#anyway i love writing aemond being incompetent in certain things and i will be doing it more often

[thedeathofduty]

Motion Sickness

I hate you for what you did

And I miss you like a little kid

Summary: You went for a morning ride in the Kingswood, as you sometimes did when you were a young girl in King's Landing. Unfortunately, you'd barely enough time to enjoy your hard-earned solitude before Prince Aemond arrived and started trying to speak with you. Reluctantly, you agree to work with him to mend the bonds that were broken years ago.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Lannister!F!Reader

Word Count: 8,305 (I got a little carried away)

Warning(s): Mentions and very brief description of child abuse, detailed description of a fight between two kids (not the eye incident), vague references to sexual trauma (Aemond)

A/N: So in the canon, Aemond claims Vhagar and gets his eye cut out when he's 10 years old, but I decided to change things a bit here and make it so that it happened when he was about 12. I messed with the canon timeline a few times here and aged Aemond up (babygirl is ~22 here), but every other change is actually addressed in-text. Also, I'm not 100% sure what the technical difference is between and OC fic and a Reader fic, but I am definitely on that line here. If anyone has an actual answer to that conundrum for me, please DM me and explain it to me, I am desperate to understand. I've been editing this as I go, but there might still be a few issues, so just be forewarned.

Though it had been close to ten years since you had ridden your white mare down this twisted path in the Kingswood, you found that the memory of it was deeper than you thought. Despite the years, you still knew where to turn, where to slow down, and where to duck your head so a stray branch would miss your face. You'd been gifted Nymeria at the tender age of only twelve and, now as you were a young woman of twenty-two years of age, she was every bit an extension of you as the short nails just barely peeking past your fingertips and the golden braid bouncing off your back as you galloped through the forest.

The crisp morning air nipped at your flushed cheeks and your steady breaths came out of your mouth in thick clouds. You were grateful you had not left your riding gloves in your chambers or else you knew your fingers would be too stiff. As the trees around you thinned, you tugged on the reins and brought Nymeria to a slow walk. Soon enough, the two of you reached your destination: the apex of the little rivers that ran through the Kingswood. As a girl, you had loved this place, though you'd only laid eyes on it a mere handful of times. Back then, you had been too young to go out riding on your own as often as you did now.

You jumped down from Nymeria's saddle, your muddy riding boots crunching in the pebbles below. The soothing murmur of the water was a balm on your senses after the extravagant feast you'd been forced to attend the night before. With a deep breath, you led your horse to a nearby tree and hastily tied her there with the soft rope you'd grabbed from the stables in the Red Keep.

"Here you go, sweet girl," you crooned, petting her under her chin as she usually liked. After planting a kiss on her dark gray snout, you grabbed your book of poems from her saddlebags and wandered off to sit near the edge of the small river. It was shallow, barely a river at all, and perfectly clear. From your spot on the bank, you saw a few peach-colored fish swimming against the gentle current. Around you was the sound of a cool breeze stirring the tops of the trees, the rising chirping of morning larks, and a faint crunching off in the distance. It was far enough that you could ignore it for now.

You settled into your seat, balancing your book in your lap and humming contentedly as your face slowly warmed with the clear sunlight. With the cold still nibbling at you, the light did not feel golden so much as it did silver. Almost like moonlight. You wanted to truly soak in every moment you had left alone out here. After the unfortunate journey to King's Landing from Casterly Rock, then that overwhelming feast last night, you were desperate to have some time to collect yourself. It would inevitably be interrupted, though.

The crunching in the distance got closer and you could feel the pounding of hooves through the earth beneath you. You sighed, already pushing yourself up to stand as the sound behind you came to an awkward halt.

"Prince Aemond," you said, not even bothering to turn towards him as he struggled to get his horse to stop completely. He had always been a clumsy rider, at least when it came to horses. You hoped for the sake of the realm that he was better with his dragon. "It is both a pleasure and an honor to see you again." You refused to look at him until he had finally dismounted, considering it a great mercy on your part. As a child, he had fallen out of his saddle enough times that any attempts to help him would just infuriate him. Granted, he had been much smaller back then, bigger only than Princess Rhaenyra's second son.

When you did fix your gaze on him, it was without a warmer greet or even a smile, just your hands clasped together in front of you over your book and your chin held high. His riding boots were cleaner than yours and still held some shine, unlike yours, which had been dull and scuffed for some time now. Just as he had been the previous night, he was clad entirely in black. His thick overcoat had little splashes of mud along the bottom and the sight of it did admittedly cause your lips to curl a bit. He was fixing his eye patch, trying to adjust the strap over his windswept hair with one hand while the other held tight to the reins of his dark horse. Unlike you, he had forgotten his riding gloves.

"It did not seem to be either last night, Lady Y/N." His eye met yours and you snorted, shaking your head in disbelief.

He was referring, of course, to your refusal to dance with him. Given the farewell he had gifted you before you left King's Landing nine years ago, he should hardly have been surprised at your cold demeanor. It was, in truth, because of his harsh farewell that you and your family had been compelled to leave. After the way he had treated you, it was clear he no longer wanted you and so the royal family had no use for you and your ilk either. To say your father had been cross would be entirely inaccurate. No, he had been well and truly raging, swearing to the gods that you must have done something to displease the Prince.

You had, though you never shared it with him. Your mother, at least, had been kind to you in those early years, even as you pulled away from her. No matter how kind she was, though, or how close you sometimes felt to any of your sisters, you never told any of them the truth of it.

"I was weary from my travels and did not wish to be paraded around like a jester." It was not a complete lie. You probably would have danced with someone else, if a desirable hand had been offered to you. Prince Aemond's hand, however, was little more than an insult, a thick glob of spit in your left eye. "Come," you sighed, walking towards him and grabbing the reins from his hand. This close to him, you could feel how warm he must be under his layers of thick clothing. He was standing rigidly like a little wooden toy. "I will fasten your horse."

You redid your rope tie for Nymeria so it could hold both, smoothing another hand over your mare's soft face before putting your book away. Maybe you would have the opportunity to read later, but you doubted the Prince had lowered himself to come out here just to sit in silence with you. Though you were not eager to, you would listen to him. He was more than just your childhood companion now. He was the King's younger brother and possible heir to the throne.

"There are matters," Prince Aemond paused, rubbing his hands together before balling them into stiff fists at his sides, "matters we must discuss." He was having a hard time meeting your eyes, only being able to meet your gaze for a brief moment before looking away again.

"And what matters are those, Prince Aemond?"

"The manner of your return to King's Landing."

"Well, I came mostly on horseback, but whenever I grew tired, I rode in the carriage with my mother and sister." You offered him a cheeky smile as he sighed wearily and rolled his eyes.

"Gods, you are still just an intolerable as you were when we were children."

Intolerable? And yet he had spent nearly all of his time with you as a boy? Oh yes, that sounded quite reasonable. You crossed your arms over your chest, forearms digging into the golden lion's head clasps in your crimson riding coat. "Perhaps you would find me more tolerable if I was simply able to divine your motives for questioning me. Alas, I cannot."

He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath before speaking. "It has been many years since we have last seen each other. I am simply trying to get reacquainted."

On your last day in King's Landing, you had woken up before the sun and scrawled out a simple note asking him to meet you in the courtyard when he awoke if he wished to speak. With a thundering heart, you had given the folded paper to Ser Criston who stood guarding the door to Prince Aemond's chambers. He had promised to pass on your message, though he could scarcely look you in the eye.

Your family had planned to leave as the sun set to avoid the heat. He'd had all day to respond and to speak with you, but he had chosen not to even send a response. All you had wanted to do was apologize to him, but you knew now as a woman that you truly had nothing for which to apologize. In truth, what you had been feeling back then was a deep sense of shame and guilt for having hurt and angered the Prince as much as you had, but it had not been your fault.

You uncrossed your arms with a heavy sigh. "What is it you wish to know?" He pulled his hand away from his face.

"Did your parents tell you why you've returned?"

You shrugged. "In truth, I can see a few reasons why my family has dragged me back to this circus. There may be a war coming, after all."

"The Princess accepted our terms."

You smiled at him with feigned pity. "The Princess, yes, but what of her husband? Do you think they call him the Rogue Prince for his mild disposition and penchant for peace? Perhaps he'll kill her, return to King's Landing on dragonback, and burn the whole thing to the ground under cover of night."

He visibly swallowed, his pale neck bobbing. "Perhaps. But I doubt it."

"Let us hope you are correct, Prince Aemond."

He squared his shoulders and stood up straight, towering at his full height. There was enough distance between you that you did not feel dwarfed by him, but you knew it would be different if he were close enough to touch. As children, you had been the taller one for a time, until you stopped growing. When he had asked you to dance last night, your neck had actually hurt a bit at the strain of looking up at him. Your heart had been in your throat, breath hitching at the way the orange light in the grand hall danced on the side of his chiseled face. Prince Aemond was truly a man now, and the sight of him so grown twisted your insides.

"My brother is King now," he declared and you nodded with a slight smile on your face. "There are few who would dare stand against us."

If war was not an immediate concern, there was only one other reason for your family's return that seemed feasible to you. As a girl, you had been promised to the Prince who now stood before you, but the betrothal had been broken shortly after the loss of his eye. To this day, you were not sure who had finally decided to sever that tie. You only knew that before Prince Aemond left for his cousin's funeral on Driftmark, you were betrothed to him, and then a mere fortnight after his return, your father was screaming at you with his large fist in your hair, demanding to know what you had done wrong as your mother corralled your youngest sister out of the room. A lady only in station, as your mother often said of you, you refused to cower or cry whenever he flew into one of his rages. He was your Lord Father and you were the first in a line of five daughters, and the least ladylike girl at court. Was it any surprise he was often angry with you? In his eyes, you were his first failure as a man. Even with that, you were the only one of his daughters to inherit his temperament.

"Hm, then perhaps we are to be married off just as when we were children."

He wet his lips. "Does this displease you?"

"Oh, yes. Deeply." Something stirred in your chest then, some deep threatening rumble. Prince Aemond had written to you for years after your return to Casterly Rock and you devoured each and every word he wrote, but never once did he impart upon you the words you had wanted to read most of all. For two years now, he had stopped, and you would be lying if you said the loss had not broken your heart anew. "To be married to a man so proud and self-satisfied that he cannot even apologize?" You chuckled cheerlessly. "Gods, how unfortunate."

The atmosphere between the two of you grew heavy and oppressive. It seemed as though the trees around you were leaning closer to catch every single word exchanged. The water rushing behind the man in front of you grew louder, or maybe you were the one growing more tense and ready to strike back if he raised a hand to you out here.

His nostrils flared. "I was a child, Y/N."

"So was I," you hissed, jabbing a finger into your chest and baring your teeth at him. "You promised me that-"

"When you saw what had been done to me, you looked at me with so much-"

"I was devastated, Aemond!" Gods, your voice sounded so wild and shrill even to your own ears. You felt yourself get hot, tears coming to life in your clear eyes as you desperately blinked them away.

His mouth curled downwards in disgust. "Yes, I am aware of what you thought of the sorry state I was in."

You glared at him, your body vibrating as you fought to keep it in place. "Oh, and what is that exactly?"

When he spoke to you, he looked you up and down as if you were covered in manure and offending him just by being where he could see you. "That my deformity would shame you and your family, that I was incomplete."

"You are such a fucking imbecile!" you bellowed, your scream echoing briefly and then being swallowed in the cold air. "You were ashamed, you felt incomplete!" You swung your arms in the air, aching to punch him in the face, to climb on top of him and strike him as he had you all those years ago.

When Aemond's hand had made contact with your cheek back then, you remembered feeling an absolute, resounding emptiness inside yourself for one eternal moment before he was on you again, making you howl in pain as he fought you with all the desperation of a wounded animal. Thankfully, the milk of the poppy the maesters had given him had weakened him. His tears were hot and thick as they landed on your face wet with your own tears. You had managed to claw at his hands and neck, slashing blindly to try to create space between your bodies.

When Ser Criston stormed in with his sword drawn, he immediately sheathed it and separated the writhing tangle of screams and violence the two of you had become. You were only thirteen at the time, but you felt so much younger as you cowered behind the knight's white cloak, clinging to the fabric with your hands wet with blood, snot, and tears. It took nearly an hour before you could stop shaking. The Prince was not supposed to have visitors so soon after his injury, but nobody would tell you what had happen and you had gotten curious, so you had scaled the tall tree outside his chambers and climbed in through the open window. How you had grown to regret that curiosity...

You were both trembling in front of each other now, your legs and arms feeling like they were filled with tight copper coils. What would happen if you were to release that tension? Would you really attack the Prince? Would he attack you? More importantly, did he not deserve your ire, your ferocity, and your violence?

"You knew about the sort of man my father was," you said in a low voice, "And you..." You pointed an accusatory finger at Aemond and he flinched, looking at his shiny boots briefly before meeting your gaze again. "You promised me you would never raise a hand to me. You promised me that violence was not an inevitability. We were both children back then, yes, but were you still a child when you stopped writing to me?"

"Oh, spare me the theatrics," he groaned, "you never even wrote back!"

"I was waiting for an apology! Just one. That was all I wanted, all I would have needed. I know you were in pain, that you were not yourself, and I can forgive that. But I cannot forgive this lack of an apology."

"Did it ever occur to you that I was too ashamed to ask for your forgiveness?"

"Did it ever occur to you that I looked at you the way I did when I saw what that boy had done to you because it pained me to see you that way?" Neither of you said anything for a few long moments before you continued. "Nobody would tell me what was going on. All I knew was that you were not to be allowed any visitors, not even me. I begged your brother and sister to share their knowledge with me, but even Aegon kept the secret." You rubbed your arms as you felt yourself start shaking. Whether it was from the wind rushing through the clearing or the emotions surging through your body, you were unsure. "You were my only true friend in this ridiculous place and I was afraid for you and when I showed you my fear, you punished me for it. And then you never once offered any sort of apology, you just continued living your life and writing me those stupid fucking letters."

Guilt settled onto his pained face as he pursed his lips. "I am sorry, Y/N. Hurting you like that, it has been my biggest shame."

His words were like a lance through your heart. Why could he not have written that to you years ago? You shook your head, blinking away more tears as they twinkled in your vision. "I don't want it anymore. You had years for that, Aemond." Your lower lip trembled and you turned away, placing your hands flat on Nymeria's flank and focusing for a moment just on matching her breathing. It was an exercise you had tried for the first time after an explosive fight with your father and it was now one of the few things that could ground you when you were in genuine distress.

"What must I do to earn your forgiveness? Tell me, and it will be done. Please, Y/N, you were my friend as well. I wrote to you because I could not forget you."

You closed your eyes and pressed your forehead against your horse, your face rising and falling with her breathing.

When Aemond had allowed you to peek under his bandages to see the damage, his eye had been closed tightly. The angry cut underneath, coupled with the swelling, the thick black stitches, yes, it had all unnerved you. A deep primal feeling roared in your chest, a possessive need to both destroy and protect. You had never felt that way before. A sob had torn its way out of your throat, your eyes drowning in angry, impotent tears. If his own mother could not help him, what could you do? It seemed your look of horror and anguish was too close to disgust or, as was more likely, Aemond's own pain distorted your expression into one of pure revulsion.

It mattered little now. You had no marks anywhere on your person from that unfortunate day, not from Aemond or from your father. If nothing else, you were thankful for that. You never climbed again, having more than learned your lesson about curiosity and how little you stood to benefit from it.

You turned to him again, your heart clenching at the sight of his open, unguarded stare. "You broke my heart," you said simply, "but I read every letter. I wanted so badly to know that you were all right. What I wanted then was to protect you."

"You wanted to protect me?"

You nodded. "Do you not ever feel that way for someone in your life? The desire to defy time, to go back, and be there when they needed you most?"

"I often feel that way for my mother and sister, and... for you. Cole gave me your note that day, though..."

"You did not read it."

"I did not. What did it say?"

The years had washed away the specific words. "I wanted to see you in the courtyard before my family left. I had been hoping to beg for your forgiveness for having angered you so, and perhaps to salvage our betrothal. It's funny, I look back now and all I see is a scared little girl who just wanted her father so stop being mad at her. I am glad you did not come. I owed you no apology."

"You did not, I saw that even back then."

If only you had been able to see it, too.

You were the only one of your sisters to be born at Casterly Rock, but you had spent the vast majority of your life here in King's Landing. Your father traveled back and forth between the Rock and the Keep, leaving your uncle to look after the family in his stead. It was because of your uncle that you had even had the opportunity to meet Prince Aemond, his brother, and Princess Rhaenyra's sons in the training yard.

Your uncle did not care that you wore pants, thinking it to be a silly habit of childhood that you would willingly outgrow as you blossomed into a woman. He would be wrong, but freedom was always welcome. You had scaled the high stone walls around the training yard, carefully climbing up into the high branches of a tall tree to lounge in a cloud of bright green leaves and watch the boys practice. It was a few days before any of them even noticed you.

You had known Prince Aemond almost your entire life. The trust you'd had for him had been near-infinite before he hurt you. But you were a woman grown now. It had been nine long years since your departure and you had grown to understand why it had all happened the way it had. If Aemond understood that he had to earn your trust again and you understood why he reacted to you in such a cruel way, then what else was left but to continue in some simple way? If you knew your father at all, the reason he had dragged you back here was for a marriage pact.

"I think it is best to begin to make our peace with each other out here, away from prying eyes."

"Shall we say I left for Driftmark all those years ago and never returned?"

Your heart clenched. "It seems near enough to the truth to bring some comfort."

You both nodded, your bodies shuffling awkwardly before he broke the silence. "Shall we go for a ride?" You snorted when he gestured to the horses behind you. "What?"

"My Prince, it is not my wish to humiliate you."

"I'm not so bad."

"Some might find that to be just another way of saying you are not so good. Dragon riding and horseback riding are not the same. I cannot simply tell Nymeria to obey me and have it be done. She must know me first. It has nothing to do with me being worthy. I must earn her trust, her obedience, and her love everyday. What is your horse's name?"

He shrugged. "I haven't the faintest notion. He was the first horse I was able to find in the stables."

You nodded sagely. "Ah, so you are a fool." When he sputtered and opened his mouth to argue with you, you held your hands up with a laugh. "It is only a jape, my Prince! I would prefer to go for a walk along the water, if it pleases you."

In a few minutes, the two do you were walking side by side along the riverbank with your respective horses. When you looked down at your feet, you noticed that you and Prince were walking in step together and it brought a faint smile to your lips. You had missed him for many years, those letters he sent you making it near impossible to move on. After two full years without them, you had declared yourself cured of any affection for or attachment to the man beside you, but it was clear to you now that you had been deluding yourself. All your emotions had just been pushed into the darkest depths of your heart and being around him again brought sent them floating back to the surface.

"Is it true that you have an ever-burning blue flame under that eye patch?"

He snorted. "Obviously not. Is that what people are saying about me?"

"It's mostly just the women." You both smiled at each other. "You have striking features, it is no surprise you find yourself the subject of idle gossip."

"Was that a compliment?"

"Merely a neutral statement of truth, my Prince."

The apples of his cheeks were a dusty pink like the inside of a rose, but you were sure it was just the biting wind. "I must admit, my Lady, I never thought I would see you in a dress." At the mention of it, your ears burned red and hot like irons in a fire. You only wore dresses when your Lady Mother demanded it of you. Whatever your differences, you knew everything about you reflected on your house and it was not your desire to have a relationship with her that was full of constant strife. Because of that, you had acquiesced and worn the uncomfortable, form-fitting dress your mother had presented for you.

It was pretty. The fabric was a deep crimson and it hugged your curves, exposing you in a way that make you feel weak and irritable. Your breasts bulged over the top with every inhale, so you'd hunched your shoulders to try to hide it. Your mother had noticed, though, and corrected you with a firm hand on your back. Your bare neck and shoulders felt too much like an invitation to you and, as you'd expected, more men let their gazes linger on every bit of exposed skin and even worked up the nerve to speak with you. Of course your appearance emboldened them. You'd felt like a prey animal lost in the woods, naked and trembling in the breeze.

When you retired to your chambers last night, you had the servants draw you a hot bath and practically ripped the dress off your body. It seemed to cling to you like a desperate lover, but you took great pleasure in throwing it on the floor, along with your dainty golden rings, your ruby earrings, and the thin chain one of the servants had wound into your braids. You were not a doll, not a decoration, not a flower. You were a lion.

"My Lady Mother has me very well trained." If you so much as suggested wearing pants to any sort of gathering, she would immediately start wailing about how you did not love her and lived every moment of your life as a ploy to personally humiliate her and destroy your father's standing. After a few years, it became tiring to constantly be accused of plotting to overthrow your own house, and you learned to simply smile and wear a dress for a few hours.

"Hm, I thought it would be your father."

"No, he only demanded I dance with you, but I told him I would sooner put my neck on the executioner's block than agree to that. He told me he could arrange for it if I truly wanted it." The fights you had with your father now frequently bordered on the ridiculous.

"So you and your father still fight."

After your return from Essos six moons ago, it was not infrequent for him to threaten to cut out your tongue if you spoke out of turn, to which you would respond with a similar threat to his manhood. Whatever fear you'd had of him had worn away throughout the years, finally fading into nothing after your travels.

"Not as much. Maybe he's grown bored of the constant struggle, but my mother has taken up the mantle for him. I suppose that is what marriage is all about: sharing burdens. In truth, I do not believe the gods fashioned me for that."

"The gods fashioned us for love." You bit your lip to keep from laughing. Aemond had always been the pious sort, forever dutiful and tangled in his mother's skirts. It seemed time had not changed that, and it endeared you to him.

"Love, perhaps, but marriage? Childrearing? Do you truly see yourself in that?"

"I have always known it was my destiny to be married off to a Lady of a Great House and have children with her."

"But is it what you want?"

"I do not think those in our position can ask those sorts of questions. It is my duty, so it will be done. It is your duty as well. We should see ourselves as lucky that we have been able to outrun fate as long as we have."

You hummed, looking up towards the muted sunlight streaming through the tops of the trees around you. "An easy thing for you to say, my Prince, when you will never have to face the threat of bleeding to death in a birthing bed. Were we to have children, I would be the wound and you the knife."

"It needn't be that way," he said softly and you looked at him curiously. "A child can grow strong without a father, but he needs his mother. I would never risk that."

"So if it came down to it, you would not cut me open to save the babe?" It was a bold question, yes, but a necessary one. You had a right to know if your Lord Husband planned to kill you someday. If nothing else, you could make better use of your remaining time alive.

"Never."

You knew most men, considering the wife's use to be at its end, would kill her to keep the son. Your own grandsire had done it to his first wife and had even boasted about his unflinching, steadfast commitment to having an heir. What a barbarian. When he finally died and your father was named the new Lord of Casterly Rock, your cheeks had hurt from how much you grinned at his funeral.

You gifted Aemond an affectionate smile, looking back down at your feet still marching in step together when he gazed back at you. "If you are being truthful, then you are a unique man indeed, peerless and without equal."

"You are kind, my Lady."

You let silence fill the space between your bodies, listening to the crunch of grass and pebbles beneath your boots as you walked together. The river felt even quieter now, a mere whisper in your ear. The sun was settling into its spot high in the sky, the light hitting you now closer to gold than silver. Though the day was still cold, you were starting to grow a touch too warm under your coat.

"What have you done with yourself these past few years?" You turned your head to Aemond in surprise. Curiosity was normal, you supposed, but it still confounded you. "You never answered my letters, so I was left to piece together gossip and tell myself stories."

"In truth, there is little to share. After my return to Casterly Rock, my relationship with my father was... difficult to manage, at first. I often felt that he saw me as little more than a failed son, but he grew to accept me in his own way. He allowed me to train with the sword, and to study nearly whatever I wished."

"You are fortunate. Perhaps when we return to the Red Keep, we can explore the library together." You could not help but grin sheepishly at his invitation, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel young and girlish. "You can show me your book, if you'd like."

"I would like that very much. I am afraid I do not have many peers. Though I love my sisters, we do not understand each other."

It felt as though your sisters and your mother all lived in their own world and had their own language-the language of girls, you'd heard it be called. Whatever it was, your tongue could not shape any of the words. You had been born a girl, but you did not fit with them or with the men. Mostly, you fit only with yourself.

"I feel the same way with my brother. Though we are both men, that is where the similarities end." Aemond at least felt a strong kinship with the women in his family. You... Well.

You supposed you did feel a certain strength in the bond you had with your father now, a certain comfort you could never have hoped for as a child. When you returned from your travels, the two of you spoke at length about Aemond, since he had found your hidden cache of old letters. There was nothing indecent in them, nor was there any mention of what had happened in the Prince's room that fateful day, so you were not punished for keeping the secret.

The two of you were in his study, where he managed the taxes and most of the trade out of Lannisport. For the first time in your life, you were sharing a pitcher of wine with him. 'It seems the boy still holds a torch for you, so why have you not answered him?'

'If he truly wanted me,' you'd said, swishing your drink around in its cup absently, 'he would have ridden his dragon out here to speak with me himself. These letters are nothing but the words of a craven masquerading as a romantic.'

He had leaned his head back then, and looked down his nose at you with a curious glint in his eye, as if he was regarding you for the very first time. The next morning, he gave you a present: a golden ring just like his but smaller. It was a signet ring with the Lannister crest on it held in the mouth of a lion with bright ruby eyes. Unless you were unable to wear it, it never left your hand.

"Yes, you and I have always been alike. Both dragonless."

"Both lonesome."

Your chest tightened at the memories his words brought back: memories of the rejection you had both faced for the ways you were different, but also of the comfort you had been able to find with each other. Mostly, you fit only with yourself, yes, but you had once fit with Aemond as well.

"You stopped writing to me," you grumbled. "I left Westeros with a cousin of mine for a time and upon my return, I expected a stack of letters to be waiting for me. To my surprise, there were only a few. Did you stop because I did not answer?"

"In part, yes."

"And the other part?" you pressed.

"I met a woman." Stupidly, you felt your mood sour, a bitter taste coating your tongue. Silly though it may be, some part of you imagined him to have been loveless and celibate all these years as a form of penance for you. The fact that he had well and truly gone on to live a life without you felt so indecent and wrong. Of course, you were being hypocritical. You, too, had lived your own life.

"Oh? May I ask her name?"

"You may not." Shame spread through your chest like spilled ink on parchment. "She is gone now anyway, and the less said about her, the better."

"She was not good to you?"

He hesitated before speaking. "She was lowborn, a witch, and a bastard."

You gaped at him. "Oh my. Your mother must not have liked that."

"No, she was furious with me." He sighed. "Looking back on my indiscretions now, I just feel foolish. Never in my right mind would I have pursued someone like that woman."

"But you did pursue her."

"She chose me, I did not choose her."

Slowly, you worked to complete the puzzle he was laying out for you. If he could speak plainly, it would be easier. "I'm afraid I don't understand."

He gave an exasperated sigh, twisting his mouth. "She bewitched me somehow, Y/N," he said slowly as if he were explaining the mixing of colors to a child, "I do not know how, but I know I was not myself. When I finally left her to return home, it was as though a great fog had been lifted from my mind and I could see her clearly again. By then, it was too late."

"Too-"

"But you needn't worry about her. My grandsire helped to secure her and her son safe passage to one of the Free Cities. I did not ask which one." You stopped walking abruptly, your eyebrows furrowed in frustration. After a few steps, he too stopped and turned to face you. "Is something wrong?"

"Her son or your son?" He didn't answer. "Aemond. Did the child look like you?"

His gaze turned upwards, towards the sky, the trees, the gods. Away from you. "He was my son, yes. I don't know where she is now, but I hope never to see her again."

You smacked your lips together, rolling your eyes. It was true that jealousy was likely muddying your thoughts, but you could not help but feel anger towards him for sullying that unnamed woman's honor with a bastard child and then washing his hands of her so carelessly. Otto Hightower was an intimidating man with a steady, calculating gaze. As a child, you had been so scared of him that you could never even look him in the eye, much less speak to him. If he was intelligent, he had sent assassins to clean the Prince's mess instead of allowing her to flee to the east. It was what you would do.

It was more likely that the girl and her bastard son were cut from ear to ear and dumped in a river than that they were living a peaceful life in a manse on the coast of Pentos. Of course, if the Prince wanted to continue to delude himself, you would let him. The fantasy likely served as a way to ease a guilty conscience and, though you were unfamiliar with that feeling as a woman, you remembered it from your girlhood.

"I hope he sent her to Myr," you finally said and at your words, his body visibly relaxed, "I spent a few months there and I found it to be quite beautiful. The beaches are lovely at night."

"You will have to tell me about it, my Lady. I have never been to the Free Cities."

"That is very unfortunate, my Prince. Travelling broadens the mind and strengthens the spirit."

"If that is all it does, I've no need for it. I see enough of the world from atop Vhagar."

"You lack imagination, my Prince." Either that or he was afraid. You were not sure which option was pitiful and which deserving of sympathy. "Would you like me to regale you with stories of my travels? With a dragon, you could arrive in Pentos in mere hours. Perhaps my tales will light a fire in you and you will grow more adventurous."

"My last adventure ended with me as a witch's thrall," he muttered. Though the thorn of jealousy still pricked your chest, you softened at the bitterness in his voice. If the two of you were still children, this would be the moment where you reached out to take his hand or pulled him into a tight embrace until his breathing matched yours. Instead, you bit your lip and looked down at the dry grass below your feet.

"When I traveled with my cousin, I was rarely alone. We kept each other safe."

"Are you saying you would keep me safe?" There was a bemused smile on his face and the melody of his voice was soft like the song of a silver syrinx.

"I did tell you that I wanted to protect you when we were children. It appears you still need it." His eye swept over your face and down your body like a paintbrush over canvas. Though you tried, you could not help but squirm as he stared.

"How fortunate I am to have such a champion," he chuckled, gesturing for the two of you to keep walking. As you continued your aimless trek through the woods, you worked to swallow the pulsing lump in your throat. The day was warming up noticably now.

The Prince asked you about your studies and your time in the Free Cities, to which you responded with open enthusiasm. His blue eye sparkled in the warm sunlight like a precious jewel, the edges wrinkled by the easy smile on his lips. You knew you looked very much the same. The anger that had been bursting in your chest the night before was almost entirely forgotten as the two of you meandered back to where you had started.

Even on the other side of Planetos as you stood in the gardens of a lavish manse on the coast of the Narrow Sea in Pentos, your drooping eyes had been fixed on where you knew King's Landing to be on the horizon. For years, you had assumed the story you had begun to write with Aemond as a child was over, though you had not truly wanted it to be that way. A fantasy of him riding in on the dragon he had traded an eye for had filled your head with longing all that time. Despite all your various failings as a Lady, it seemed you still had some of the same dreams other women did: dreams of being a muse, of being love, desired, and adored completely, of being a home someone could return to and find comfort in. Though you had taken a few lovers during your travels, none truly moved you in the way you wanted.

You did not tell Aemond any of this. Instead, you simply answered the questions he asked you and offered him some of your own. Wherever his heart had lead him during your time apart, he was here with you now. If nothing else, you would have your friend back. You longed to reach a hand out and run your fingers along the strap of his eye patch, to slide it off his face and look upon him in a soft, restrained way.

Had his witch woman seen what lay beneath the dark leather? Had she been kind to him when he showed it to her? You hoped she had been, almost as much as you hoped he had not shown her. Despite the distance that had separated you all this time, he had remained in a class of his own in your mind. You wanted to cling to the idea that somehow, in some way, he had felt the same.

It was time to part and go back to the Red Keep and you were lingering, knowing you would immediately lose him the moment you starting riding. The sun was high in the sky now and you had unfastened all the ornate clasps in your coat to allow the breeze to cool you.

"Do you still wish to come to the library with me?"

"I do," you said. "I will bring my book of poems." You both swayed in place, unable to look at each other directly. "I suppose... we should ride back now, yes?"

"Yes," he murmured, but the moment you grabbed Nymeria's saddle, he spoke again, "wait. I... I have a question for you, so that I may understand what you hope to gain from this arrangement." His hands were flexing open and closed by his sides and you remembered the habit from childhood. He was nervous. When he noticed you looking at him hands, he hid them behind his back.

You dragged your eyes back up to his tense face. "What is your question?"

His face grew flushed and he opened his mouth once, twice, before finally asking, "did... did you think of me in our time apart?" His eye darted back and forth between yours, seemingly hoping to find the truth buried inside them.

There was a sharp tug in your chest, pulling you forward as you took a careful step towards him like you were approaching a frightened child. With your heart pounding the way it was, you very much felt like a frightened child. You cut the cord that was trapping you, allowing yourself to reach out to him slowly. If what he desired was to stop you, he had ample opportunity to do so, but he did not. With a shuddering breath, he allowed you to lay your hand on his cheek and cup the side of his face, the tip of your thumb brushing against the edge of his eye patch.

"I thought of you," you confessed, "long and often." Your eyes drifted down to his lips and the short breaths coming out of them.

As a girl, you had never kissed Aemond, though you had often wanted to as you both grew older. You considered it for a moment, tilting your mouth towards him so slightly, until you noticed the tension he was holding in his body, the way his breathing was still erratic, and how he could not seem to look at you. Gods, he looked terrified. This wasn't how you wanted it. A bit crestfallen, you retreated and granted him his space once more.

His hand darted out to grab yours in a grip so tight, it was nearly painful. "Aemond?" His eye was fixed on your joined hands, his hold loosening as his thumb gently glided over your knuckles. Just as suddenly as he had grabbed you, he released you. Something was wrong, though you could not venture a guess as to what it was. He seemed so brittle in front of you, like a thin shard of glass or a lone snowflake.

Silently, Aemond nodded once, as if steeling himself before his transformation. His shoulder squared at once, his hands carefully tucked behind his back, and an easy smile graced his lips without reaching his one blue eye. "My Lady," he stated as if reading off a bit of parchment, "I will meet you in the stables, so that we may walk to the library together."

Your skin bristled at his formal tone and you opened your mouth in protest, then thought better of it. "I look forward to it," you said with a tight smile. After giving him a polite nod, you climbed into Nymeria's saddle and charged forward without sparing him a glance.

The wind on your face was warmer now, but no less fragrant. Your stomach was in tight knots as you rode through the Kingswood, your heart filled with excitement, confusion, and embarrassment. You wished you could make some sense of it and just feel one thing then another, arranging your emotions in a neat column so they may be easier to digest.

Though Aemond still felt familiar to you, there were parts of him that were foreign and hidden. You did not know his witch woman's name or his son's or why he had seemed so timid and frightened just before you left. It was as if he was a home you had lived in your whole life, only for you to awake one morning and discover that someone had changed something in every room.

You hoped he could truly be your friend again. No, you knew he would if you were only to be given the time necessary to nurture that bond.

Your hands tightened on your reins as you quickened your pace.

After all these years, Aemond was to finally be your Lord Husband. There was a slight chance you were wrong, but you did not see the value in entertaining the possibility just for the sake of self-doubt. You knew your father, you understood the importance of your own house, and... Well, it was what you wanted. You were correct. You knew you were.

You and Aemond would have nothing but time to connect and explore. In time, he would once again be as familiar to you as the air in your lungs or your own face in the mirror. You could hardly wait.