Summary- Aemond might be smart, but he has no idea what to do with women
Warnings- the reader is sort of like Margeary, sort of simp Aemond, injuries, protective! Aemond
wc- 2k+
1.
-
Aemond didn’t see you for the rest of the day after that moment in your chambers. His mother said you were just settling in and to leave you be for the day. But that did not stop the Queen from pestering her son the next day to take you around Kings Landing.
Aemond stood in front of your door, just staring at it. He was nervous, too nervous. The encounter from the previous day was locked in his brain. There were voices on the other side, yours and two males who Aemond hopes are just your brothers.
He held a bouquet of roses from the garden. He knocked three times and the voices stopped. Then there was a clatter and shuffling, the door was ripped open and Deziel leaned against the frame.
“Oh, Prince Aemond.” He looked down at the flowers in his hands and Deziel put a hand on his heart. “Oh I'm flattered my Prince but red isn’t really my color.” Aemond opened his mouth to say something but the man in front of him got shoved.
“Leave him alone you idiot. Aemond come in.” You opened the door for him. Aemond stepped through and held out the flowers.
“For you.” You grabbed the flowers and gave him a bright smile.
“Thank you, they’re beautiful.” You walk over to your side table where an empty vase was and you put them in there. Then grabbed the pitcher of water that was given for breakfast and poured some into the vase.
“What are your intentions with my sister today Prince Aemond?” Ryon asked as he snacked on a biscuit.
“If she accepts, I would like to take her into the city.”
“And-.”
“I think that is an amazing idea.” You grabbed Aemonds arm and he tensed but you didn’t realize as you started dragging him to the door. “Let's go now.”
“With a chaperone I assume?” Ryon asks and raises an eyebrow.
“Yes, my mother has arranged it all.” You slammed the door shut and you let Aemond go.
“Are we actually going into the city?” You asked with amusement.
“Yes, my lady.” He puts his hands behind his back and starts walking.
“And what are we going to do?” You start walking next to him.
“Anything you want, no matter the time or cost.” You smirked.
“No matter the cost? Be careful, it's only my second day here. Don’t put the crown in debt already.” Aemond gave a small nod to your joke.
-
The smell of manure got stronger and stronger the farther you went in.
“You’ll get used to it,” Aemomd says from the other side. The chaperone sat at the head of the carriage reading a book. Your face grimaced but you kept looking out the window. You could hear a baby crying over the noises from the carriage rolling and the hooves of the horses against the floor. You tried to look for the baby but all you could hear was the cries.
“What is done with the less fortunate here?”
“Enough to keep them from rioting.” You nodded and sighed.
“Can we stop here?”
“The market-.”
“Please.” You cut him off and he sighed.
“Stop here.” He calls out and the horses come to a stop. You opened the door and stepped out, Aemond following close by.
“Y/n what are you doing?”
“I want to see the people.” You stepped over a flipped bucket. Aemond grabbed your arms and pulled you back once you approached an alleyway. The guards had gotten off their horses and were building a perimeter.
“It's not safe.” You grabbed his hand that was wrapped around your arm making him tense.
“You and the guards will be here to keep me safe.” His jaw tensed but nodded. He dropped his hand but you didn’t let it go. You pulled the man with you through the alleyway.
The people stared at you two and the guards. They were clearly nervous. A small child let out a cry and your head whipped around to the source.
A little boy sat against the wall whimpering holding his bleeding knee. You dropped Aemonds hands and slowly approached the boy. You crouched down with your hands on your thighs.
“What happened to your knee?” You ask softly and the boy sniffles and looks up.
“I fell.” He whimpered and removed his hand. There was a nasty cut on it.
“Oh I'm so sorry, let's make sure that doesn’t get infected.” You look up at Aemond who stands silently behind you. “Do you have a water canteen?” He shook his head. “Do any of you men have one?” You turn to the knights. None of them responded until one fumbled with a strap.
“Here you are, Princess.” He hands his canteen to you and you smile.
“Thank you, Ser?”
“Arryk.”
“Thank you Ser Arryk, I will be sure to have a new canteen brought to you.”
“No need.” He says.
“Nonsense.” You smile brightly at the man then turn to the boy. “What is your name?”
“Kenton.” He says and you smile.
“Hello Kenton, I'm Y/n and that's Aemond behind me.” You point your thumb at Aemond and the man kept a stern face. “Can I take a look at your knee?” He nodded and lowered his leg. You gently grabbed it and inspected it. “I'm going to wash it okay, you can hold my hand if you need to.” You held out your non-dominant hand, Kenton hesitated but took your hand and squeezed it.
Aemond watched carefully, you were so gentle with the boy. Caring just like a mother. He’s only known you for two days and he already knew you would be the perfect mother to his children.
You poured the water over Kenton's knee and he squeezed your hand.
“It's okay.” You whisper and watch the dirt fall away from the wound. It only took less than half to clean off the wound, now you just needed a cloth to cover it with. You looked around, Aemond most likely had nothing, and the knights couldn’t rip their cloaks so you settled on your dress.
You grabbed the bottom of your dress and ripped it. Others who were watching close by gasped.
“Why did you do that?” Aemond asks but you don’t answer. The long strip went up to your hip, revealing the under of the dress. You ripped it off then saw the mud at the bottom of it and tore that part off with ease.
“I'm going to wrap this around your knee, keep that on for a bit.” You say as you wrap it around his knee. Kenton now sported a deep yellow piece of fabric on his knee.
Aemond spotted two men approaching, they had hardened faces on. Aemond bent over to your ear.
“Time to go.” You looked over and noticed the two men, by then Arryk and another guard had noticed them and blocked them off. You turn back to Kenton and hand him the canteen.
“Keep this, stay hydrated Kenton.”
“Thank you, Princess.” Kenton gave you a big smile through the tears, it warmed your heart. You stood up and Aemond placed a hand on your lower back. His hand has found itself stuck to the hilt of his sword since the two men approached. They were blocking the way to get back to the carriage.
“I'm going to have to ask you to stay back so the Prince and Princess can pass,” Arryk says.
“And you have not told me of your business here.” The man says.
“I was helping the boy.” You pointed at Kenton. “He was hurt.” The man peered over.
“It's true, father. Princess Y/n helped me.” Kenton says. “She even gave me water!” He held the canteen high to show the man who is his father. He shot a glare at you and his fists tightened. You smiled at him but you couldn’t deny he made you nervous, even with the protection you had. Aemond gently put an arm across your body and moved you behind him.
The man sighed then he and the other with him stepped to the side. The knights in front of you looked back and nodded at Aemond and he nodded back.
“With us,” Arryk says and Aemonds arm is behind you again. He gently pushed you forward to start walking. Once you were in front of it, Aemond stopped you.
“Your dress is ruined.” You both looked down. It was torn, and muddy, and your shoes were destroyed.
“Oh that's alright, I have others.”
The door to the carriage opened and just as you stepped up a loud meow came from above. You looked up and saw a beautiful cat. Large cat. It was brown but the tufts of white shown said the cat was white.
“Hello there.” You reach up slowly to scratch its head. It purred instantly and closed its eyes. Aemond slammed his hand against the sides and the cat jumped up and scurried off. “Aemond!” You hit his arm.
“Now is not the time for the creature princess.” You pouted and Aemonds nose twitched.
“But it was cute.”
-
Aemond did eventually get you to the markets. On the way there he pointed out places as you passed them. At the markets, he followed close behind you as you went to each merchant.
“Look at this Aemond, isn’t it wonderful?” You showed him a painting of a herd of horses.
“Hmm.” You huffed and set it down. You went through the other options until one with black bordering caught your eye. You looked back at Aemond to see if he was looking but he was standing at another shop just next to the painters.
The contents of the painting made you smile.
“This one.” You tell the painter and they grab it.
“Good choice, your grace.” They say and take it back. “4 gold.”
“Aemond.” You grabbed his sleeve and he looked over. “4.” You smile brightly at him. He sighed and reached into his little pouch and took out 4 coins and placed them in the painter's hand.
“Have it brought to the Red Keep,” Aemond says and the painter nods. You grab Aemonds arm and he once again tenses.
“You don’t like me touching you, do you?” You pulled him away and let his arm go.
“I don’t care.” You sigh.
“I want you to be comfortable around me, I want this to work. I appreciate you taking me into the city, I appreciate you getting me these things I do. But we’re supposed to get to know each other and doing this doesn’t do that. I want you to know me, and I want to know you. The real you.”
Aemonds breath hitched and his jaw tensed. He didn’t know how to react to your words. He’s never had to do this with any woman, this is his first solid potential betrothal. All other women take one look at him and scurry off in fear or look at him in pure disgust.
Not you though.
You’ve been nothing but kind to him. Maybe you could be a tad bit forward but in all honesty, Aemond enjoyed it. You could have fun, but you also understood the prospect of duty.
“I'm not asking for a heart-to-heart, but like I said yesterday. Equality. And not just in duty, this relationship.”
Aemond mouth quirked up to a wide smile. He held his hand out to you and you looked down at it. Your hand joined his and he squeezed it.
“Tomorrow you will break fast with me in the library after my training.” You nodded in acknowledgment. “I'm taking you back to the Keep before you drain me.”
-
Nightfall came and now Aemond and Arryk were back in the streets.
“Are you sure it will still be in the area, my prince?” Arryk asks as he carries the cage usually meant for a bunch of rats and a wrapped fish on top.
“We will only know if we try,” Aemond says and they stood in the section where the cat from earlier was spotted. Arryk set the cage down and unwrapped the fish. Aemond grabbed the slimy aquatic animal and started walking around and shook the fish slightly.
“Maybe you should call for it,” Arryk suggests.
“How?” The knight then started clapping and snapping his fingers, and kissing noises?
“Ser Arryk what-.”
‘Meow’
The two men looked over to the large cat coming out from the shadows, already interested in the fish. Aemond tossed it into the cage and the cat stopped. But the poor thing was too hungry to care and dove right into the cage. Arryk shut it and the cat snarled but went back to the fish.
“Now what?” Arryk asks.
“Another gift for the princess.”
-
Aemond and Arryk stood in front of the door and Aemond knocked. He heard nothing so he knocked again. This time he heard a groan and your voice slightly. Shuffling was heard and the door opened.
“Aemond? Ser Arryk? Is everything alright?” You asked and tightened the robe around you.
“Sorry to disturb you, but one final gift.”
“Aemond-.”
‘Meow’
Arryk brought the cage into your view and you saw the cat from earlier.
“You went back for it?” You broke out into a smile. “Open the cage!” Arryk set the cage down so it opened towards your room and he lifted the door. The cat backed out and ran into the room with half the fish in its mouth.
“So you don’t feel lonely,” Aemond says softly, making your heart flutter.
“Thank you.” You reached up on your toes and kissed his cheek. “You’re nothing like they say you are.” You whisper into his ear and kiss the corner of his lips.
Aemonds face turned pink and his eye closed.
“Have a good night my lady.” He says and starts walking away. Arryk simply bows and follows after Aemond.
If one thing was certain that Arryk noticed was that Aemond was smitten already.
-
A/n- I wanted to rewrite this part so many times, I hate this one. Butt anyways. Comments, reblogs, and likes are greatly appreciated!!!
Comment or send what name the kitty should have!!!
Warnings: This is a "Who Did This To You" trope so the OFC was a victim of an attempted assault. It is not described in graphic detail, but please keep it in mind before reading if that may be triggering for you. Also Targaryen-typical incest.
Summary: There was no father in her life from whom she could seek protection in that moment, no father who could rush in and save her from this evil, who could swear to her it would never come for her again. But there was a voice, quiet and gentle and caring, which called out to her "Who hurt you?" and for a moment she thought that perhaps someone cared enough to listen to the answer.
“Princess?”
How different might the world have been if Viserys had let Rhaenyra marry Daemon that night he’d bedded her in the brothel? How different might the world have been if Rhaenyra had run away with Criston Cole when he asked her to flee with him? How different might the world have been if Laenor had not been forced to marry her mother? How different might the world have been if Rhaenyra had not taken Harwin Strong into her chambers? How different might the world have been if she knew who her father was?
“Princess!”
Her features were a mixed bag, some that may have been Daemon, some that may have been Criston, some that may have been Laenor or Harwin, some that appeared to come from absolutely no one at all. Each of them had, at one time or another, looked at her with that sense of possibility, that she might be theirs or their worst enemies. All she could pinpoint were her eyes and her hair, Valyrian to her core. Many pointed to them as evidence of Daemon’s fatherhood of her. Her mother loudly touted it as proof that she was Laenor’s. She doubted it was proof of either so much as it was proof of Rhaenyra’s motherhood. Their hair, their eyes, were exactly the same shade. From the back, many had mistaken her for her mother over the years.
“Princess who did this to you?”
Some nights, when she was feeling particularly lonely, she would play pretend in her mind, decide which man was her father and play act at him loving her. She would pretend Daemon took her up on dragonback back and taught her to fly. She would pretend Ser Criston snuck her sweets and hugs whenever the court's backs were turned. She would pretend Laenor… Well, she never had to pretend with Laenor or Harwin. They had always loved her in their own ways, as much as they could anyway.
“Princess? Who hurt you?”
If she knew her father, if she had a father at all, maybe she could go to him now. She could run inside to find Daemon; she could slide under the wing of Caraxes’ protection where she knew no one would ever hurt her again. She could run to Criston and beg him to take her away as he’d once offered her mother; he could draw his steel and beat back those who tried to hold her there.
“Princess, who did this?”
Someone was grabbing her, shaking her. She felt it in a sense, but in a far greater sense she didn’t feel it at all. She knew it was happening, but she didn’t feel the hands that gripped her shoulders, that tugged her back and forth. The same with the voice, calling out to her. She knew it was there, knew what it was saying, but she couldn’t process the words.
“Princess, look at me.”
Something had happened. Something terrible. She knew that much. She knew the rest too, but by the by it would not come to her. Something had happened to her.
“Princess, you’re bleeding.”
Yes, she rather thought she was. Not a great deal, but certainly enough to be noticed. To be noticed by… someone. Did she even want to know who?
“Alarra!”
She heard that word. She knew that word. Her name. Laenor had given her that name. He had been so kind to her all the years she knew him. He had always treated her as a daughter, claimed her as a daughter, cared for her as a daughter, loved her as a daughter… at least from what she remembered. Perhaps those memories were colored rosy by death. Perhaps Laenor would not have made this situation any better; perhaps Harwin, perhaps a father of any kind, wouldn’t have either. Perhaps Ser Criston or Prince Daemon would have only made things worse. Perhaps this was simply her fate.
“Alarra, who did this?”
She knew that voice. She’d known it the whole time, but she recognized it now.
Tears welled up in her eyes, and Alarra blinked them away. Her eyes, against her will, regained their focus and brought her out of her daze. They brought her back to the world around her. She didn’t want them to. She wanted to stay there, in her head where she felt nothing, heard nothing, saw nothing. People couldn’t hurt her in her mind. In her body, people could hurt her.
She must have been crying for some time without realizing while she was stuck in her head. Her eyes were already overwhelmed with tears, and she could feel their dried tracts down her cheeks.
Aemond was more blur than man, hunched over in front of her, little more than overlapping shades of silver and black in her watery gaze. Yet even in her current state, there was no mistaking him. The details of his face were gone, but the vague black circle where an eye should have been marked him for who he was.
“Alarra, who hurt you?” Aemond’s voice was quieter than it had been when it called her back to her body, like he knew then that she couldn’t hear him and knew now that she could.
Of course it would be Aemond. Of course he would be the one to find her at her weakest, at her most vulnerable. He had a way of doing that, finding her weak spots.
“Who did this?”
In response, Alarra’s body racked with a sob. Her shoulders were shaking with the force of how hard she cried, and it made some still disassociated part of her mind wonder if Aemond had touched her at all, if Aemond had actually shaken her shoulders as she thought or if it had been her body crying the whole time.
“Alarra, I’m going to take you to the Maester now.” Aemond touched a gentle hand to her upper arm, a far gentler touch than she had ever felt from him before, far gentler than she thought him capable of.
“NO!” She jerked back the moment she realized what he said. Her hands clutched her dress to her chest to keep it from falling as she frantically skittered back on the ground away from him. “I can’t- you can’t- they’ll- no- no- no-”
Why couldn’t Jace have found her? Or Luce? She would give anything for one of her brothers to be here. She would even take her mother or, gods forbid, Daemon right now.
The bush at her back poked and scraped against her bare shoulders and kept her from moving further away. It reminded her of her present state, of the dress barely clinging to her form and the bruises already coloring her arms and the cuts still bleeding at her collar.
“As you say,” Aemond held up his hands in a mock surrender. She could see him now, the panic clearing her eyes of tears. His own eye was narrowed, though not judging or angry, for once, merely cautious.
“No maester…” He stayed there, frozen and unmoving until Alarra ceased, till her feet stopped slipping and sliding uselessly over the ground, pushing for every inch of distance she could win away from him, till her shoulders stopped curling in on themselves hiding the more vulnerable parts of her body from him in favor of her partially exposed back.
Even when she stopped trying to put distance between them, when she relaxed with the surety that he wasn’t going to force her to the Maester, he did not move any closer, did not break the silence in the air.
He watched her patiently, as he so often did. And she, as she so often did, looked away.
“If you take me to the Maester…” Alarra hiccuped around another tearless sob. She felt a need to explain herself to him, to explain before he jumped to his own conclusions.
She hiccuped again as she prepared to subject herself to the mercies of one of the most merciless creatures she knew. “If you take me to the Maester, they’ll say my virtue — He didn’t. I swear he didn’t, but they’ll say he did— What with the rumors about my father, they will say… They will...”
Neither of them needed to address the fact that Aemond was very much included in the ‘they’ whom Alarra feared talking.
Aemond had long questioned the Velaryons’ parentage. He had relished toying with her brothers’ features that clearly weren’t Valyrian, basked in the opportunity to avenge a childhood of mockery and wrongs. She had never before been the subject of his wrath, mercifully spared by a childhood friendship, but the gods knew this opportunity would be too good to miss if she didn’t confront it.
“They will…” She couldn’t help mumbling the incomplete thought under her breath.
When Alarra found the courage to meet his gaze again, Aemond’s one eye was already boring a hole through hers with its intensity, and Alarra thought, not for the first time, that perhaps the gods themselves had plucked out Aemond’s eye. If for no other reason than to quell a potential challenger.
“Please,” she wasn’t sure if there was enough air left in her lungs to voice the word, but she tried to speak it anyway, pushed it out between her lips like a quiet prayer to the gods, a quiet prayer to Aemond.
Aemond looked to be calculating his own course through these uncharted waters just as much as he appeared to be studying her reactions.
“We cannot stay here, Princess,” Aemond spoke in a very stilted, calculated tone, like one reading facts from a book. “You are injured. Your appearance is disheveled. Your dress is in tatters, and if I was as without honor as your family thought I was I could see every inch of your front simply by glancing down.”
Alarra subconsciously clutched her torn dress tighter to her. It was true. The blade had sliced clean through the neck and shoulders of her dress as it cut across her skin. The front would have fallen off long ago if not for her hand, and the weight of the damned thing and lack of support had long exposed huge swaths of skin to the cool night air.
Though, admittedly, up until Aemond’s arrival her dress had been her least concern.
Alarra turned her eyes down to her dress for the first time, again to avoid Aemond’s gaze. It was destroyed. The sleeves were gone; the embroidery was pilling and torn; the skirt was caked in mud; and worst of all, what remained of the neckline was soaked in her blood.
Without warning, Aemond stood.
Alarra’s eyes shot back up and her whole body tensed for a moment before she realized what he was doing.
Aemond wrenched off his black, Targaryen cloak and in the same flourish draped it over Alarra. She grabbed for it as it fluttered down, holding it to her chest.
“Th-Thank you,” she stuttered out the words.
Aemond’s cloak. She was wearing Aemond’s cloak.
Aemond ignored her platitudes, which was just as well for her since she wouldn’t have known what else to say to him. “I’m going to touch you now, Princess,” Aemond said in warning. “I won’t harm you, and there will be no Maesters. I’ll only carry you to your chambers through the servant’s halls.”
It was a chore, to force herself to calm enough for him to touch her, but she knew it was the best course. Her dress was well torn and would trail in ribbons behind her, and she was not sure she could walk. There was no physical damage to her legs, but she did not relish the idea of trying to rise to her feet in this state. Her upper body quaked even now; her legs would no doubt collapse if she so much as attempted to use them.
Aemond approached slowly, cautiously. He looked like a predator about to put his prey out of its misery. She knew he wasn’t going to hurt her, at least not physically, but by the gods Aemond couldn’t help looking like the hunter. There was something to his face. Power perhaps, a touch of ruthlessness, the confidence he had lacked as a child.
His hands slipped around her, one high on her back while his other dipped under her knees. He was ever so careful in the placement of his hands, tucking the cloak around her in his grip to avoid touching any skin. He stood with her in his arms, and she thought of anything else to help even out her breathing as she felt a man’s touch brushing against her even through fabric.
Being at home on the rocky beaches of Dragonstone. The soft feel of braiding her mother’s hair. The sound of a crackling fire in her room. The smell of the salty, ocean breeze off the water. The taste of her favorite wine on her tongue.
Every hall Aemond turned down she made a new list, and her breathing remained steady so long as she kept thinking of things.
Balerion’s skull on a pedestal lit by candles. The dowse of warm water as Jace threw her in the sea. Caraxes’s roar when he flew overhead. The scented oils anointing her baby brother’s skin. Luce’s piss poor attempt at roasting rabbit as they camped in the woods.
Aemond said nothing while she made her lists. Perhaps he was calculating some plan of his own; perhaps he was simply giving her the space to think. Before tonight, she would have presumed the former, but now she was unsure.
Viserys on the throne. The soft threads of her embroidery. The nurses singing lullabies. The awful smell of the stables. A morning cup of tea.
They walked in absolute silence, and Aemond took every precaution not to be seen. He ducked down the hidden passages known only to those who had truly mastered the keep; he stopped at the sound of every approaching footstep and hid behind pillars or corners. At one point, he pulled her into an abandoned meeting hall for several minutes as two servants stopped outside to chat.
That had been a particularly painful few minutes, and she had refocused her efforts to list those things that meant the most to her.
Witnessing Daemon and Rhaenyra’s wedding. Vermax’s rough scales under her fingers as Jacaerys introduced her to his dragon. Harwin comforting her with sweet words after a cruel bout of insults about her father. The smell of smoke when her mother took her up on Syrax. The odd tasting fish Laenor cooked for her every nameday.
“Princess,” Aemond’s voice, as surprisingly gentle as it had been before, called out to her, “would you get the door?”
It was the first thing Aemond said on their walk.
She mindlessly pushed open the door of her chambers, not even realizing that they’d reached them. “You can right me here, Aemond.”
Aemond didn’t hear her, or perhaps he ignored her. He did not deposit her in the doorway as she asked; he crossed the room and set her gently back on the edge of her bed.
“Thank you,” she said, more out of habit than anything. She owed him her thanks to be sure, but her mind was too occupied with other things to mean it.
“Of course, Princess,” Aemond fingered the edge of the cloak still covering her. “I can leave this with you,” he offered, “but people will question why you have my cloak. It is your choice.”
Alarra released her death grip on the fabric, and Aemond didn’t tug it away until it seemed she had firm grip on the dress beneath.
Aemond stood to his full height and turned to leave. “I will leave you to your night. We will talk again when you are well.”
She watched his back retreat for only a few steps before she could resist no longer.
“Please Aemond,” Alarra whispered into the night air as if the silence were glass and her words a falling hammer that might break it were she not gentle enough.
Aemond paused at her door and turned back.
She wasn’t sure what possessed her to speak, to ask. It was too much to ask. She knew it was too much to ask, especially of him. “If you ever cared for me at all, as friend or family… do not tell anyone about tonight?”
His eye was not as intense as it stared at her now. It was softer, more discerning.
That, or more likely the distance buffered the spear of his gaze.
“You are owed justice, Princess.” Aemond replied as he stepped back from the door and let his hand fall from the handle.
Alarra had expected a simple yes or no, even if the yes was a lie. But then, she hadn’t expected him to find her in the garden. She hadn’t expected him to help her if he did. And she certainly hadn’t expected him to care if she received justice.
Aemond crossed the room in long strides and knelt down before her, resting a gentle, almost hesitant hand on the top of her exposed knee. “You are owed justice, and you shall have it.”
“But I…”
Aemond didn’t understand. And how could he. He was a man. He could fuck his way through half of Flea Bottom, and Viserys wouldn’t bat an eye. Aegon already had, and the greatest repercussions he’d faced had been the occasional cold shoulder for his lack of decorum. Aemond was a man, and unlike women, men could demand justice when they were wronged.
“If I say anything… the rumors… I’ll be ruined. He will say he ruined me, and no one will believe me, not over a man. The moment he opens his mouth, it will be my fault, and I will be ruined.” The tears in her were hardening into something more as her voice became more clipped, “No assurances from the Maester that I am untouched will be sufficient to quell the mongers. My first child will be a bastard no matter when he’s born or to whom, and no man will have me accompanied by such a stain.”
This, of all things, was what Alarra was complaining about, what she was forced to worry about. It made her sick. She felt the bile rising in her throat even now, and she tried to swallow it down.
This was not what she truly cared about. Alarra wanted nothing more than time to grieve herself, grieve her pain, grieve what had been done to her, but she could not have it. And not simply for Aemond’s presence.
It would have been the same if it were any other man who found her. It would have been the same if it were the queen or even her mother. And even if she hadn’t been found at all, it would have been the same tomorrow, or the next day, or whatever day that monster of a man finally came forward and opened his mouth about what he’d done to her.
She would be expected to be unshaken, unperturbed by any trauma. Her first and only concern would be expected to be her house, her reputation, and her family, not her own wellbeing.
The council, monsters that they were, may even demand she marry him, to be sure of the bloodlines.
The tears began to fall again, and she mourned not just what had been done to her and taken from her, not just her sense of safety and security, not just her sense of self, but also the mask she would have to wear come morning. She mourned because she knew it was her last chance to mourn. She mourned because she knew that even now she wasn’t supposed to mourn, for Aemond was watching.
“Leave that to me, Princess.” Aemond’s hand reached up, and a thumb gently brushed away her newest tears, “I swear to you, on my life and my dragon’s. No one will question your honor.”
Alarra scoffed. Such a fond notion. If it came from her brothers she might have thought them naive enough to think such a thing could be done. If it came from her brothers she might have thought them sweet enough to try. But this was Aemond, and he was not sweet. And he was certainly not so naive.
“You can’t promise that.” Alarra closed her eyes to avoid looking into his.
“I can. I have my ways, Princess. Do not concern yourself with such trifling things as other’s expectations of you now. I will see to those. You need only worry after how to feel yourself again.”
It was as though he’d read her mind and pulled out the exact thing she wished he'd say. If he were Jace, she would have leaned into his hand on her cheek and fallen asleep, not trusting that all would be well by morning but trusting at least that he would be by her side when it wasn’t.
But this was Aemond, and another tear slid down her cheek from behind her eyelids. She wasn’t sure if she could trust him, but by the gods did she want to.
“Alarra, tell me. Who did this to you? Name the man who forfeited his life tonight.”
For a moment, her breath caught in her throat before…
“You violated guests' rights, broke into a lord’s bedchambers, dragged him out of bed, drew your blade on him, carved out his tongue, and left him to be found by the servants who heard his cries!”
For the first time in many, many years, Viserys Targaryen looked like a dragon.
It was enough to quell the room to a still silence. It was enough to make the young ones quake with something akin to fear.
The Targaryens and Velaryons, the family, were the only ones called into the throne room for this particular trial. It was not, as so many usually were, made known to the nobility or even the entirety of the Small Council. Even the Kingsguard, save Cole, had been asked to wait outside. The King had kept it quiet, assembled the necessary parties, and immediately begun questioning his second son the same morning the young knight had been found dismantled on the floor of his guest chambers in the Red Keep.
Aemond stood firm in front of his father’s rebuke. Arms tucked behind his back, feet shoulder width apart, he said, as though he were discussing the weather, “I also knocked out all his teeth.”
Aemond thought he might have heard Aegon snort.
“HE IS A TYRELL!” Viserys lurched to his feet, cutting his palm on the throne he moved so quickly. His finger stabbed at the man, leaning on Ser Criston for support, looking ever the pitiful victim. “A TYRELL! AND THE GUEST OF YOUR KING!”
The pain of the blades did not seem to register to Viserys, and even the usually attentive Alicent did not move to help her king as blood ran down the tip of Viserys’s finger.
On Aemond’s eye’s side of the hall, the Velaryons formed one strong line in his peripheral vision, ever the picture of courtly decorum even as Jacaerys and Lucerys no doubt wanted to jump with glee. They were all quelled to a state little more than statues by the severity of the moment.
Only Alarra stood out of line. Only Alarra was not frozen in stone. She stood behind her mother, peaking out at him between Rhaenyra and Daemon’s shoulders, watching him with a gaze that flashed between awe, pity, shame, and something akin to desperation.
Aemond looked away. He did not let his gaze linger long on her. Much as he wanted to dissect the moods haunting her every feature, he refused to draw the kind of attention to her that observing her would require.
“Not an important one. Second son of a third son,” Aemond shrugged nonchalantly. “I assure you House Tyrell will not be greatly aggrieved by his loss.”
Viserys’s frame shook as though it could not contain his rage within his body. “On what grounds, Aemond!”
Aemond stood firm. Truly, his father could yell all he liked. When he wanted to be, Aemond could be a terrifyingly patient man. His patience would far outlast his father’s anger. Not merely for the fact his father was too physically weak to maintain this rebuke for long.
“I apologize, my King,” Aemond endeavored at civility, “but the grounds are not mine to say.”
That seemed to take Viserys back. Something cold, dark, came into his tone. “You would dare refuse your King.”
“I do not refuse my King. I have freely admitted to what I have done.” Aemond answered with an equally deadly calm.
A pin could have been heard dropping on the stones as Viserys took a shaky step down from the throne. “The Tyrells will make you take oaths for this, and I will not refuse them. They will ask to send you to the Wall.”
Aemond swallowed down his pride, swallowed down the urge to rage that it was the Tyrell who should be sent to the Wall, swallowed down the urge to cut through his father’s presumptions about the night.
With a bitter taste in his mouth, Aemond bowed his head, “If my king commands.”
“Aemond,” His mother finally broke the silence of the rest of the room as she hissed at him, “Defend yourself.”
Aemond’s eyes stayed straight ahead, watching his father.
“You heard your mother! Explain yourself boy!” Viserys commanded. “You have dishonored this house; you will give your reasons for this!”
“My reasons are my own. If the Wall is the price of his tongue so be it. I will not-“
There was a commotion amongst the Velaryons as all eyes turned to see Alarra pushing past Rhaenyra and jerking out of the grip her good father tried to clasp her in.
“He was defending me, your Grace,” Alarra called even as she crossed the room. Daemon and Rhaenyra’s attempts to stop the girl halted as she loudly made her declaration.
Alarra dropped into a short curtsy next to Aemond before taking a similar stance to his beside him. Awaiting judgment.
Aemond clenched his jaw tightly. He thought he might’ve felt a tooth crack. He did not glare down at his niece, much as he wanted to, nor did he chase her back behind her parents, much as he wanted to.
Resisting the urge was not without complaint, and a huff slipped past his lips. The whole point of cutting out the man’s tongue had been so he could not speak of what he’d done to her. And now she loudly declared it in open court.
Was she trying to save him? Really, did she think Viserys would actually send him to the Wall? He would order it done then change his mind and settle for some brief exile or other. He would go to Essos, fight a war, become the next Daemon.
“You must forgive Aemond for any impertinence.”
Yes. She was trying to save him.
Alarra’s head was hung as she addressed her King. “It was merely for the sake of protecting me. Ser Wendell attacked me in the garden last night, your Grace. Aemond was my rescuer. That is how Ser Wendell came to lose his tongue. If the Tyrells demand an oath, let me give it in his stead. Aemond has acted with nothing but honor.”
There was a quiet after Alarra finished speaking. Somewhere outside, knights in armor were walking past the throne room.
The first sound to break the silence was a wordless, toneless groan.
Ser Criston had let go of Ser Wendell, and Wendell had swayed on the spot for a moment before Ser Criston had kicked the man to his knees.
“Attacked you!” Viserys stumbled back to sit in his throne, breathing heavily, seemingly exhausted as the anger within him at his own son quelled in the face of this new revelation. “In what way, dear girl, has this knight attacked you? Has he dishon-”
“No,” Aemond cut off the King before he could finish voicing the word. He had promised no one would question her on this. “I saw what was transpiring from the balcony. At first it seemed nothing more than a spat. When I realized he’d drawn a blade…” He was cut off by his sister’s loud gasp. “I came to her aid as quickly as I could. I am sorry to say I could not prevent all of what transpired, but I assure you my niece’s virtues remain entirely intact. I would swear to it. His honor was the only thing destroyed last night.”
Wendell, on his knees in front of Cole, made loud, wordless noises and gestured wildly in the direction of Aemond and Alarra.
Aemond sneered and rested his hand back on the hilt of his sword, the blade letting out a threatening ‘shink’ noise as he unsheathed the first inch. Wendell shrunk back, his arms freezing though his mouth still blubbered on. “You can still lose your hand, Ser Wendell.”
“Or your head.”
All blubbering ceased.
For all of his bluster and rage and shouting and for all the silence and fear it evoked, there was nothing Viserys could do to chill a room like those three words said by that voice.
“Why does he live?” Daemon continued. His voice was as cold as the Stranger’s embrace, and his eyes glaring across the hall at Ser Wendell just as steady.
The question was for Aemond, he knew, but Daemon made no move to address him directly.
“The coward fled even as I arrived. Alarra was quite merciful in her pleas that hunting him down to slaughter was not justice. So I quelled my anger with his tongue.”
“And his teeth,” Aegon muttered under his breath.
Aemond’s head jerked around, and he sneered at his brother. “His teeth were incidental. If he hadn’t so resisted losing his tongue, he’d still have them. They had to be gotten out of the way.”
Daemon paid no mind to the bickering between the brothers. He sauntered forth, like a lion stalking its prey.
“Alarra wished to have justice?”
Daemon stopped then, in front of Wendell, staring down at the man.
Aemond’s eyes flitted to the woman in question.
Alarra was watching Ser Wendell almost as intently as Daemon watched him. The way Aemond remembered she used to watch the bugs that frightened her as a child, like she had to know where he was at all times, like she had to keep him in her sights or he may sneak up on her some other way, even tongueless and on his knees with the man visibly pissing himself.
“Yes, she did.” Aemond answered for her.
“He has no tongue,” Daemon mused. His head tilted to one side, and from where he stood Aemond could see the tug at the corner of Daemon’s mouth. “I suppose the only fair trial he will have is by combat.” When he wanted, Daemon’s smile could truly be a thing of evil.
It had been a chore to escape her rooms that night. Her mother had posted two guards to her door in an effort to make her feel more comfortable, but when the unfamiliar faces introduced themselves and took up their station it only made her feel more cut off, more alone. She felt suffocated by the presence of these strangers she did not know or trust blocking her primary exit from her room.
Climbing out the window had seemed the logical thing to do.
She could not sleep and had not eaten at dinner. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to do either, but she was sure she didn’t want to feel trapped.
Her feet took her around the back halls of the palace, wandering paths where no one would dare to look for her. It was around the fourth or fifth hall, in front of the room they had stopped for minutes on end, that she realized the path her feet had been carrying her along. She made no attempt to stop it. Or maybe she did and her feet didn’t listen.
The garden was beautiful, if a little more terrifying. The moonbeams that had always made the water in the pool seem to glint now only seemed to cast shadows under the hedges. The flowers which were so beautiful and richly hued at twilight had bigger thorns this week than last.
“I would have thought wandering the keep at night was not to your taste anymore. Least of all here, Princess.”
Alarra did not so much as jump when she heard the voice. If anything, her shoulders seemed to loosen their tension.
“I could not sleep. My feet brought me here, and I-I cannot say why I did not leave.” She answered the unasked question.
Aemond came to stand beside her against the bannister, putting his back to the garden and instead facing her. “We all fight our battles differently, I suppose.”
“I appear to be losing mine.”
Aemond chuckled humorlessly. “On the contrary Princess, I think you are the champion of House Targaryen.”
Alarra finally tore herself away from the spot on the grass she had been trying to burn with her eyes alone. “I feel like the Queen of Fools. I keep thinking of everything I should have done, ways I could have stopped him, things I wanted to say.”
Aemond paused for a long moment, quietly considering his response.
“Even if there are things you could have done, that does not make you the Queen of Fools… though I understand why you would think such a thing.” Aemond assented. His head turned so his eye could stare out at the sky, and Alarra watched his profile in detail. He cut a far less intimidating figure tonight than he usually did in the light of day. “I am the same with my duels with Ser Criston. I berate myself for weeks after each loss, picking them apart in my mind. I play each out a hundred different ways. It helps at first, helps me become a better fighter, better swordsmen. I study it until I know I will never make the same mistakes again. But eventually, I have to move on.”
Aemond turned his eye back to her. “For one simple reason, Princess. Those are all things I know to do differently now, but I did not know them then. One day, you will wake up and realize that the only thing you could have done that night, with what you knew then, is exactly what you did. Every idea you think of you can apply if the situation arises again, but you cannot expect yourself to have known those things before you knew them.”
Alarra pulled her eyes away forcefully and stared down at where it happened. He was right, in a way. She just wasn’t sure that made anything better.
“Do not trouble yourself with moving on now, Princess. The last fight isn’t over until I’ve stopped thinking about it, and I can’t win the next one until it is… but if it takes me weeks to move past something as petty as a lost duel, I wager you are allowed more than a night to move past this.”
“And how many nights can I go before I collapse during the day?” Alarra asked quietly. “This is the second night I have not slept, and my mother’s solution is to put my life in the hands of men I know no better than Wendell.”
That did seem to make Aemond pause. He always thought before he spoke, and the man thought hard now for what to say and how.
“I can-if it please you of course-think of one alternative.”
“She will not harm you, Princess,” Aemond assured her.
Alarra stared up at the dragon looming over her. Her feet had frozen to the ground the moment she realized where Aemond was taking her, which given her distracted, absent state of mind had not been until they were standing on the beach with the dark, hulking mass of Vhagar casting shadows in the moonlight illuminating their skin.
She swallowed and shrunk back further into the meager protection of her cloak as Vhagar shifted and grumbled in her sleep. A puff of smoke floated away on her exhale.
“Princess,” Aemond stepped between her and Vhagar, his back to the creature. He caught her chin between his fingers and tilted her head so her gaze was forced to meet his eye. “Princess, do you trust me?”
“Trusting you is not the issue at the moment, Aemond.” Alarra mumbled.
“You’ve been around dragons many times.” Aemond said it as both a statement and a question.
Alarra nodded. “Yes of course, but never Vhagar.”
“She’s no different than any other dragon.” Aemond stipulated.
“Only that she’s thrice as large and thrice as deadly. She's so large Arrax could sleep in her jaw.” Her tone was more biting than she meant for it to be.
Alarra’s eyes wandered back over Aemond’s shoulder. She couldn’t help it. Not with her sleeping right there.
"I'd be a fool not to be warry, Aemond. We all would be. She's conquered kingdoms. She's killed dragons."
"None of yours."
"Well, I don't have one to kill."
Aemond rolled his good eye. “Do you trust me?”
“Of course.” Alarra bit back immediately. It was an instinctual answer this time. An instinct that had formed over the course of only two days, but an instinct nonetheless. If she had been thinking clearly, Alarra would have lied and said no or at least pretended to consider her answer before she tacitly agreed to trust him. Yet with the figure silhouetting Aemond, it was impossible to take time to think and consider anything seriously.
Something softened, only slightly, in Aemond's expression as he heard her response. “Come.” She hadn’t realized till his hand dropped away that he had been cradling her chin the whole time, drawing her eyes back to his as it did. “I would never hurt you, and she does as I bid. If it helps, keep your eyes on me.”
Aemond took Alarra’s hand in his and turned. Staring at him did help. Alarra glared daggers into Aemond’s back as he pulled her along towards Vhagar. Though, t he daggers turned to spears as her peripheral saw the beast open its’ eyes.
“Do not look.” Alarra whispered to herself.
Aemond chuckled, shoulders shaking, and she realized she’d spoken the reassurance out loud.
“Easy to laugh with the most fearsome creature in all the world under your control.” Alarra snipped quietly at him.
Aemond squeezed Alarra’s hand in response, as he had so many times that night, so many times since he found her in the garden. “Tonight she is hardly mine.” Aemond stopped a mere arms length from the head of the dragon.
Vhagar had not moved but to open her eyes, and Alarra felt them watching her as she stared intensely at the space between Aemond’s shoulder blades. If she didn’t look, didn’t challenge the dragon, maybe she would make it out of this alive.
“Hello Vhagar,” Aemond’s free hand reached up and trailed over the scales on the underside of her snout, the only place he could truly reach.
Vhagar huffed in response and tilted her head ever so slightly towards Aemond’s palm. Alarra clutched his hand more tightly in response.
“Konīr iksos nykeā hāedar nyke jaelagon ao naejot rhaenagon.” There is someone I want you to meet. Aemond said the words to Vhagar gently, reverently, asking her permission as much as telling her.
“Oh Aemond,” Alarra tugged at the hand he was holding. “I can’t. I’m not-“
Aemond didn’t loose his grip. He clenched down and tugged Alarra out from behind him. He pulled her under his raised arm and tucked her into his side, never letting go of her hand on the other side of her body, instead choosing to wrap his arm around her. “Alarra,” by necessity given their difference in height, Aemond leaned down towards her ear, “I know. Trust me. I know.”
Of course he knew. Everyone knew. The Targaryen who couldn’t ride a dragon. The would-be queen who couldn’t claim a mount. The undeserving heir.
Alarra’s head dipped slightly away at the reminder.
Aemond lifted their entwined fingers and took a step behind Alarra. For a moment her heart leapt being alone in front of Vhagar, but Aemond quickly pressed himself into her back, shuffling her forward to reach the dragon. He placed Alarra’s palm on Vhagar’s snout where his had been moments before.
Vhagar huffed, and Alarra tried to retreat her hand, but Aemond held it still.
“Easy girl.” Alarra didn’t know whether he was talking to her or the dragon.
“Gīda, Vhagar. Gīda.” Aemond leaned over Alarra’s frame, pressing her even closer to the dragon, and laid his forehead to one of Vhagar's scales.
The dragon's chest rumbled and she nudged back against him. Alarra’s hand twitched in Aemond’s grip under the shifting scales, but she made no move to pull it away.
“Vhagar, bisa iksos Alarra.” Vhagar, this is Alarra . Aemond pulled his forehead back and began running his hands, the free one and the one trapping Alarra in its grip, over the beast.
With the sound of his voice telling her to calm, Vhagar’s gaze shifted to her rider with a wary eye, and being out from under the dragon's gaze took a great deal of the weight from Alarra’s chest.
“R-Rytsas.” Alarra hesitantly addressed the dragon.
Aemond smiled appreciatively down at Alarra and let go of her hand. She kept it there on Vhagar’s snout though she stopped her stroking.
Alarra stayed frozen where Aemond left her waiting instruction on how to proceed while the dragonrider stepped out from behind her. Aemond stood under the edge of Vhagar's snout and held his arms out in what would have been a hug if the dragon were smaller.
Aemond's tone was soft as he spoke to his dragon. “īlon jāhor sagon ēdrure kesīr rūsīr ao.”
Alarra’s head whipped around and her hand fell in shock.
We will be staying with you tonight.
Aemond paid no mind to Alarra’s shock. addressing only his dragon. “ Ziry iksos aōha āeksio sir. Mīsagon zȳhon rȳ ry. ”
Treat her as your master as well. Protect her at all cost.
There was a pause of several moments before Vhagar’s gargantuan tail lifted from the sand and smacked back down. Whatever passed between Aemond and the dragon, he seemed to understand this as acceptance. “Thank you Vhagar.”
Aemond scooped up Alarra’s fallen hand and tugged her down Vhagar’s length away from her snout and towards her belly. “This should do for now,” Aemond said over his shoulder. “Sand is not as soft as a bed, but it is a far cry better than wandering the keep all night.”
Aemond let go of her and dropped down on the beach, looking up expectantly at Alarra.
Alarra remained standing above the prince staring down at him in stunned silence.
Aemond watched her shock for a long moment before he said. “You've said yourself Vhagar is the most fearsome creature in the world, Alarra. Yes?”
Alarra nodded numbly.
“Well?” Aemond gestured around them. Vhagar’s tail had flopped in a ring closer to her head, leaving the pair of them in a nearly perfectly closed loop encircled by the most powerful creature in existence. “I assure you anyone that makes it past Vhagar won’t make it past me.”
Alarra wasn’t bothered by that notion. No, she was fairly certain this was precisely what Daemon and his loyal guards frequently joked about as ‘overkill’ when discussing old battles. She didn’t feel safe in her room, and instead of suggesting she get to know her guards or offering her Criston for the night Aemond had taken her here, to a veritable fortress of his own making, safer than anything Maegor had ever built.
No, it wasn’t the threats outside of the circle that gave her pause. It was those within, or rather the lack thereof.
“Aemond…” Alarra remained on her feet even as he offered her a hand down into the sand. “Aemond…”
Aemond raised an eyebrow. “If it is being alone with me that causes hesitation, I can return for you before morning. Vhagar will keep you-”
“ Āeksio?” Master?
Something washed over Aemond then, trading the pause from Alarra to him.
Alarra spoke quietly, as though she was afraid someone would overhear what Aemond had just done. “Ao gīmigon skoros bona udir means. Ao daor gūrogon bona arlī.” You know what that word means. You know you cannot take it back.
Aemond’s brow furrowed. He seemed to think for a moment before deciding to respond, in equally flawless Valyrian. “Nyke jāhor daor jaelagon naejot.” I will not wish to.
Alarra, still as stunned as ever, took the hand he offered her then and followed him to the sands.
annaxmalina
pixelskylines
vaporwave
kianamaiart
blakekathryn
gummygunk
