valaena velaryon x aemond targaryen
Interspaced between the memories are the fantasies, the daydreams where she is on Grey Ghost’s back, soaring over the Citadel, turning it to flame as men scream in her wake. She pictures taking that dagger back from Aemond, slipping it between his ribs, twisting her wrist as his face remains unmoved in the face of the pain she would inflict upon him. She imagines presenting Alicent Hightower’s head to her mother on a silver platter.
Never has she been so wanton, so scared, so on the precipice of a choice that will shatter the foundations of her beliefs.
Would her brothers still love her if she became this person, the one who reveled in the blood, who said dracarys like some prayed to the Seven?
Aemond said he believes in her. Would he still believe in her if she shed the human skin and let the dragon inside take flight?
“I would never be able to stop,” Valaena admits, solemn and heavy in the now gentle rain. From here, she can count the eyelashes on Aemond’s eye, see the rivets in the sapphire making a mockery of his forfeited eye.
“Then don’t,” Aemond says simply. “I don’t want you to stop. I want you to unleash yourself.”
chapter 10 of the death of peace of mind by @lightningandfireinmybones