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damndamsy · 1 month

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renegade | aemond targaryen x oc (part i)

When Aemma's deafening first cries pricked through the damp walls of a stormy morning in Dragonstone, nobody celebrated. Nobody was there to witness her birth but the wet nurses. Well, there was the young princess' seafaring father partially in his own revelry; striding across the floor with the babe in his arms, smiling so wide at his fordone wife, fresh out of her labours. You'd think the child was his own, the way he bounced the babe around and cooed at her in delight. Irregardless of the sallow shadow of silvery hair across the babe's head and her alarming brown eyes, Princess Rhaenyra of Dragonstone quelled her awaiting dread and stroked her first daughter's cheek. She brought the child close to her shivering lips and whispered in her ear: "My darling, Aemma."

Now you must understand why Princess Rhaenyra had rushed off to her birthplace with her newly betrothed in tow, and it is quite apt to assume that it was to douse the fire surrounding Aemma's birth. In no more than a month, King's Landing beckoned, and they answered. They answered with haste, bearing the 'evidence' of their alleged consummation. A testament of royal blood.

During Aemma's younger years in the Red Keep, she was constantly under the aegis of her doting mother. Aemma was to be the heir to the throne, but Her Grace never shared the certainty. That babe's eyes and olive skin shared the likeness to that of a certain Dornish Commander of the Queensguard. However it happened, Ser Criston Cole, Princess Rhaenyra's now turned most resentful of foes, was heard in a profound argument with the princess. It is claimed that they rowed over Aemma's paternal lineage; Ser Criston named her a 'vindictive whore' and her daughter a 'nameless nobody'.

That night, in the nursery of the Red Keep, the pregnant Princess of Dragonstone brushed her daughter's hair. Each stroke of the brush was careful and thoughtful, masking the shudder in her hands and the anxiety in her eyes.

"You're only mine," Rhaenyra vowed, kissing her hair. "No matter who you look like."

"I look like you, mummy," Aemma said.

"And that is enough."

Aemma was little, smaller than the other princes and princesses in the castle, and unlike the others, her dragon egg remained unhatched for the longest time until they deemed it futile to warm. The princess didn't stay disconsolate, she found herself another egg from Syrax's newest clutch, but the same fate followed. Perhaps that's why no one truly believed her to be Targaryen—what was countenance and complexion compared to the true blood of the dragon?

Instead, Aemma became proficient in wandering off, beyond the walls of the Red Keep, and toward the woods surrounding the Kingsroad. She often liked to collect pebbles by the beach, catch frogs near puddles, fashion a fishing rod out of stick and string, and sketch out oddities she would witness in her galavants. Vines, leaves, spiders, rabbit, hart; she seemed to make more friends outside the palace than within. She would steal maps from the Keep's archives and make off into her room, imprinting her own onto books using ink.

It was Ser Criston who caught the six-year-old princess red-handed as she attempted to slip away with her maps while her brothers trained in the courtyard. He shook her arm severely, nearly snapping Aemma's neck.

"Little cunt. I knew you would be the bane of me," he had hissed at her. Aemma let out a scared shriek, stumbling to keep up with the knight's fleet-footed steps back into the Keep.

"I beg of you, Ser Criston. I won't do it again," Aemma had wept to him. "Please, ser—"

"What is the meaning of this, Cole?" It was Ser Harwin Strong who had interfered with their hasty retreat. Using this as an upper hand, Aemma wrenched her arm out of Ser Criston's grip and bolted to Ser Harwin's side with tears in her eyes.

"It's alright, princess," Ser Harwin soothed her, lifting her up into his arms and cradling her close. "Let's get you to your mother."

"A perfect addition to your Strong brood," Cole remarked insidiously as Ser Harwin turned to leave.

Ser Harwin smirked. "Were it not for her Dornish charm."

This silenced the knight altogether. Since then, the young princess spoke of this incident to no one and kept clear of the menacing Ser Criston Cole. She did have a newfound admiration for Ser Harwin Strong.

Aemma settled in watching as her uncles and brothers grew up, nestling their eggs and nurturing their hatchlings, understanding High Valyrian to take to the skies, all the while making concessions with the direwolf pup Ser Laenor had gifted her on her sixth name day. A grey-backed runt, most comparable to her father's war-hardened dragon, Seasmoke. Hence, named Seasmoke. He had gone through many hardships to bring the pup within the castle walls.

"But this Seasmoke doesn't fly," Aemma murmured, scratching the wolf's ears.

Laenor ruffled her hair. "You and I both wish he did, my love."

She tilted her head at the animal that curled up on her father's lap. "Does he at least breathe fire?"

Laenor pushed out his lip in confusion. "Ser Qarl tells me that once he's fully grown, he can run faster than any horse you've ever seen. And he'll be almost as big as one, too."

She frowned. "How is that better than dragon-riding?"

"Until then, he has much love to offer instead," he pacified, laughing. "Won't that be nice? I hear this Seasmoke can fit beside your pillow. Guard you through the dusk like your own furry knight."

Aemma laughed with her father. "I suppose. I can share him with Aemond," she resolved, lifting her new companion into her arms. "He doesn't have a dragon either. He has it worse, you know. Aegon and Jace are so cruel to him in the dragonpits."

"That's a terrific idea." Laenor touched her nose. "Your prince would love the company, too."

Laenor wasn't surprised, those two had been joined at the hip for a few good years now. They were shields of the other, covering for each other's mischiefs around the Red Keep. While Rhaenyra kept a weather eye on Queen Alicent's second son, Laenor chalked up their relationship to innocent camaraderie. He couldn't stand seeing Aemma isolated—of course, Halaena was around her, but never really there—as Laenor himself had been subject to such hostility from his close kin occasionally.

As for Aemma, her nearest and dearest had become Aemond Targaryen. She was fiercely protective of him, walking about as his own living shadow. She didn't know if he felt that way about her, but Aemond secretly vowed he would take an arrow in his heart for her. It was these two lonesome, dragon-less riders against the world. And Aemma was satisfied with the state of things.

Together, they'd seek adventures of their own. Mischiefs, more like. The prince and princess were always up to no good. Aemma was always the silent instigator.

"Disgusting," Aemond would say when Aemma caught him a frog from a puddle in the forest. He had followed her out of pure curiosity, wondering where she was always disappearing off to.

"What if it's venomous?"

She pushed the wriggling frog under his nose and he fell back into some leaves in fright. "This one? This little thing?"

"Aemma!" he hissed.

She giggled, sitting by him to appease him. "She's harmless. I've seen a bunch of her family hopping about, around here."

He launched a fistful of crackling leaves into her face. "You did that on purpose!"

She gasped, laughing at him, before launching her own attack. He laughed with her, and this time, he caught her in his arms and hauled her to the ground, uncaring of the dirt.

She spat out a leaf that got in her mouth, shuddering and coughing. "If I take to my bed again, my mother will be furious."

"Don't worry, I'll defend you."

He panted out another laugh, then took notice of the muck that spoiled the cream of her skirts. He reached out to wipe them off whilst she burrowed the frog into her chest. It was always Aemond who kept his wits about the situation, making it his responsibility to keep her safe.

In turn to her companionship, Aemond would catch Aemma fireflies to keep by her pillow, press her flowers between his favourite books, and endeavour to teach her Valyrian, hoping it would become a secret language between them. Alas, she was quite hopeless.

She stuttered her words, quietly adding the words in syllables. "Aenar se Exile... gūrotan Zaldrīzesdōron... ēlī." (Aenar the Exile first staked his claim on Dragonstone.)

"Zaldrīzes," Aemond repeated for her. "Roll your tongue."

She stuck it out at him playfully. In turn, he chucked her chin, making her chomp her teeth into the muscle.

"Ow!"

"Valyrīha iksis īlva ānogar," he told her gravely. "You are obliged to learn it." (Valyria is our blood.)

She slammed the book close, dropping her head over the cover. "And I will. It's simply too tedious."

On another night, the young princess showed up in Aemond's chambers, the entrance to the Maegor's tunnels wide open behind her insolent smile. The tunnels were easy to wrest in and out of, especially with the two of them sneaking away to train Seasmoke together and feasting over looted lemon cakes.

Aemma had a dirtied hat and shirt for him to change into, and a palm to clutch safely while they embarked into smallfolk's King's Landing. You would think these two had an ounce of fear in them, at least of their parents, but they had gotten so used to getting away with anything.

"Are you sure this is the way?" An uneasy Aemond asked for the third time as they crossed the intersection of an alleyway.

The streets were unlit and overcast, but her mischievous giggle gleamed the way. "Let's wander a bit. I heard they've brought in your favourite dragon peppers from far across Dorne tonight. I want us to try it before any of our kin."

Aemond gulped and grasped her arm tighter. But he would never back down, he cherished these little misdeeds with her. "I'll keep a lookout. One sight from the Kingsguard, and we're doomed."

And that's how they spent the hour of the owl; trading a few coppers for hot dragon peppers, a mug of ale and a bag of dry fruits. Tiptoeing out of sight and around the white cloaks, they snuck away to the walls that overlooked the Blackwater Bay in the Red Keep. Carefully climbing atop the shorter rocks, they balanced each other side by side and soaked up the saline breezy, seafoam washing up near their feet. Aemma stayed with her reflections, munching on dates while Aemond threw the pits of the dry fruits as far as he could.

"When we are older, do you think my father will wed us?" Aemond abruptly asked, wistful.

Aemma popped her lips around the pit of the fruit. "If we say no, they won't."

He looked at her, his heart dropping like a hard rock to his stomach. "Why would we say no?"

She simply snorted a giggle.

"Do you not think I will take care of you?" He pointed to the crescent moon far above the waves. "If you said it, I'd bring that moon into your palms. I'd buy all the fruits in the world for you. Dragon peppers, too."

She scrunched her nose and passed him the clean pit. He tossed it further into the sea. "It's not that. Then we'll have to stay here forever. I don't want that."

He frowned. "Why not? We could be married evermore and live on our own."

"Yes, but... I want to travel the world on dragonback, like Aegon the Conqueror," she told him, smiling. She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Can you imagine it? You, me, our dragon... we'll feast to our hearts' content, wear anything we'd like, sleep in tents, row boats in the seas, visit the wonders—it'll be exciting!"

He didn't like it one bit, but he entertained the thought for her. He wouldn't dare try and pilfer the excitement out of her. "It does sound incredible. But as a princess—as your mother's heir—your duties are here. To the realm and the throne."

She stuck her tongue out in dismissal. "Ugh. Mother and Jace can do it. It's all he talks about anyway. The Iron Throne and the power to who wields it."

Aemma didn't catch the glint in Aemond's eye at the mention of the throne. "Ah, but you don't have a dragon."

"We will find one," she corrected, tousling Aemond's hair. "Where's your sense of adventure, my friend?"

He fought off her arm with a playful smile. "You'll get me in heaps of trouble one day."

That day came sooner than expected. It was Aemma who was at the forefront, her thrill-seeking and intrepid attitude stemming from the roots of her mother's youth, and now taking form in the quiet but unafraid girl she was now.

"Did you hear? There's an unclaimed dragon in the pits. My father says that she's as old as the Conqueror," Aemma whispered to Aemond while their families broke fast together. Aemma was supposed to be seated next to Jace by her mother, but the moment she laid eyes on Aemond, she didn't budge from his side.

Aemond listened, nodding, and didn't spare her a look. His mother, Her Grace, had warned him about the gossip of his half-sister's illegitimacies.

Aemma tugged on his arm to get his attention. "I'll come with you later. You must try."

He eventually peeked at her, then at her hand—her bronze skin and his pale complexion didn't quite league together. Aemma was a bright soul at almost ten years old, frustratingly tenacious enough to remain that way heedless of the vindictive gossip of her true birth. She was unrelenting when it came to her cause, and Aemond was pleased to know he was one of them.

He managed a smile at her, passing it as polite in front of his mother. "Or rather you should try, princess."

She clucked her tongue, popping a blueberry in her mouth. "She's not for me. I'll know when I see mine... I'll stick to my Seasmoke for now."

"I can't believe you let that beast sleep next to you. He's gotten too large for your bed," Aemond whispered, laughing.

"Barely," she giggled.

Seasmoke the wolf had grown into a mighty animal in a mere three years, warmly domesticated by Aemma. For his humungous size, you'd expect a war-hardened hero, but he was a pup in Aemma's eyes.

Aemond and Aemma did attempt to sneak into the dragon pits to claim Dreamfyre later that night, only for them to be scared witless by the ferocity of dragon fire and her sheer size, and bolting to the exit in screams, covered in soot and dust. Caught by the guards, they were sent to the royal chambers where Queen Alicent and Princess Rhaenyra waited for them, bearing fear for their children's lives.

"Seven hells, Em," the princess breathed in relief, taking her into an embrace. "You gave me a fright. Are you hurt?" She rubbed at the black soot on her cheeks and throat. Her mother's eyes swam in unshed tears. "What were you thinking? Going into the dragonpit alone! You could've died!"

"I wanted Aemond to claim a dragon," she quietly told her mother. "I'm sorry, mummy."

"Oh, Aemma," the princess whispered, kissing her head until she was sure that this wasn't a dream. "You're safe now."

"She has put the prince's life at risk with this lark of hers," Her Grace disputed, a restrictive arm around Aemond.

"I insisted, mother," the young prince tried to intervene. "It wasn't her fault."

"I am to blame," Aemma pleaded, shaking her head. "I apologize for my behaviour, your Grace. It is inexcusable."

"The princess is naive to a fault," Aemond hissed. "I talked her into coming with me."

"No, I did!"

"It was me!"

"Aemond—!"

"Enough!" Queen Alicent exclaimed, her hands fists at her sides. "I've had enough of Princess Aemma escaping blame for long enough. Aemond, you are to stay away from—"

"Your Grace," the princess interrupted.

Alicent shot her a defiant look but said nothing.

"Both the prince and princess have faced the consequences of trying to claim a dragon without due consideration," Rhaenyra triumphed over the queen, making her peace. "However brave they were, it was foolish. Lessons learned. Their faces speak it plainly."

Both the younglings bowed their heads to hide their bruises and smoke-covered faces.

"As parents, let us see to it that the children are checked for wounds, treated, and well rested," she continued, stroking Aemma's head. "My daughter has a long trip ahead of her. We would like to set sail on good terms."

She looked up at her mother, confused. "Sail where?"

The princess only smiled and chucked her chin. "Come, my love. Bid your good night to the queen and prince."

One last look and Aemond knew what it was. They were going to take her away from him. The one thing that he wanted for himself, and they were going to separate them for good. He never did understand why, so he took it upon himself to seek Aemma out once more.

It was so decided that Princess Rhaenyra, her sons, her daughter and Ser Laenor would sail to Dragonstone in a week. No place like home, they said. But it wasn't a return, it was an escape. The piercing whispers around the castle were inescapable, no fire-breathing dragons of wars could stop it.

To confirm his apprehensions, Aemond managed to slip into Aemma's chambers after twilight, only to find the young princess hiding her unfathomable ire in her wolf's fur.

"Did you see your new brother?" Her new bastard brother, he wanted to say. He would never dare to say those words to his dearest friend.

"My mother would try to wed me to Aegon," she expressed miserably instead. "Aegon! That loon wouldn't know the difference between dreaming and waking with his eyes open."

"Is that why you're unhappy? Because you were almost wed to my brother?" Aemond snickered, laying his head on the panting wolf next to her.

She nodded wordlessly.

"I am unhappy because you'll leave me here alone."

Aemma turned and laid on her back to face him with reddened eyes. Aemond didn't have to reach out and wipe her tears, she never cried—she was only ever angry to the point of pulling out her eyebrows in frustration. It was humorous sometimes.

"Then you can have Seasmoke," she offered.

"What about you?"

She shrugged. "I will be alright."

"You can't sleep without him."

"I will adjust."

"I'm older than you. You need him more."

"You need a protector while I'm away."

Aemond smiled; really smiled. A genuine one for his true companion. It's funny how she thought she was safeguarding him when she had never touched a sword or spear in her life.

"How will you learn Valyrian without me?" he asked.

"Eman gūrēntan sȳrī, ñuha raqiros," she spoke, grinning. (I have learned well, my friend.)

He clutched her wrist over the grey furs. "Kirimvose, princess." (Thank you.)

She sniffled and rose off her wolf to crush him with a hug. Aemond forgot all the cautions of his mother and the fiction around him, let go, and returned her faithful embrace tenfold. He buried his face into her braided hair and held her close over the thick carpet until he wanted her soldered to him, eyes to feet. He shouldn't have to let her go, it seemed so wrong for her to be so far away from him.

"Promise me you'll write often," she said into his shoulder.

He squeezed his eyes tight. "You first. You always write so beautifully."

She giggled. "I promise."

"I promise," he returned.

It wasn't until Lady Laena Velaryon's funeral that the entire royal family reconvened. All the Velaryons and Targaryens joined together in mourning for the death of a great warrior from the blood of Old Valyria. As they bore witness to the tragic loss, one steadfast Velaryon seemed to be missing from the affair.

The feast dragged, and as for Aemond, his gaze probed the brown-haired princes born of the Princess of Dragonstone for the one he wanted. He couldn't help but despair about her absence. Had she forgotten him? What of her letters? What of her stories about the quests to find dragon eggs around Dragonmont?

"Aemma," was all he said when Jace stood by him, out of careful instruction from the princess. Prince Jacaerys told him that his sister had taken to her bed. Even if his mother won't speak of it to his brothers, he heard the handmaidens whispering of her 'flowering' into a woman. Aemond was horrified—but she was too young. Hardly ten years of age. It was too soon for her, he was sure of it. It couldn't be true.

So you could tell Aemond's surprise when he heard the soft susurration of his name from beyond the stairwell. He saw a flash of silver and the same dearly roguish grin he had come to miss. He didn't care for anything else in that desolate gathering, he dashed down the stairs and collapsed into her.

Aemma let out a vibrant laugh and caught his face in her palms. "I've missed you every day, my friend."

He gasped a breathy laugh, still in disbelief. The moment he had imagined for so long, and here she was, in front of him, a manifestation of his wishes. She hadn't changed that much, her cheeks had thinned and given way to the gentle slope of her jawline.

"Your brother said you were—have you really—"

"Unimportant. We don't have long," she cut in, unbridled excitement running wild in her doe eyes. "Come with me, quick."

In proper Aemma fashion, she hauled Aemond's hand into hers and rushed him down the steps, due for another adventure. He did not contend, he had missed her terribly and this, only followed as they sprinted down to the beach and eventually caught their breath by the faraway shores. He slowed, but Aemma sped ahead.

"Where are we going?" he panted once he matched her pace. He wasn't as athletic as her, but it was one of her unmissable dexterities.

"Almost there," and she shot off again.

"Dammit—Aemma, wait for me!"

When they reached the hill summit that Aemma had dragged him above, with the winds whipping at their hair and tunics, they watched the largest, most terrible dragon in the world slumber away. It was miles long even curled into itself, deluged in its own way of mourning its late rider.

Aemond yanked a willing Aemma to the ground, hiding them behind the precipice, and hissed at her, "What are we doing here?"

"You must try, Aemond," she insisted her expression inflexible and true. She squeezed his shoulder. "Lay your claim to Vhagar before anyone else. You are deserving of her, I know you know it."

Aemond took a look at the dragon that lingered beyond the cliff. Aemma believed and entrusted this cause to him because she understood he was valiant, and most powerful of his bloodline despite his shortcomings. He was worthy of the queen of dragons. Yes, he knew it.

Beside him, Aemma was breathless in expectation. If by some rotten luck, Aemond claimed Vhagar, that would mean leaving her alone to face the calumnies of the people. The only dragon-less one in the royal family. He reached out to touch her cheek, a little sullen for her.

"What about you?"

She smiled against his hand. "That dragon's big enough to fly the both of us around the world for the rest of our lives."

Amused, Aemond shook up with a faint laugh. "You haven't changed at all."

She crushed all her faith and confidence into a sideways embrace. Under normal circumstances, he would've returned it, but this time, he needed this from her. He needed her affirming warmth and words.

"I believe in you, my friend. You can do this. Stay focused and never yield."

Aemond took a deep breath and stared the dragon down. I am the blood of the dragon, he thought. They will fear me, they will see what I truly am. Fire and blood. He repeated it in his mind, he kept it firm and real. You can do this, Aemma's voice echoed in his head.

Before the ink was dry on the page you see, the fierce Prince Aemond had mounted Vhagar and taken to the midnight skies as the newest dragon rider of the Targaryen dynasty.

Aemma's laughter was boisterous enough for all of Westeros to hear. You should've seen her the way Aemond saw her: cheeks red, eyes bright, hair wild, skirts dirtied, bouncing in bliss. When he descended and leapt off of Vhagar, she waited for him, a symphony of exhilaration. Not everyone had gotten as lucky as him. Aemond lifted her into his arms, and spun her around while she squealed at him—"You did it, you did it, you did it!"

When he set her down, he tugged her eagerly toward Vhagar. "Come, princess. We'll fly wherever your heart desires. Where to first, hm? Dorne, perhaps? Or further, to Naath? I'll need to find a map—"

Aemma planted her feet on the ground to stop him. Her expression had darkened a fraction. "I'm afraid we can not right now, my friend."

His face fell. "Why not?"

"I..." She bit her lip, hesitant.

Aemond knew immediately. She didn't even have to speak of it. "Is what Jace said true then? About your ailment."

She stayed quiet. Vhagar's intense growls filled the silence.

"You're still so young," he whispered to her. He knew what would happen to her now. "They're going to sell you off to some highborn lord far away somewhere I can't reach you."

She pressed his hands with hers, her eyes patient. "I won't let that happen."

"Then run away with me. Right now," he implored, bringing her hands to his chest. "We have this dragon. We'll return when it's been decided that this is unsuitable for you. I'll take care of you until then. They'll have no choice but to concede."

"Your father sits on the Iron Throne," she reminded him cautiously. "I'd besmirch his name."

"And your mother rules Dragonstone and is Viserys' successor," he prevailed. "Names, games and politics. When did all of that ever matter to you?"

"It does not, and it will not. But I will fight hard for myself and my liberties," she promised him. Her expression was unrelenting, a warrior's conviction. "We, Targaryens, do not run away in the face of adversity. I will find a way to adjourn this madness."

"But, Aemma—"

"I will, my friend. Trust in me."

He nodded urgently. "Then so will I. I won't let this slide. If I have to go to combat with another, I swear to you, I will do it for you."

He still couldn't find comfort in her faith. How could she fight generations of tradition? She was so little for all her spirited talks, but anyone could make her succumb with a twist of her wrist. He would become the only indomitable shield between her and all the lords of Westeros.

"Now come along," she said suddenly, leading him back to Driftmark castle. Her laugh was like a tinkle of bells. "I'm sure people are searching for us already. We must share this happy news with grandsire!"

Aemma talked his ear off about her pursuits and where they would begin their travels. She had him dreaming of golden beaches, palm trees, hot springs, cold sleets, exotic flowers—and of course, Vhagar. How they would soar the ocean, cross mountains, plunge down cliffs. Aemond knew these were pipe dreams, but he did not have it in himself to extinguish her fantasies. Let her dream, she'll soon forget.

Upon reaching the mouth of the exit, Aemma halted to mend her braids and gather her skirts neatly. Aemond chuckled at her silly fluster.

"Don't laugh," she mumbled. "It is unbecoming of a lady to wander about looking like this."

"Outrageous to assume you are a lady," he joked. She rolled her eyes and wet her thumb to wipe out the trace of dirt and soot across his face. It was no way to present his victory before his father.

He caught her wrist with a smug grin. "Leave it be. As evidence to my claim."

She dropped her hand, surprised. "You ride a dragon and the gloves come off."

As the pair entered, there, by the glowing fire lamps, the Velaryon brothers and Laena's two daughters waited for them, seething with rage.

"You all won't believe what Prince Aemond has just accomplished," Aemma began to gush to her audience.

"It's you!" Baela growled.

"It's me," Aemond dismissed, griping Aemma's hand in his.

"Sister, get away from him," little Lucerys cried out, waving her away.

She laughed him off. "Luke, settle down. Everyone, please—"

As Aemma stepped forward to pacify her brothers and cousins amidst the tension and attempt to wage peace, the six of them clashed and fell in rage. There were punches traded, screams, yells, and groans and it was all that Aemma noticed before she felt a sharp jerk on her ankle. She lost her balance and crashed into a jagged rock, face first. Her world went dark.

When Aemma eventually sought consciousness, her ears pricked at the raised voices, clamour, and daylight's blurry brightness. She called for her mummy, her voice thick with a wail. The aching in her head came rushing in, the memories, Vhagar, the brawl among her kin. The pain pricked her head like a thousand needles focused on a single point.

"Oh, Aemma. I'm here, right here," Princess Rhaenyra shushed when Aemma reached to feel the gash on her forehead. The princess clutched her daughter's hand tight to press a kiss at her pulse, stroking her hair.

"My brothers? Are they hurt?" she rasped. A sharp grit of muslin scraped against her temple—her mother had acquired an injury of her own. "What happened, mother?"

"I'm alright, my love. Just a scratch." Her mother's fingers massaged the back of Aemma's head. "I am glad you're awake. And that you can recall."

"Jace and Luke," she asked.

She tried to think, tried to speak again, but the pain refused to subside. She winced again and her mother rushed to soothe her temples. She called for the maester and within moments, Maester Orwyle had started to prod his instruments at her. A cream numbed the pain momentarily and Aemma felt like she could breathe again.

"My daughter will recover, maester," Princess Rhaenyra asserted. "Tell me she will heal."

"It's quite a feat that the princess has regained consciousness. The gash will heal, but the scarring will be irreparable. As for her other symptoms, we'll have to wait and see."

The princess gasped a sigh of relief. "Thank the Gods."

Maester Orwyle was silent for a beat before he spoke, "It is only right to warn you, your Grace, that the princess might suffer from recurrent headaches. It is soon to tell, but the wound is deep."

"Then we will see to it that she is given consistent treatment," she commanded, her tone austere.

"Yes, princess," the maester acceded.

"Sister!" Aemma's brothers bobbed into her vision when the maester left them, stroking her shoulders and neck gently.

"You still look lovely as ever, Emmy," Jace tried alleviating the least of her worries. "It's only a little scar. We can hide it with hair."

"Or not at all," Luke suggested cheekily. "You could flaunt your battle scar to all the realm. Like a knight!"

Aemma managed a weak smile and reached out to touch her brothers' faces, scrutinizing their wounds. Luke sported a broken nose and Jace's face was marred with violet bruises.

"We're alright, sister," Luke vowed, holding her wrist.

"Aemond," was all Aemma rasped.

Jace and Luke shared a look of appraisal with their mother. Rhaenyra only blinked away her deep thoughts and glanced at all three of her children. What could she say to them? Who knew what they wanted to hear? Good will? Faith? Strength? It had all gone to the wind now.

Aemma suddenly grimaced with a whine when the pain worsened, feeling her eyes drift close. "Ow."

"Luke, Jace, give your sister some space to breathe," the princess was quick to usher off. "You have found enough trouble today. Go rest up in your chambers."

Her mother kissed her one last time and left her to her slumber. It could've been hours until she heard the groan of old door hinges and another softer pair of footfalls by her bedside. Then her bedding dipped by her legs.

"Aemma," the familiar voice whispered.

She blinked awake, her groan coming to her. Her head felt too heavy to move. Aemond's tense face entered her line of sight and what awaited her stole her very breath away. She didn't have the words to think up what she saw.

"Aemond," she spoke softly. "Oh, no."

It was no casual injury, a serpentine line of thick stitches closed an irremediable eye from the world forever. Blood had crusted over the wound and swollen up to the size of limes, it looked like it hurt worse than her wound, but it didn't seem to quell the prince's spirit. He still fumbled his way to visit her.

"It's nothing," he lulled her, preventing her from touching him. He folded his fingers between hers instead. "Don't move your neck, I know it hurts. I had to see my friend one last time before she's set for Dragonstone again."

She hesitated to ask, "Your eye... is it—"

"It's gone."

Her lip wobbled. "I'm truly sorry."

He smiled albeit weakly.

"How?"

"It does not matter."

Aemma let her fingers be brushed by Aemond, resting it there and dwelling in silence. It felt pleasant, he was warm today. Eventually, he came to rest his head upon her pillow, careful to not upset her gash. He pushed a stray curl behind her ear. It was strange not to see her hair up in its usual braided glory.

"Can't you come with me back to King's Landing?"

She pulled on an animated smirk despite the stinging pain. "You have new adventures ahead of you, my friend. On your mighty dragon. You'll be a honed dragon rider the next time I see you."

He laughed faintly. "Our mighty dragon."

"I am proud to call you my friend," she promised hoarsely, her dark doe eyes wide with ease. She was tired, but she could spare him a little joy. "But this next road, you must go on by yourself. And you must tell me all about it."

"I still have your letters," he confessed. "Stories, more like. My favourite."

She giggled. "Then I will write more."

"You must call for me if you're ever forced into something you don't want," he forewarned her, holding her cheek. "You can only oppose so hard. I will come for you on Vhagar and we'll fly east together. We never ought to look back."

"My friend, do not fret for me," she breathed out.

"No, Aemma," he insisted severely. "Promise me, this time, that you'll heed my words."

"Nothing is going to—"

"Promise me."

"I promise," she said easily.

Aemond shook his head, insecurity plaguing his thoughts, before he rested his forehead against hers as gently as his touch allowed. This was different now, between them. He opened his eyes and watched Aemma, unbothered and real. Her warm breaths drifted around his unmarred cheek—oh, how he wished he could lay a kiss upon her head. A gift for their parting.

No, of course not. It would take an act of the Gods to take this away from him. His audacity was not lacking; it was what brought him his dragon.

"Promise," he repeated quietly.

you can continue to read part ii here! and here's my masterlist!

autocorrect, stop correcting 'aemond' to almond'.

first fic, whoop whoop!

#aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #house of the dragon #prince aemond #aemond x oc #rhaenyra targaryen #house targaryen #hotd #fire and blood #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x fem!oc #aemond targaryen x ofc #aemond targaryen × velaryon oc

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