hang in astonishment.

Maybe it was because of your insistence on not being noticed– maybe that is what fueled his intrigue. An ironic turn of events, for even if you try to hide yourself behind crowds and shadowy corners, he still found you. Once, you were invited to play the hiding game with other ladies of the court. Where the other ladies hid themselves behind pillars and cramped broom closets, you opted to hide in the wine cellars in hopes they would not find you and simply leave you be. Aemond found that particular memory quite amusing. Especially as it was the first time he saw your fox-like eyes turn doe-like as he caught you by surprise. 

“What are you doing here?” Aemond questioned as he saw you tilt your head to read the marking on the large, oak barrels. A surprise yelp left your lips, and it was the loudest sound Aemond had ever heard you make. He bit back his smile as you rested a hand on your chest, your other hand fisted your skirts as if to ground yourself. 

You were twelve now. You had spent the last three years in the Red Keep, but only now did Aemond decide to speak with you. He must admit that he had gotten used to simply following you about the castle, that speaking to you barely crossed his mind. It was thought that only came in the dead, silence of the night. Where, instead of sleeping, he would think of an opening phrase to utter if and when he approached. 

“My prince,” You curtised quickly, your eyes still planted on the ground, and did not even dare to look at his. “I was playing a game of hide and seek with the other ladies,” 

Aemond hummed as he cautiously took a step forward. “You are quite competitive then. Not a single one of them has even ventured near your hiding place. I suppose you could be declared the winner.” 

You gave a wry smile, eyes still planted on the ground, where you could see each cautious step the prince took to inch closer to you. Aemond observed you closely, as this was the closest he had been to you since the first day you two met. 

“You are gifted in hiding.” The prince remarked, and he felt his heart skip a beat as a small yet true smile came to your lips. “And you are gifted at seeking.” You remarked, but the smile on your lips dissipated, and a questioning frown took its place. 

“How did you even know I was here, my prince?” You asked in great confusion. Not even the ladies who invited you to their game found your hiding place. How then did the prince find you?

Aemond never answered your question. Even after moons passed, he never once explained how he would always find you; he would only appear by your side, and he was fortunate enough that once he discovered a concealed corner, you were kind enough not to leave or excuse yourself from his presence. 

The following year, a decision was made: Prince Aemond made known his intention to court you. 

You could still vividly remember the confusion that overcame you when your father informed you of his conversation with the prince. 

“He was quite eager for my approval if I were to be honest. He would not leave my side the entire afternoon. Well, at least not until I gave him my blessing.” Your father hummed as he poured himself a cup of wine. The moon was high, and so was your bewilderment. You never thought that a prince would court you. A statement not at all brought forth by modesty, but genuine confusion. When he discovered you in your hiding places, you assumed he was merely searching for somewhere to conceal himself as well. It never crossed your mind that he had been searching for you all along. “But why would he wish to court me?”

“I believe that is a question we should be asking you, my child.” Your mother hummed, a small, almost teasing smile on her lips as she did her nightly embroidery. She hummed and exchanged glances with your father, who hid a smirk behind the cup of wine he raised to his lips. “I wouldn’t even know what to answer. I, too, am just as confused as you.”

“Well then, perhaps it is best that you ask the prince the question on all our minds.” Your mother suggested, as you mindlessly nodded, standing and kissing their cheeks as you returned to your chambers. However, as you neared the door to your room, you froze in shock as you saw the prince already waiting for you in the shadowy halls. 

He had a small flower pot in his hands— a rather odd image of a royal prince holding a potted orchid in his hands when you had gotten used to seeing him holding his sword. 

Aemond felt out of breath as he stared at you through the light of the moon. You looked radiant— ethereal— nymph-like. 

“This is for you,” he nervously said. Aemond was a brave man. He was courageous when he claimed his dragon. He was courageous when his eye was taken. And he was courageous when he asked for your father’s blessing to court you. However, he felt the courage he always relied on falter when he came face to face with you. 

He watched as your ever stoic gaze finally met his. In the years he had known you, he had gotten used to your overly composed state. You were reserved, like he, however, you were more consistent in your reservation. The only moments when he actually witnessed your reactions were moments when you were startled or confused.

“Why?” You asked plainly, and Aemond felt his heartbeat in his ears. “Why? Because I’ve noticed you are fond of flowers— and I do believe that your favoured ones are orchids.” He explained and held out the pot closer to you. A confused frown overcame your face. 

“No… why had you decided to court me, your highness?” You asked, not wanting to be vexed by the question the entire night. Unfortunately, your question was left unanswered once more as the prince simply reached for your hand and placed the small bundle of flowers in it. A smile on his lips as he bid you good night and left the halls. 

How do you court a lady? Aemond could not help but think. He had hoped that he would find the answer long before he asked for your father’s blessing, yet here he was, kept up at night trying of ways on how to court you. 

In hindsight, courtship should have come naturally to him. However, he was a prince– a pawn for the crown. The custom was to bind him to a lady who came from a family that could be great allies to the crown; however, Aemond had taken it upon himself to find a match made by himself, not his grandsire or mother. He had seen the effects of marriages borne out of duty, and as dutiful as he was, he’d rather not subject himself to a loveless marriage filled with misery. 

Do you win a lady through gifts? Aemond thought. Ladies of the court seemed to easily give their agreements to the lords who courted them when they were given gifts. Who was Aemond to question such traditions? Especially when he was entirely clueless about what to do. 

It started with little gifts left by your door. Each morning, you would be stirred awake with a light knock on your door and a gift left unattended. The first morning, it was a jade pendant from your home, YiTi. The light green stone was remarkable and unmistakable under the early morning sun. 

Aemond hid himself behind a pillar and watched your knitted brows as you held the necklace to your eye, a small smile on his lips as he could already foresee the image of you wearing his little gift. However, Aemond’s enthusiasm was left dim when he found you in the gardens, bare-necked, and mentioned naught about the necklace you found. 

The prince was disheartened, but not so much to easily relent. It was the first days of your courtship. Of course, he could not be so vain and arrogant to think that you would lay yourself on his feet after offering you a simple pendant. He at least thought a small blush would come to your face when you met him that day; however, he supposed he asked for much for his little effort. 

The second day, he sent a pair of pearl earrings. Pearls harvested from the mighty seas of the Orient. On the third, he sent a set of gold rings mined deep within Casterly Rock. 

When the fourth day came, he sent various rolls of fabric for your dresses. Light blue silk from Lys. Delicate white laces from Myr. A serene cream velvet from Braavos. Crimson brocades from Volantis. Fine threads of various colors from the Reach. 

Aemond almost revealed his hiding place in great concern when you opened the door, and the rolls of fabric that he set upright came toppling down. Almost crushing you if you were not agile enough to step to the side. You did not use a single fabric nor thread for any of your fine dresses. 

By the fifth day, the prince already had the inkling to quit. It was clear that you were not easily impressed– he was foolish to think you otherwise, for if you were, he certainly would not be this eager in your courtship. Nevertheless, the prince was no quitter. 

By the fifth day, he veered away from the usual gifts given to the court ladies. Instead of shiny things, the prince left a small wooden dragon that he had carved in childhood. It was imperfect– it was left dusted in some corner of his chambers for years until the moment the prince decided to offer it to you. 

When you opened your chamber doors after hearing a soft knock, you almost expected a chest of gold left by your doorstep. However, a small, yet true smile came to your lips when you saw a simple carved dragon made from oak waiting for you. Aemond almost hollered in triumph as he saw the corners of your lips curl upwards ever so slightly. Inspecting the carving with more interest than the shiny jewels he had left days before. 

He watched as your fingers delicately traced the carvings he made, a sense of giddiness at the thought that your fingers caressed the wood that bore his touch. A new sense of hope coursing in his bloodstream. 

Aemond had foolishly hoped that it was enough for you to return his affections, or at least announce your favour towards him, so the other line of suitors who paid you tribute would dissipate. However, the prince would be a fool to think that simple carving would have you swooning. 

Word got around about how you set the little carving on your bedside table, near you, even in sleep. That was enough to inspire your other suitors to send you tens of pieces of woodwork, turning your chambers into a woodcarver’s shop.

Aemond knew he must take a different approach, which led him to question once more: How do you court a lady? 

Could Aemond win you through feats of strength? 

As all know, Aemond had no care for tourneys. He found it pointless– superfluous– pathetic for a man of his station. Yet, he rode out into the grounds, adorned in his armour, hoping to seek the favour of the lady he courted. 

Aemond struggled to find where you sat through the slats of his helm. His mount circled the grounds as he searched for you through the jeering crowds, when he spotted the familiar outline of your parents without you by your mother’s side. He frowned severely as he realized that you would not attend, and he could not seek your favour. 

He felt foolish as he charged his horse, his lance unadorned by a flower garland but stained by blood. He knew you well. You hid from crowds. What then led him to believe that you would willingly attend a tourney? Aemond felt no satisfaction the entire day, even if he was named the victor. The only speck of satisfaction he found was when he spotted you by a bench in the quiet gardens as a celebratory feast commenced. You said not a word when the prince sat next to you. Yet, that was enough for Aemond.

However, not enough for him to learn how to capture your favour.  Especially as Aemond heard cruel whispers of you leaving Westeros.

“You are leaving?” The prince asked in dread as he found you in your usual place, hidden inside the weeping branches of a willow tree. It had been a year after he announced his intent to court you, and it had been a year filled with gifts, flowers, and attention that you not once asked for, but Aemond was enthusiastic to give. 

He stood behind you as you sat on the cool, soft grass. His body tense, his stomach pitted, and his heart aching even if he denied it as such. 

You turned your head to glance at the prince, his eye steely– almost seething, and his hands clenched tightly by his side. Aemond swallowed thickly as the afternoon sun cast you aglow and formed an angelic halo. How could you look so beautiful even as you threatened to leave him? 

“Only for a year, my prince.” You explained and watched as Prince Aemond fervently shook his head and took his place next to you. “You are to leave for a year.” He gritted out, his fists clenching tightly around the damp grass. 

“Well, a year and two moons. It takes a month of sailing and traveling to reach YiTi.” You clarified as you set your eyes on the pond's calm waters, which reflected the afternoon light. Aemond breathed heavily at the thought of you leaving him for more than a year. What shall happen then? Would you garner new admirers in your homeland? Should you be forced to take a groom who resembles your own culture and customs? What should become Aemond then? Would he be a man who lost the only lady who consumed his thoughts for the past five years? 

“What of our courtship then?” He could not help but ask, his hand that gripped the grass, loosening as it inched closer to yours. “What of it, your highness?” 

Aemond pursed his lips. His eye was intently studying every possible expression that may come to your ever-composed face. He stayed silent, and he heard a sigh leave your lips before you turned your head to meet his gaze. 

“Do you wish to cease courting me?” You asked quietly, heartbeat erratic, and you tried your best not to let it show. 

“No.” The prince quickly answered, and you bit back a smile as you stood, watching as the prince followed each single one of your movements. “Then court me in YiTi, my prince.” 

“Another letter, my lady,” a maid called as she approached with a rather thick scroll that was wrapped tightly and bore the Targaryen seal. It had been three moons since you had left Westeros, and it had been three moons filled with consistent letters from the prince. 

You sat upright on your bed, your eyes glancing and admiring the simple wooden carving of a dragon that the prince gave you years before, placing a small smile on your lips as your maid exited your chambers and left you in your own company. 

How long must I live in agony, my lady?

You breathed out a laugh as you read the first line of the prince’s letter. You sighed dreamily as a blush came to your cheeks, and your fingers caressed the bold letters of what he wrote. 

Sometimes, at night, you feared the prince would leave you spurned. You feared that you were not enough for him to keep interested. That your overly composed and some would even say, stoic demeanor would run him off, and he’d find a lady who did not struggle in showing their affections. 

In truth, the reason why you were completely perplexed when he decided to court you was because you had been completely infatuated with him ever since you arrived in the Red Keep. As children, many feared him and his lack of one eye, but if you were being honest, you quite liked him that way. 

It was a tragedy, of course, but the silver lining was that even if he had only one eye, never once did the unique lilac orbs leave your thoughts. 

You bit your lip as you drafted your letter of reply. The prince had sent a dozen letters, yet the one you wrote would only be your fifth letter sent. You stared long and hard at the blank parchment, torn as to what to write. Fear was a powerful emotion that often left their captives paralyzed. And so, you took a deep breath and simply wrote. 

Wrote anything and everything you could think of. No direction. No aim. Simply a letter written in hopes the prince would be reminded of your existence and would wait until your return. 

I believe your dragon would enjoy the East. There is a vast valley near my grandsire’s keep that your great Vhagar would find agreeable. 

I also believe that you shall enjoy the East. I recall that you are fond of combat, and here, there are customs in which fighters do not rely on weapons but simply their bodies. Men fight with open palms, swift and fluid like water, while others strike with such force that one would think their fists forged from steel. I suspect that you shall excel in such a kind of combat, my prince. 

Aemond bit his lip as he reread your letter for the tenth time in an hour. Gods, he wanted to feel foolish. There he was, in his grandsire’s study, being forced to listen to business dealings, all the while his only thought was of you. His heart that beat for no other than you, swelled at the thought that not only did you write to him, but you as well knew of his fondness for combat and were thinking of his dragon too. 

Lord Otto eyed his grandson in curiosity and concern. For the past hour, Aemond read a letter repeatedly, would let out a yearning sigh, and stare at the wall with an odd softness in his eye that he could not believe was capable. “Are you listening, Aemond?” 

Aemond breathed out another sigh. His mind recalling what you had written, imagining your voice that uttered what you wrote echoing in his head. Gods, he missed you. He did not even think he’d miss you as intensely as he did. You were a quiet little thing, you prefer to go unnoticed, and the prince foolishly thought that he could manipulate his mind to think that you were simply hiding away in your corner, but he felt your absence deeply, and he could not concentrate on his duties. 

“This is pathetic, my prince.” He heard his grandsire sigh from his desk. The lord hand’s gaze steady on a parchment containing business while his grandson reread a letter over and over. 

“I did not ask for your opinion.” Aemond gritted out. The elation he felt just moments earlier quickly disappeared at his grandsire’s words. Otto Hightower sighed. 

“You are a prince of the realm. You have hundreds of ladies at your disposal, yet you obsess over a lady who cannot even name you as her favoured suitor. A lady who you had let distract you from your duties. Had you acting and sighing like a damsel as well.” 

 “She had made you weak. Turned you into a simpleton.” 

Prince Aemond frowned deeply, his fists clenching around air. No word of reply nor defense on his tongue as his grandsire plainly said the doubts and thoughts he fought hard to repress. Aemond had grown distracted as to who he truly was. He acted like a love-sick pup when he was meant to be a dragon prince. 

Aemond did not respond to your letter. Nor did he respond to the other two that followed. He simply let the year of your absence pass. His grandsire’s word aimed true to his heart. All his life, the only thing the prince knew was that he did not like being seen as weak. He had been weak as a child, as he let his brother and nephews constantly belittle him. He knew it could not happen once more, even if you were the reason. 

For the following moons, the prince made no move to contact you. He sent no bi-weekly letters. He sent no greetings or regards. He even hindered himself in sending you a bundle of gifts on your name day. He exercised a great feat of restraint and control for an entire year, simply lying in wait until the dawn of your return came. 

Prince Aemond stood by the docks, his veins fueled with adrenaline and his heart aching to see you once more. He did not know how he had been able to resist you for a year, yet it did not matter, for now his long suffering was to come to an end. 

However, as he watched your parents disembarked the ship, it was painfully obvious that you were left in YiTi. 

***

Prince Aemond broke your heart. Your great fears of being left spurned– of being forgotten turned true as the prince seemed to forget your existence. He ignored your letters, even if you sent three scrolls consecutively. You had spent your days staring longingly out the windows, hoping that the ravens that flew would come with a letter from a prince, but none did. 

You tried your best to hide the grief you felt at the prince’s action. You tried to act your usual detached and unemotional self. But each time you would sit alone in either the great gardens of your home or at banquets and feasts, you feel your heart pit as you had gotten used to the prince finding his way to you and accompanying you even through silence. 

The days that led to your return to Kingslanding, you made the decision to stay in YiTi. You could not subject yourself to return to Westeros with a broken heart. You could not fathom the thought of facing Prince Aemond once more. And so, you stayed. You did not return after a year and two moons. You stayed in YiTi under your grandsire’s care and hoped that the ache in your heart would dissipate soon enough. 

“The Westerns are simple-minded– especially the Targaryens. They act as if they are gods among men when in truth, they’re mere ferrets who only rose to power because of their dragons.” You hear your grandfather remark as you join him for supper. 

Your parents had sent word that they were already in Kingslanding, and they also mentioned that the courtiers had to ask why you did not return. They mentioned naught of the prince, and you did not know whether to feel grateful or not. 

“They reside on stolen land. They trample over the cultures and customs of those before them and punish those who disagree with their views. They appear to be almost the same as us, but not quite, for they trample over others they believe beneath them.” Your grandsire continued as you picked on your food. 

“They were kind hosts,” You defended quietly, but heard as your grandfather clicked his tongue and watched him shake his head. 

“It’s a lure, my child. Kindness to those men is given for their amusement– once they tire, they discard what no longer entertains them.” Your fingers tightened around the porcelain cup in your hands, holding it tightly so that you feared the warm tea might spill the moment you cracked the delicate clay. “It’s a lesson you must learn soon enough.” 

Across the narrow sea, a prince stewed in rage, anger, fear, and sadness, trying his best to figure out how to get his girl back. 

Part II: How You Get the Girl