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Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Eighty-One

Before her mind could fully process his presence, Maera’s body reacted. She gently set aside the dragon egg and carefully rose from her seat, her rounded belly leading her movements. Her eyes never left Aemond as she stood, a mix of wariness and longing etched on her face.

Aemond had been gone for five weeks, and Maera could immediately tell he was changed. His face bore the marks of age and fatigue, likely the aftereffects of battle. She had seen it before in some of her oldest brothers—an unmistakable weariness that came from enduring the horrors of war. His meticulously neat silver hair was now curled at the ends, with knots forming throughout, a testament to the hardships he had faced.

Despite her injuries, Maera cautiously limped towards him. Each step was a challenge, yet she pressed on, her heart driving her forward. Aemond strode towards her purposefully, his eyes locked on hers. They met in the middle of the room, capturing each other in a long embrace. The moment was filled with a complex blend of relief, sorrow, and unspoken words, as they held each other tightly.

The Princess squeezed her husband’s waist desperately, as if she never wanted to let him go again. She buried her face in his chest, and tears began to flow freely. The sobs that wracked her body were silent but profound, each one a release of the pent-up emotions that had built during his absence. She inhaled deeply, taking in the familiar smell of dragon smoke and leather, grounding herself in the reality that he was truly back.

Aemond's hand gently combed through her hair, offering a soothing counterpoint to her grief. He pressed kisses on the top of her head, each one a tender affirmation of his presence and his relief at their reunion. His breathing was short and shallow, mirroring the intensity of the moment, as he too was consumed by the emotion of finally being together again. They stood entwined, both finding solace in the embrace, a fragile yet powerful connection rekindled amidst their shared pain and love. But then the facade cracked.

“Ahhhh!!”

Aemond attempted to hold Maera even tighter, but in doing so, he accidentally knocked the healing wound on her upper arm. With a yelp, she jumped back from him, her other hand instinctively coming up to cover the wound. She shoved his chest away in the process, her face contorted with pain as she breathed deeply through her nose, trying to stave off the wave of nausea that the sudden pressure had caused.

After a moment of regaining control, Maera looked up to find her husband staring at her with deep concern. His single eye roamed over her body, searching for any other signs of distress or injury. The worry etched on his face was unmistakable, a testament to his guilt and fear for her well-being. Before he could ask any questions, Maera gestured for him to join her seated at the hearth. He nodded in agreement and allowed her to lead the way, his gaze following her every movement. He watched as she limped and grasped tightly onto the furniture for support, each step a visible effort.

As the pair sat together, a hushed silence enveloped them, broken only by the crackling of the hearth. The warm, flickering light cast dancing shadows across the room, creating an almost intimate cocoon of peace amidst the chaos of their reunion. Maera turned to look at Aemond's face, the flames casting shifting shadows across his sharp features. His expression was a mix of concern and remorse, his violet eye focused intently on the flames.

Within Maera, a confusing concoction of feelings churned. She was grateful he was alive, thankful that he had returned to her relatively unscathed. The mere thought of receiving news that he had come to harm filled her with dread. The relief of his presence was palpable, a balm to the wounds of worry that had plagued her during his absence.

Yet, even amidst this relief, the anger within her continued to simmer. She could not forgive him for what he had put her through, the betrayal and the pain still fresh in her heart. The conflicting emotions battled within her, gratitude and love warring with hurt and fury, leaving her in a state of numbness overall.

The One-eyed Prince was the first to speak. “Are you well?” He asked.

His wife did not answer him. She feared that responding might unleash her fury, and once started, she wasn't sure she could stop. She was exhausted, as she so often was nowadays in the late stages of pregnancy, and she did not need him adding to her weariness. Not tonight.

Maera's green eyes wandered over his form, taking in his attire, which struck her as different. He wore a black leather belt and an eyepatch, and his boots gleamed in the firelight, polished to a high shine. His tunic, however, was not the black she was accustomed to seeing him in; it was a rich, deep green.

This confused her. All of Alicent Hightower’s children had traditionally donned green attire, but never Aemond. He had always stood out from his family, consistently clad in black leather. She couldn't help but wonder about the significance of this sudden change, a small but unsettling detail in the midst of their already fraught reunion.

Her eyes continued to explore his body, eventually landing on his gloved hands, where she then noticed he was holding something. In Aemond’s grip was the Conqueror’s crown, the Valyrian steel and ruby gemstone glinting in the hearth’s light.

“Why do you have that?” She asked him meekly, her voice tinged with concern. Aemond looked down at the crown, his expression distant as he turned it in his hands, examining it closely. His single violet eye held a depth of sorrow.

“He is gone,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with melancholy.

“Gone?” Maera asked, her brows furrowing in confusion, the implications slowly dawning on her. “Oh Gods.” Her hand flew to her chest as if to steady herself, and her breathing became erratic. The shock of the news hit her like a physical blow, leaving her momentarily breathless.

What she felt was not sadness for Aegon’s demise. In truth, she would not miss her brother-in-law. But with the King dead, she knew that things were about to get a lot more complicated. The stakes had just become much higher, and the already precarious balance of power was now on the brink of upheaval.

Panic crept into her voice as she realized the gravity of the situation. “What happened?” Maera's eyes filled with tears as she awaited her husband's response, her heart heavy with dread.

Aemond took a deep breath, his jaw tensing as he stared into the flickering flames of the hearth, lost in his thoughts. “The original plan was for me to meet Meleys in the sky once Cole ordered the scorpions to fire,” he explained bitterly. “But Aegon just had to be there, had to be a part of it and claim the glory for himself.”

Maera listened in stunned silence, her heart sinking with each word. She could see the pain etched on Aemond's face as he continued. “Sunfyre was so much smaller than Rhaenys’s dragon. What the fuck was he thinking?”

Aemond then turned to look at his wife, his single violet eye burning with intensity. “Meleys had Sunfyre’s neck. There was fire…and so much blood.”

He paused momentarily, his hand gesturing in a slow, deliberate motion, mimicking the descent from above. “I attacked from above and managed to get them to the ground. I knew it was a risk but…”

The Princess’s heart ached for her husband. She had never seen him like this before—a crack in his usually stoic manner, revealing a scared little boy beneath the hardened exterior. Maera initially reached out with the intention of laying her hand atop his, which still gripped the Valyrian steel crown. She wanted to comfort him, to tell him that everything would be okay.

“Aemond…” Her hand hovered just above his, the warmth of her intended touch almost tangible.

But then she hesitated. How could she be sure that everything would be alright? Their marriage was far from alright, and the outside world seemed to be descending further into chaos. Doubt and the weight of their unresolved issues clouded her mind. Reluctantly, she pulled her hand back to rest in her lap, choosing instead to quietly listen as her husband continued to speak, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability that tugged at her conflicted heart.

“Sunfyre and Meleys had killed each other. Rhaenys, or what was left of her, was burnt to a crisp on the ground. And Aegon…”

Maera covered her mouth in shock as her husband detailed the horrific scene. “He was still alive. Gods, he looked awful. His armour had fused to his skin.” Aemond paused, his face contorting with disgust. “The smell. He was missing one of his legs…he was crying. Scared.”

Maera took a shaky breath, her heart heavy. Aegon was despicable, but she would never wish such a fate on anyone. She watched as Aemond clenched his jaw, his single violet eye filled with unshed tears. “I stayed with him until he passed, until the light left his eyes. Cole found me shortly after.”

The Princess clenched her fists in her lap. “I am sorry, Aemond. For your loss. And all that you went through.” Aemond looked up at her, his face softening slightly. “Why did you not come back? Why did you not write?” she questioned him.

The one-eyed Prince shifted in his seat, looking down. “I wanted to tell my mother myself.”

A wave of sadness washed over Maera. That could not have been easy for Aemond; to tell his mother that her eldest son, her firstborn child, had died horrifically. She could only imagine the pain it caused him to see the grief in Alicent's eyes, knowing that Aegon's death would spell further complications for the Realm.

Maera knew Alicent would be heartbroken, but her thoughts quickly turned to Helaena. Aegon was a tyrant, her abuser, and yet he was still her husband, her elder brother. Maera hoped that the news would not further worsen Helaena’s already fragile mind. The prospect of another emotional blow to Helaena worried her deeply.

Aegon had only one son, two-year-old Maelor. The little boy was just beginning to form sentences and was still in napkins. With the death of his elder brother Jaehaerys, who had been murdered so easily, the news of Aegon's death would spread quickly, leaving little Maelor even more at risk of harm. Maera's heart ached for the innocent child, now thrust into a perilous position in an increasingly dangerous world.

As these thoughts swirled in her mind, Maera felt the crushing weight of the uncertain future pressing down on her, intensifying the already profound sense of dread that had settled in the room.

“What happens now?” She asked her husband meekly. “Maelor is just a babe…”

“Cole will take my place as Hand,” Aemond declared, his voice steady. “I will regent for Maelor until he comes of age.”

She winced. Her husband was an ambitious man, driven by a lifelong hunger for power as the second son. Now, with a glimpse of authority over the Realm, her unease grew. The thought of Aemond wearing the Conqueror’s crown, combined with Criston Cole as his Hand, made her stomach churn.

Maera could feel his gaze burning into her, almost as if he was expecting a reaction, or possibly words of congratulations, but nothing came out of her mouth. “You have been through a lot husband. It is time for you to rest.” She stood from her chair, smoothing out her gown as Aemond watched. She hobbled to a nearby table, picked up a bell, and rang it. The young maid who always served her appeared immediately, her presence a silent, efficient comfort in the tense atmosphere.

“Prepare a room and a bath for the Prince.”

The serving girl nodded, scurrying away and shutting the door behind her.

The One-Eyed Prince rose from his chair, his expression confused and ever so slightly hurt. “You would not have me in our bed?”

Maera almost felt bad, seeing the raw emotion in his gaze, but she stood her ground, her resolve unwavering. “I require the bed for myself.”

Aemond walked slowly towards her, his hand reaching up to cup her face. She flinched initially, her mind telling her to recoil from his touch but her body immediately relaxed as his calloused palm touched her face. There was silence as Aemond searched her forest green eyes, looking for an explanation or a reason for her conduct that evening, yet Maera bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to budge.

After a moment, Aemond merely nodded. As the door shut behind him, Maera’s heart clenched. She mourned for the relationship they had once shared, a connection now marred by betrayal and pain. Although she was grateful he was back, she also felt a sense of relief that he was now out of her sight.

The next morning, Maera’s rooms were quiet, save for the soft clinking of her cutlery against the bowl. The chambers were filled with the gentle morning light filtering through the windows, casting a warm glow over the array of breakfast items on the table before her. Fresh bread, sliced fruits, cured meats, and cheese were laid out, but her attention was drawn to the raspberry tarts and custard that she now craved with every meal, a particular indulgence of her pregnancy.

Maera smiled to herself as she took a bite of the tart, savoring the sweet and tangy flavors. The babe within her kicked out, causing her to rest her hand on her stomach with a tender expression. The small moment of connection with her unborn child brought her a fleeting sense of joy amidst the surrounding turmoil.

Aemond did not join her to break fast, for which Maera was honestly thankful. The bright light of the day would have made it difficult for her to maintain the illusion of a demure and polite wife. The solitude allowed her a brief respite from the complexities of their strained relationship and the looming responsibilities that weighed heavily on her.

Today would be a good day. Once the maid had cleared Maera’s table, she assisted the Princess in bathing. The warmth of the bath enveloped Maera, providing a soothing comfort that eased her tired muscles. As the maid gently washed her hair with soap, Maera’s fingers danced across her gigantic belly, tracing the stretch marks that decorated her skin. Each mark was a testament to the life growing within her, a visible reminder of the miracle she carried.

When Maera got out of the bath, she sat at her dressing table, wrapped in a robe, as the maid carefully combed through her hair. The blend of brown hair with Maera’s distinctive silver streak shimmered in the morning light. As the maid’s gentle strokes continued, Maera found herself lost in thought, wondering about the baby within her. Would it be a boy or a girl? Would they inherit her brown hair or Aemond’s silver locks? Green eyes or violet eyes? The anticipation and uncertainty of what lay ahead filled her mind, intertwining with her hopes and fears for the future.

The Maester arrived shortly after to re-dress Maera's wounds. As he worked, Maera noted how much stronger she felt on this day. The sharp, shooting pain that had once plagued her thigh and arm had subsided to a dull ache, which she welcomed as a sign of healing. Maester Cain’s gentle and practiced hands made quick work of the bandages, and with a few encouraging words, he departed, leaving Maera feeling more hopeful.

She was then dressed in a loosely fitted black gown that accommodated her growing bump. Her hair was divided into multiple braids before being joined together with a golden ribbon, adding a touch of elegance to her appearance. As she stood from her dressing table, Maera took a moment to admire herself in the mirror. Her body, as well as her mind, had changed so drastically these last few months. The physical transformation was evident, but the internal growth and strength she had gained were even more profound.

Walking through the castle on the arm of Ser Willard was tense, but Maera could not bring herself to care. She had not seen the knight since reprimanding him and his soldiers, and it was clear that he was not happy to be around her. His stiff demeanor and lack of conversation made the tension palpable, but that mattered little to Maera.

As she walked, she noticed that her leg felt stronger, able to bear the weight much better than in previous weeks. The scars on her thigh and arm were still unsightly and would no doubt be with her forever, but she saw them as a testament to her resilience. They were marks of survival, symbols of her ability to endure and overcome.

When they reached the gardens outside Harrenhal, Maera paused to take in the scene. The once scorched lavender field was beginning to show signs of life. In the earth, tiny green buds had started to sprout, a hopeful promise of renewal. The sight of new growth amidst the scars of the past resonated deeply with her, mirroring her own journey of healing and strength.

As Maera walked on the cobblestones, her dragon Ebrion lifted his giant black and blue head and trilled to her, a deep, resonant sound that echoed across the field. Ser Willard was visibly shaken, still haunted by his previous encounter with the beast. Seeing his discomfort, Maera kindly dismissed him back to his post on the edge of the field. This would allow him to keep watch while also giving her some much-needed alone time.

Maera hobbled over to Ebrion, embracing the beast and rubbing her face against the smooth scales of his snout. The warmth and familiar scent of her dragon brought her comfort. She then sat beside him, taking in her surroundings. The sounds of running water from a nearby brook filled her ears, and the wind carried the smell of wildflowers and dragon.

Although it was delightful to see that the earth was healing from Ēbrion’s fire, it did not erase what had happened to her. The scathed body of Alys did not remain, likely consumed by her dragon later. The thought caused Maera to wince, a grim reminder of the brutality she had faced.

Her gaze dritted to the tree where Alys had pinned her, the place where her own blade had sliced through her arm. The wound throbbed at the memory, a dull ache that brought the horror of that moment back to the forefront of her mind. She instinctively covered it with her hand, trying to soothe the pain and the memories it brought.

Maera huffed to herself, frustration bubbling up inside her. She was sick of looking at the place where she had almost died. She was sick of looking at Harrenhal with its ridiculously high walls and towers, the oppressive stone fortress that seemed to trap her in a constant state of dread and sorrow.

Her world felt so small. She only knew the Stormlands and King's Landing, and now the entirety of Westeros was at war. The people she could trust were few and far between, and her marriage was also falling apart. The once solid ground of her life had become a quagmire of uncertainty and betrayal.

She longed to get away from here, to escape the suffocating confines of her current existence. Maybe she could start anew. After all, she was a dragon rider now. She could fly to the Summer Isles, explore the exotic lands of YiTi, or be completely removed from society altogether and venture to the Grey Waste. Anything to get away from here—the war, the constant threat, and her husband.

The thought of freedom, of soaring high above her troubles on Ēbrion’s back, filled her with a sense of hope. She imagined the wind in her hair, the endless horizons stretching out before her, and the possibility of a life unbound by the chains of her current reality.

The Princess rose from the grass and limped slowly towards Ēbrion’s side. She was not dressed for flying, but the loosened robes she wore in the late stages of her pregnancy would be much easier to manage than the elaborate gowns she had previously worn. The fabric billowed around her, giving her the freedom of movement she desperately needed.

Ēbrion raised his massive head, his eyes narrowing with concern. He emitted a low growl, a rumbling warning that vibrated through the air. Maera, determined and resolute, paid no attention. Reaching his side, she reached out and tested the weight of the rope in her right hand. She took a steadying breath. She had done this many times before. She could do it again. Today, she felt stronger.

With a firm pull, Maera lifted her right leg and secured it onto the rope. She smiled, feeling a sense of accomplishment. Then came the tricky part. She reached up with her left arm and grasped tightly, preparing her left leg, hoping that if she made the movements in quick succession, she would be able to haul herself up.

As she pulled, her arm gave way, pain shooting up through it and forcing her to let go. She fell backward onto her backside, her left leg tangled in the rope. She attempted to free herself, but her giant stomach prevented her from reaching her foot. Struggling, she felt a mix of frustration and helplessness.

“Urgghhh for fucks sake!”

Ēbrion leaned down, his large eyes filled with worry as he nudged her gently with his snout, trying to help her up. Maera took a deep breath, calming herself, and tried again to untangle her leg, before a smooth voice cut through the air.

“Do you require some assistance?”

Maera turned her head sharply, expecting to see Ser Willard looking down at her pitifully like the helpless princess everyone seemed to think she was. Instead, she was greeted by the sight of her husband, looming over her.

Aemond had bathed, his silver locks back to their usual straight style. Despite his refreshed appearance, a dark circle under his single eye indicated his lack of sleep. He wore a leather doublet, the torso black but the sleeves dark green and patterned like dragon scales, a testament to his Targaryen heritage and loyalty to the Green’s cause.

He was hiding a small smirk on his face at the sight of his wife tangled in the ropes, which further enraged her. The combination of his amusement and her own frustration fueled a fire within her. She glared up at him, defiance sparking in her green eyes as she struggled to untangle herself from the ropes.

Maera sighed, deciding to put her pride aside for a moment. She blew a strand of brown hair out of her face and angrily gestured towards her foot, indicating she needed help. The Prince nodded, stifling a chuckle as he gently untangled her foot from the ropes. Once her leg was free, he offered his hand to help her up. Maera batted it away, instead using Ēbrion’s nearby foot to push herself to her feet.

After attempting to mount her dragon, Maera looked red-faced and exhausted. The effort had left her breathless and frustrated, angered by her inability to climb onto her dragon’s back. She felt foolish for even trying, her cheeks flushed with both exertion and embarrassment.

To make matters worse, her husband stood in front of her, attempting to act like a chivalrous gentleman. His demeanor, as if trying to return to how things were before, only fueled her anger further. The juxtaposition of her struggle and his composed, almost mocking presence, made her feel even more enraged.

An awkward silence set in. Aemond searched Maera’s face, his eye seeking a glimmer of the warmth they once shared. Her face, however, remained hardened, her expression a mask of resolve and anger. He attempted to reach out, his hand moving to stroke her cheek, but she took a step back, her eyes narrowing, putting a deliberate distance between them.

The Prince returned his arm his side, frowning as he muttered, “Something has changed.”

His wife scoffed, shaking her head. “Everything has changed, Aemond.”

Evidently tired of the games his wife was playing, Aemond's jaw tightened as he closed the gap, his eyes reflecting frustration and confusion. "Since I have returned, no one can give a straight answer," he lamented, his voice strained with emotion. "I have asked the Lords and Maester why you are limping, if anything of note has happened since I have been gone.” He paused for a moment. “If Alys has given birth."

Maera's nails dug into her palm as she suppressed a surge of anger at the mention of the witch's name. Ēbrion growled in response, flaring his nostrils as a puff of smoke escaped, the air around them thickening with tension. The dragon’s agitation mirrored her own, the bond between them so strong that even her suppressed rage resonated with him.

“Jātās,” Go, she commanded him, her voice firm and commanding, unsure if she could trust herself not to lose control and have her beast pick up on her desires to absolutely obliterate her husband. The dragon, sensing her command, rose to his feet and stomped away, the ground trembling beneath them.

As Ēbrion retreated, Maera turned back to her husband. Her eyes were cold and unyielding, reflecting a mixture of hurt, anger, and defiance. She gestured around the desolate field, the remnants of the once-vibrant lavender offering a stark contrast to the present scene. "Look around you, husband. Do you remember what was once here?"

Her gesture was a silent invitation to acknowledge the devastation that had unfolded in his absence. Yet, before Aemond could respond, Maera preempted his words, her tone tinged with bitterness. "It was lavender, so bright and fragrant. I was hoping to use some of it in my labors when my time grew close. But now I cannot stand the smell."

Maera’s gaze shifted to a scorched tree in the distance, her voice tinged with scorn. "I saw your whore, laboring near the elm tree. I stupidly went over to see if she was ok." A bitter laugh escaped her lips as she shook her head. "Do you know what she told me?" Aemond remained silent, his expression unreadable. "That this so-called prophecy she revealed to you…was wrong. Specifically the part I played in it."

She watched her husband’s face. His face was a mix of frustration and resignation, the weight of their strained relationship evident in the way his shoulders slumped slightly.

“So what do you think she did next, my Prince?” Maera questioned sharply, her eyes boring into Aemond's. His confusion spread, evident in the flicker of uncertainty across his features, but he remained silent, awaiting her explanation.

Maera pulled down her sleeve, the fabric of her black robe falling away to reveal the bandaged wound on her arm. With deliberate motions, she removed the bandage, exposing the reddened skin adorned with stitches and dried blood. Aemond's eye widened in shock at the sight. “First she stabbed me in the arm,” Maera growled, her voice edged with bitterness. She then swiftly rolled up her sleeve before bunching up her skirts, revealing another bandage on her left thigh, which she ripped off to reveal an even larger wound. “Then she stabbed me in the leg.”

His gaze locked on the gruesome injury, Aemond remained speechless, his mind undoubtedly racing to comprehend the extent of Maera's ordeal.

Maera's eyes pleaded with him as she continued, desperation lacing her words. “Do you know where she set her sights next?” Still met with silence from her husband, she pressed on. “Our child. She tried to kill me and our child. With my own. Fucking. Dagger,” her voice cracked with emotion, the pain of her trauma palpable in her tone. “It was thanks to Ēbrion that I managed to survive.”

Taking a shaky step forward, Maera reached out to touch Aemond's leather-covered chest, her finger tracing a line across the fabric. “And your whore? Your bastard in her belly?” Her voice lowered to a whisper, her breath ghosting over his lips. “Gone.” The single word hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their shared loss and betrayal.

Aemond recoiled slightly, the weight of Maera’s words hitting him like a physical blow. He struggled to find the right words to express the depth of his remorse and regret, but the damage had already been done, leaving a chasm between them that seemed impossible to bridge.

She had never seen her husband speechless before, and had it been any other situation, it may have actually been amusing. After a minute of silence, Aemond finally stumbled over his words. His brows furrowed, his violet eye darting around Maera's face as he searched for the right words. “Maera, I did not know-”

She intercepted his attempt to speak, her tone sharp and mocking. “That what? That she would try and hurt me and your child?” She laughed, the sound sharp and bitter. “Then you are truly lacking in common sense.”

Every muscle tensed with suppressed rage as she began to lay into Aemond. Her finger jabbed sharply into his chest with each pointed accusation, her voice a mixture of pain and fury. Her chest heaved as she breathed deeply, attempting to control the whirlwind of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. Her eyes, normally so vibrant, were now filled with a mixture of betrayal and hurt.

“Thanks to your delusional belief in that witch, she gained power here. The guards, the Lords both feared and listened to her. All because of you!” Maera's voice wavered with exhaustion as she confessed her regrets. “I should have left Kings Landing on Ēbrion when I had the chance,” she mumbled, her gaze dropping to the ground.

“Do not say such things,” Aemond retorted sharply, his expression hardening.

“Why? Because it will hurt your feelings?” Maera mocked him, her words dripping with disdain.

Aemond’s face hardened as he grabbed her by the wrist of the hand that was jabbing him. He sharply yanked her forward, maintaining a fierce grip as he stared down at her, his single eye blazing with intensity.

“You think I give a shit what that whore did or didn’t say?” Aemond growled, his fingers digging into her skin. “You are mine. You have always been mine. I have always known-”

“Since Alys told you we were bound in order to save her own skin?” Maera interjected, her tone laced with sarcasm.

Aemond's expression softened, the ferocity in his gaze giving way to something more complex, almost pleading. “Since we were children,” he declared, his voice firm, as he loosened the grip of her wrist slightly, the pressure easing but still firm.

His other hand moved with a surprising gentleness, tangling his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck. “Since you first came to Kings Landing as a girl of nine.”

He pulled sharply, forcing Maera to look up at him, the proximity of his presence overwhelming. The feeling of his fingers in her hair, the closeness of his body, sent an involuntary shiver down Maera’s spine. “And I have been yours since I first laid eyes on you.”

Despite the anger and hurt, the familiarity of his touch stirred a conflicting sense of longing within her. Her breath hitched, the intensity of the moment leaving her momentarily speechless. The air between them crackled with unresolved tension, the depth of their connection evident even in the midst of their turmoil.

Aemond brought his head down, pressing his forehead to hers. Maera could not help but lean into his touch, the closeness a balm to her turbulent emotions. His sharp nose bumped against hers as their breaths mingled, creating an intimate cocoon that momentarily shut out the world.

“I do not wish to fight,” he murmured softly.

In that moment, Maera longed to forget everything that had happened between them, to surrender to the comfort her husband's presence provided and move on.

“I do not either,” she whispered sadly. She craved the solace of his embrace, the familiarity of their bond, and the fleeting hope that they could find their way back to each other. But the memories of betrayal and the scars on her heart were too deep. Her heart could not take it.

With a heavy sigh, Maera flattened the hand she had against his chest, slowly pushing him back to create some distance. The gesture was gentle but firm, a silent declaration of her need for space. Aemond's grip on her wrist and hair loosened, and he reluctantly let her go, the warmth of his touch lingering as a reminder of what once was.

“Allow me to explain how things will go from now on,” Maera declared, her tone resolute. The statement caused her husband to frown. “I cannot leave this marriage. Not just because I cannot stand being around you after everything you have done, but because of our child.”

Maera brought her hand to her stomach, a protective gesture. Her babe was the only reason she was acting with civility and goodwill. She would not allow her child to not know their father.

“I will do my duty to you and our House. I will birth your heirs, my dragon will contribute to your war, and I intend to be involved in the Council.” She then closed her eyes and shook her head, her voice filled with sorrow. “But beyond duty…I cannot offer you anything more.”

She glanced up at Aemond, who had a look of devastation on his face. “Maera, please-”

“You drove away my chances with another noble lord because of your possessive nature,” she spat, her eyes flashing with anger. “You murdered my family in the name of a prophecy. You bedded a witch and got her pregnant because of your ambition.” Maera threw her hands up in frustration, her movements sharp and agitated. “You abandoned me here, with the witch having free rein, thus allowing her to try and kill me and our child.”

She felt wet tears begin to roll down her face, but she did not bother to wipe them away. “No. There is nothing left for me to give.”

Aemond, who famously did not know how to handle his emotions, reacted instead out of anger. His jaw clenched, and his eye blazed with a mixture of rage and disbelief. His hands, which had just moments before been tender, now balled into tight fists at his sides. “I will not allow you to do this,” he declared firmly, his voice rising as his nostrils flared as he struggled to contain the storm of emotions brewing within him.

“You are my wife, my Princess. The mother of my child and the love of my life. You cannot simply cast me aside and have us live together in a sham of a marriage.” He took a step forward, his posture aggressive, as if he were ready to physically challenge the reality she was imposing on him.

Maera's face twisted with disdain yet she remained rooted to her spot. “If you need a reason as to why things must be this way, I suggest you look in a mirror,” she sneered at him, her words dripping with contempt as she stared defiantly back at him.

A part of her wanted to cave in, to take back her words and soothe his anger. But she couldn’t forgive and forget. It was as if her heart were made of glass, and every time she entrusted it to Aemond, he would shatter it. No matter how much he tried to piece it back together with apologies or acts of kindness, fragments still remained missing. Even though those pieces were minuscule, it meant her heart could never be whole again.

“I need to go back inside, and have the Maester re-dress these wounds,” she said through gritted teeth.

As she hobbled away, making her way back towards the castle, Maera cast one last look at Aemond. He looked even worse than the day before. His face was a mask of anguish and defeat, the dark circle under his eye more pronounced, his usually immaculate appearance disheveled. The sight tugged at her emotions, but she steeled herself, knowing that preserving her heart and their child’s future was paramount. Her decision, though painful, was necessary.

“I will have the servants move your belongings to a separate chamber.”

Notes: Sorry updates are slow, it’s been a busy week in the Blue household. My son has decided to climb out of his crib, so now he’s having to sleep in a proper bed as well as potty-train himself all in the same week (despite my attempts to previously train him but the kid is so fucking headstrong everything has to be his way and on his terms 🤣) This was so sad to write though 😢

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Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

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