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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 1 year

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The Silver Dragon (13/?)

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x Original Female Character

Word Count: 2980

Story Summary: Lady Arianwyn Targaryen, the Lady of Runestone, was seeded by her father, the Rogue Prince Daemon Targaryen, in an act of unbridled hatred, and borne of her mother, the late Lady Rhea Royce, as a desperate grasp at revenge.

Ignored by her father, and alone following the death of her mother, she is raised in King’s Landing alongside her cousin, Prince Aemond Targaryen. As they grow, the two find themselves indelibly bonded. But their lives are far from the fairy tales they read, and as tensions in the family rise, they find their paths may diverge.

Will they be pulled apart when the dragons dance?

Chapter Summary: Aemond struggles to adjust to Arianwyn’s absence. But on his fifteenth nameday, Ser Gerold Royce arrives with a bronze-wrapped present.

Warnings: None.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @thelittleswanao3 @trap-house-homiecide @50svibes @literishdegree99

The Sapphire

Aemond woke at dawn each morning consumed by the knowledge that he would not see Arianwyn that day.

He missed her so much it ached; the pain sharpened by the fact that he knew now it would be years before they saw each other again. It took all his strength to pull himself from his bed, rather than sleep until she was at last free of her father. For in his dreams, they were still together.

But Aemond had made her a promise. The next time she saw him, he would be the fiercest dragonrider since Aegon the Conqueror. He could not accomplish that by lying despondently in bed.

So, he stood and faced the sunlight streaming in through an eastward facing window, stretching his sore muscles. Each morning he tried to gaze far enough into the sea to see Dragonstone, to see the castle, and Arianwyn’s tower. But all he ever saw was the horizon.

He dressed, as he always did now, in leathers he had ordered specially made to be suited for both fighting and flying. To be as fierce as the Conqueror, his skill on dragonback must be matched by an equal proficiency with the sword.

Cole had been so impressed by Aemond’s progress over the past year, especially as he adapted the loss of his eye, that the Kingsguard had gifted him with a real blade to replace the flimsy wood of his practice sword. It was simple, and wrought of ordinary steel – the ancestral Valyrian steel of House Targaryen was wielded still by the King and Prince Daemon – but it was still a fine sword.

And Aemond had grown into a fine warrior. True, he was blessed with some amount of innate skill, but it was his dedication to the art that made him truly great. Every morning, without fail, he went directly to the training yard after a meager breakfast in his rooms. He usually had the yard to himself for at least an hour before the other guards and knights began to arrive.

Aemond cherished that time he spent alone. It allowed him privacy as he brutally attacked the practice dummy, imagining it was Daemon. If any of the others saw the way he attacked then, viciously and mercilessly, they would no doubt ask questions. But this was one fight he had to wage alone, at least for the time being.

Perhaps one day, after the King was gone, he would have the chance to wield his blade against the real Daemon. He would make him suffer for all he had done to Arianwyn, and her mother.

For now, all he could do was imagine. As he did so often these days.

He imagined Arianwyn standing on the ramparts, watching him with a proud smile on her face.

He imagined her across the table from him in the library, reading to him with her sweet voice until he fell asleep

He imagined her astride Emrys, flying beside him through the skies and laughing as the wind whipped through their hair.

He imagined her everywhere.

But she was never truly there.

For the first time in his life, Aemond was dreading his nameday. It had never been in his nature to enjoy the interminable celebrations and massive crowds, but the festivities meant that he could spend several days with Arianwyn by his side from dawn to dusk.

She would talk for him when he was too shy, encourage him to try the strange new creations from visiting foreign chefs, and squeal with delight at every present he received. Her presence was always his most favorite gift.

Now he would have to endure it without her.

Getting through the tourney was relatively easy. He simply refused to leave the royal box, and he didn’t have to engage with anyone he didn’t already know. When he tired of talking with even them, most of the jousts and duels were impressive enough to hold his attention. Still, he would rather be riding Vhagar. But he had sent her to the Kingswood to roam and hunt while the tourney took place.

The feast was far more difficult. He was forced to endure hours of constant interruptions to his meal, only able to take four bites of his food before the whole plate went cold.

Lowborn knights aiming to elevate their status boasted to him, hoping to tempt him into accompanying them on their travels. Second sons from every house in Westeros tried to strike up a conversation, hoping to secure their place at court through him. And shy young ladies, both noble and wealthy, were paraded before him by their social climbing fathers.

Aemond was sure his brain would rot from the monotony of it all.

He had hoped the angry red scar still covering half his face would have scared at least some of them off, but he had no such luck. By the time he lost count of how many people had spoken to him, he was tempted to rip his eyepatch off and expose the gaping, gruesome hole where his eye had once been, just to try and get rid of them.

But before he could act on the impulse, a friendly face finally appeared before him.

“Prince Aemond, the people of Runestone wish you all the happiness of the world on your fifteenth nameday,” said Ser Gerold Royce. He held out a small wooden box wrapped with gleaming bronze ribbon and smiled at the Prince. “As does their Lady.”

For the first time that night, Aemond found himself smiling. He took the box from Ser Gerold and began to carefully unwrap the ribbon.

“Arianwyn deeply regrets that she could not be here to give this to you herself,” the knight explained. “But rest assured, she sends this gift with all her love.”

Aemond’s hands froze over the lid of the box. He knew Ser Gerold was expecting a response, but he did not know what to say. There was too much he wanted to say. But those words were only for Aria.

His mother saved him from having to say anything. “It is very kind of you to bring this yourself, Ser Gerold,” the Queen said with a sad smile. “We all miss Aria very much, and pray that we will be able to see her again soon.”

Indeed, Aemond prayed for it every night. But that prayer had yet to be answered.

Alicent placed a hand on her son’s shoulder, sensing the cloud of gloom coming over him. “Go on, Aemond,” she said, “Open it.”

Taking a deep breath, Aemond lifted the lid from the box. He heart immediately lightened when he saw a folded note written in a familiar hand.

Aemond,

Happy nameday!

I’m so sorry I can’t be there. Is the party miserable without me?

You will just have to imagine all the brilliantly witty remarks I would have made were I with you. And be sure to tell me everything that happened in your next letter – I want to feel as if I were really there!

Oh how I wish I could see your face when you open this gift. It took me a long time to figure out how I could possibly match the book you gifted me months ago, but I think I’ve done it with this.

I hope it works, and that you think of me every time you look in the mirror.

I miss you beyond words.

Your dearest friend,

Arianwyn

If she only knew how often he imagined her by his side.

Her words intrigued him. Why would he see the gift in the mirror? The box was far too small to be any king of clothing or armor, or anything else he could imagine wearing. Desperate to sate his curiosity, he hastily refolded the note and turned back to the box and withdrew the contents.

The gift was wrapped in a small silk cloth, the color somewhere between a bright violet and the gentle blue of a winter sky. Aemond’s eagerness to see what was held within nearly vanished when he beheld the embroidery on the cloth.

Runes. Tiny, delicate Runic incantations in bronze, silver, and black thread.

As Aemond tugged on it to better see one of the smaller symbols, the whole cloth came loose, and something small and round fell into his hand.

A sapphire.

With the cloth still held in one hand, Aemond lifted the gemstone with the other, holding it up to the candlelight to examine it. It was not actually round – it had dozens of small facets on the surface. And engraved on each of those facets were the same Runes embroidered in the cloth.

It was perhaps the most beautiful thing Aemond had ever seen.

“Arianwyn wanted the stone to match,” Ser Gerold said, gesturing to the cloth, “but this was the closest we could find.”

The Prince lifted the cloth back to the gem. Indeed, the colors were quite different, though he could find a tinge of purple within the blue stone. But why was the color of the silk significant?

Oh.

When he truly looked at the color of the silk, he found it infinitely familiar. It was the same shade as his eyes – his eye.

He knew what the gift was. It had been more than a month since he wrote to Arianwyn about Orwyle’s plan to replace his eye, he had nearly forgotten. But she had not.

She had made something beautiful for him. Something that, if he was reading the Runes correctly, would grant him strength, bravery, wisdom, and protection. Things he felt he was missing since she had been taken from him. She was giving them back to him in the only way she knew how – through the ancient magic of her ancestors.

Suddenly, Aemond was all too aware of Ser Gerold and his mother’s presence. They were waiting for him to say something. But there were no words, in any language that he knew, that could express what he was feeling in that moment.

“I…” he stammered, eyes darting between the stone and the cloth. “I miss her so much.”

Alicent wrapped a protective arm around her son, pulling him into her chest. “I know, my darling. I miss her as well.” As she spoke, Ser Gerold bowed and retreated back into the party, sensing his continued presence was unnecessary.

Aemond’s eyes stung with unshed tears. “There has to be something we can do to bring her home!”

“Believe me,” Alicent said, rubbing her hand across his back, “I wish there were. But, according to your father, until she is of age or married, Daemon has every right to keep her on Dragonstone.”

The sapphire flashed in the candlelight as Aemond turned it in his hand. “Then I will marry her,” he declared. “I am nearly a man grown. I will marry her and rescue her from Daemon.” He felt something blossom in his chest as he said the words, a warmth that quickly spread all throughout his body.

Yes, he wanted to save Arianwyn. To get her away from her horrid father. But as he let his imagination take flight, as he pictured Arianwyn in a white gown, smiling sweetly as she placed her hand on his, he realized that was not all he wanted.

He wanted her.

He loved her.

He had once read that love was pain. An unbearable, agonizing pain that could only be soothed when the object of your affection loved you back.

That was why his very soul ached every day, every hour, every minute she was gone – he loved her, and she was not here to love him back, if she even did.

The startling realization faded when he felt his mother cupping his cheek. She turned him away from the presents in his hands, and toward her. “Aemond,” she said, “there is nothing that would make be happier than to see you and Aria wed.”

But her dark eyes did not look happy. No, they held an overwhelming sadness. “That night on Driftmark,” she continued, “I offered to betroth you to her. To prevent Daemon from taking her away. And while your father thought it a wonderful solution to mend our broken bonds, Daemon refused.”

“Then he will wed her to someone else, and she will be taken far from me,” Aemond whispered, giving voice to his newest and greatest fear.

“No!” the Queen assured, “I do not believe he will. If that was his plan, he would have done it by now. No, he wants to keep her on Dragonstone, where he has full control of her, for as long as he can.”

Aemond let out a sad laugh, his lip shaking as he spoke, “So we just leave her there, not knowing what he may one day do?”

“That is all we can do, my love.” Alicent dropped her hand to the table, where she grabbed the note Arianwyn had sent with her wonderful gifts. “We wait, we pray, and we offer her as much comfort as we can from afar.”

With a sigh, Aemond looked back down at the sapphire and the silk. He would not stop praying, would not stop writing to her every day. He would not give up hope that he would see her one day. And when he did, he would never allow himself to be parted from her again.

Years later, Aemond once more pulled himself from bed to face the morning sun in the window, relishing the feeling of warmth on his face, and on his sapphire eye. He had ordered a large mirror set into the wall next to the window, so that the gemstone would be the first thing he saw each morning. Arianwyn was right, every time he glimpsed his reflection, he thought of her.

But he could not spend all day gazing into a mirror.

Turning away from the mirror, he sat back down at the edge of the bed, slipping his hand beneath his pillow. He smiled when he found what he was looking for, and brought the small silk cloth to his face.

Though it had been years since she held it in her grasp, Aemond could still find her scent in the fabric. Smoke and cold air filled his mind as he breathed in deeply.

He pictured her, not as the she had been when he last saw her, but how he imagined her now, as a beautiful young woman. Whenever a nobleman returned from a visit to Dragonstone, he pressed them for a description of her.

The image was so clear in his mind. Her long white hair that curled all the way down to her waist, and those large silver eyes that still held her characteristic sparkle. He imagined the slight upturn of her button nose, and the deep lines in her cheeks when she smiled.

Oh, that smile. It could brighten the darkest night, warm the coldest winter.

It was the image of her smile that had him growing hard.

Aemond closed his eyes, keeping the soft silk pressed to his lips with one hand as he took his hard length in the other. He inhaled Arianwyn’s delicious scent again and began to pump slowly, wanting to savor this ritual – one of the few sources of pleasure he still had.

He returned to his imagination, to Arianwyn. He imagined the feeling of running his fingers through her hair, tangling those perfect curls. He imagined wrapping his hands around her waist and pulling her flush against him. He imagined dragging his fingers down the soft skin of her cheeks to her full, pink lips, lingering there before he pounced.

How would it feel to kiss her? Would she lean back into him, or let him take control? Would she wrap her arms around his neck? His waist? Or would she gently caress the sides of his face? Aemond’s breath hiked as he imagined the feel of her soft fingers on his skin. He leaned back on the bed as he stroked himself harder and faster.

He could practically hear the noises she would make when he pulled himself away from her and moved to her neck. He would brush aside her hair and kiss her gently, playfully, hoping to pull more of those delectable noises from her. She would arch into him, as desperate for her touch as he was for hers. When she could take no more of his teasing, she would seize his collar and bring him back to her lips. He would devour her then, showing her exactly how much he craved her.

Release came when he imagined her pressing her forehead to his, at last ending their kiss as she whispered against his lips, “I love you.”

Laying back on the bed, Aemond’s breath came heavy as he at last lowered the silk from his face. The relief that came from his release was short lived, for he knew that this was all he had: his own hand and his imagination.

With a great sigh, he raised himself again from the bed, and began to dress for the day. As he left his bedchamber, he strapped his sword and dagger to his belt, and tucked the purple silk cloth into his breast pocket.

It had been five and half years since Arianwyn was taken from him, and still he clung to every scrap of her that remained. And though the waiting was torture, he took comfort in the fact that it would soon end. Arianwyn had celebrated her nineteenth nameday only weeks before. In less than two years, she would come of age.

If on that day, Daemon did not release her, Aemond would take Vhagar to the Dragonstone and rescue her himself, consequences be damned. He would be the noble Prince to rescue the girl in the tower.

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