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He thinks of big brown eyes avoiding his at all costs. Helaena had known something he hadn't, and it scares him. Still, Aemond lies awake in his bunk opposite Aegon, who snores softly, and stares up at the ceiling with one eye straining against the dark. The Velaryons stay at Driftmark, soon to leave for Dragonstone. Aemond wants, tonight, wants power, wants violence, wants to break Lucerys into a hundred pieces. He wonders what it feels like to have taken someone's eye with a single stroke. Lucerys Velaryon, with his sad eyes and his face twisted in what must now be shock and horror, not meeting his stare, looking anywhere but at him. One eye finds again the boy with the broken face who'd held the knife. He stares at his mother, who's hands are shaking with uncontained rage. Aemond feels alive and he feels like some violent thing. A maester threads a needle through his skin. It smells of iron and rust and tastes of nothing at all. Blood, some rational part of him recognizes.

Then there's pain, blinding, searing pain, and something sickly sweet rushing through his fingers. He looks terrible and murderous and utterly lovely. The younger boy is looking at him but barely sees him at all. He is begging for this nightmare to end, for him to wake up still curled against Vhagar's side on the beach.Īemond's gaze meets that of Lucerys for a split second. He is begging for the guards to find them, or for Baela and Rhaena to shove him away again. In his head, he is begging to be stopped. He beats his fists down against Jace's already bruising face, again and again. His mouth opens and his words are poison. I only ever wanted to be your friend!īut he can't make his peace. He clutches his cheek and stares at the four children gathered with angry eyes and trembling fists. It's not firstborn Rhaenyra, or tall Aegon, not Helaena with her ramblings, it's him.

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"It's him!" Accusatory, full of venom, a small voice, but a hateful one. He feels like a conqueror, a king, and a lover.

He feels like a thousand swords and dragonfire as he makes his way back to the keep. It's the night air ripping through his hair, it's the pleasant burning of exhaustion in his legs, it's freedom. Helaena had claimed, but if there's one thing he loves it's flying. He stares at the sleeping forms, chests rising and falling slowly, turning in their slumber, and turns away.Īemond holds onto Vhagar for dear life. He could try to form companionship with them, find brothers, or simple friends, at the least, in his nephews. He could wake them, ask them to come along. That night, he passes the young princes' rooms and stops for a moment. He is nine, Aemond muses, but his eyes look sadder than that. His brother, Lucerys fidgets softly with his hands. Jacaerys Velaryon holds the little girls' hands and says words too quiet for Aemond to hear.

Aemond should go over and offer his condolences, but distantly he thinks his mother wouldn't approve, so he stands and says nothing. He watches his cousins, young Baela and Rhaena, cry into their hands. His mother's grip on his shoulder is too tight. His brother is deep in his cups, his sister chases spiders. Aemond feels out of place at the funeral. They'd been twelve, too mature for their ages, and Aemond had not understood her words yet.

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I don't think you know how to love, Aemond." Once, they'd sat in the dark beside each other and Helaena had said in her quiet whispers "a king with a queen he loves not, a queen he desires not" again and again and Aemond had answered in a voice so low he'd hoped she wouldn't hear him at all: "I could love you, if you let me."Īnd his sister had gone still, turned purple eyes on him in that unnervingly sharp gaze she got sometimes. ← Previous Work Part 2 of Max's Lucemond works <3 Stats: Published: Updated: Words: 6005 Chapters: 4/6 Comments: 61 Kudos: 852 Bookmarks: 132 Hits: 11534

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