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targaryenrealnessdarling · 9 months

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A Perfect Score - Chapter 4 - Thin Ice | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to Casterly Rock for the next round of the tour, Aemond has some explaining to do | Word Count: 7.4k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: Aemond being a general raging dickhead, classism, sexual tension 😘, swearing, heavy petting

A/N: I feel like apologising for long chapters is beyond me at this point. But ohohoho we getting into itttt~

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

It turned out that alone, never really meant alone.

Alone in the sense that Aemond and yourself would be carted around by the various staff at Hightower Management, put into various hotels and expected to keep up with training, without the keen eyes of Otto nor Alicent watching over either of you.

Part of you was excited about the notion of a tour. But the more dominant part was immensely nervous. Without Helaena or Aegon to take the edge of Aemond’s personality, it might be silent torture or it might be entirely indifferent, as you and Aemond had been throughout the match and after-party well over a week ago and, as well as the time in between.

It was sort of routine now, the way you both trained. Only speaking to one another if you had to.

Even then, he did seem a little chattier. But it was a miniscule difference.

He’d not said a thing about his ex-dinosaur-girlfriend (as Helaena so carefully put it) being at the after-party. Not like he would say anything to you anyway, but still, what was that all about?

Helaena had told you as much as she could really, given all she knew being on the outside. Alys was twenty years Aemond’s senior, now in her mid-forties you surmise from the timeline. Besides grossing you out mildly, Helaena had bestowed her knowledge that as soon as Alicent found out about the supposed relationship, it was immediately put to an end.

Enter. The pregnancy scandal. Alys had approached Otto in a very business-like manner, breaking the news she was pregnant and that it had been Aemond’s, despite the timing of it clearly not matching up. Alicent was absolutely beside herself, which knowing her now you’re not sure if you could picture it, and insisted that it was entirely not true and that Alys had just wanted money.

Aemond’s or not, she was paid a handsome sum to keep quiet. And in the end? It turned out she wasn’t pregnant in the first place.

“I wouldn’t have told you if you hadn’t seen her at the party, as it’s not really my story to tell”, Helaena had said.

It left a bad taste in your mouth when she finished explaining. If that was all true, why the hell would she turn up to the after-party with the necklace Aemond had gifted her all those years ago? Why would she even get involved with a man twenty years her junior? It reeked somewhat of grooming, etching a permanent frown into your features at the memory of Aemond at the party, his shoulders rolled forwards, looking down and shrinking in her presence.

He looked so small then.

That’s all you could think about as you both sat in the back seats of the car driven by a man called Arryk Cargyll, who would be transporting and looking after you both since Criston was attending to Helaena and Aegon on the other side of the tour. He was significantly chattier and less stone-faced than Criston, which you chalked up to him being probably younger.

But even then, he barely spoke a word the entire way to your first stop of the tour. Casterly Rock, hosted by Jason and Johanna Lannister, representing the Westerlands.

At least the hotel was nice. You and Aemond had separate rooms next to one another. And aside from the odd light switch and the hum of the shower, he didn't make himself known.

Even now, as you sat on the bed, clad in black sweatpants and a sports bra, having visited the hotel gym, you listened to the shower through the walls in the quietness of the late evening. Staring off into space. The intrusive thought of Aemond showering briefly zipping through your brain and not at all imagining-

Incoming Video Call from El 🦌

Thank the gods for that.

You swipe the screen, greeted with the smiling face of Ellyn sat on what used to be your shared sofa.

"There's my hoe" she lovingly calls, stuffing a crisp into her mouth.

You hum a laugh, "Charming El" you smile, moving to lay on your front so you can prop the phone up, "What's the occasion? Do you miss me that much?"

She rolls her eyes, "Fuck off. I always miss you" she smiles brightly, "Forgive me for wanting to check in on my amazingly successful figure skating queen"

"Amazingly successful, huh?" You joke, "High praise coming from Floris' sister. How is she by the way?"

"She's fine. Getting discharged soon they think, she messed it up pretty bad" Ellyn shrugs, "hey, you might see Maris when you're out there"

"I'll give her a big sloppy kiss for you" you smirk.

Ellyn pulls a face, "Don't do that she'll punch you in the face"

You laugh. She absolutely would as well. The Four Storms indeed.

"I saw your Instagram pictures. You look fit" she says with a mouth full of crisps, "Anyway, who you dressed up for in there?"

You look down at your outfit, furrowing your brows, "A sports bra?" You joke, "Hardly dressed up, El"

She smirks, "How are things with Aemond?"

"Oh for fucks sake…" you roll your eyes, hearing her cackle through the phone, "Well, we didn't start the greatest"

"Tough crowd?"

"He may have insinauted I wouldn't handle it because I wasn't from any notable house"

Her mouth drops open.

"Death. He deserves death"

You laugh loudly, covering your mouth, "El!"

"Did you put him in his place?"

"Tried to!"

"I bet he went real quiet after you showed him up at that match!"

You smile at her, "Oh you watched that?"

"Course I did!" She returns, "not fair you looking like a snack on the ice like that. You could tell you didn't like each other though"

Ooft. "Yeah…" you trail off, "...it's a work in progress"

"I take it you haven't smashed yet then?"

"El!"

"What!" She shouts back, making the phone crackle due to her volume, "Just cos he's a dick doesn't mean he's unfuckable"

El, you're making it really hard to deny it right now by confirming my exact thought process.

You sigh, "I'm not fucking him, El. He hates me"

"Do you hate him?"

You bite your lip, "I tolerate"

"Fucking liar" she sneers, "anyway I gotta go, I'll watch your next match. Slay all day, love you!"

You sigh, dropping your phone, listening as the hum of his shower stops, and the bedroom light switch clicks against the wall.

How did you end this conversation thinking about Aemond having a shower more?!

Stop that. Bad girl.

You could hear him plug in what you assumed was a phone charger into the wall, something akin to bed slats cracking a second later with the weight of him slipping into bed.

His bed was right next to the wall, the same as yours.

You tapped your phone anxiously, biting your lip as if something were on your mind.

But you didn't have the heart to even tell yourself what you were thinking about.

Or rather who.

The bitterness of hotel coffee never fails to make you wince as you sit in the fancy hotel foyer, dressed in your usual all black sportswear while the space around you looks indicative of a Greek palace, all cream and decorated with keen detail.

Casterly Rock is unnaturally hot right now, so all you’re able to manage is a sports bra and a thin crop top on your torso, with of course, leggings on your bottom. Your foot taps impatiently, waiting for Aemond to come out of his room so Arryk can drive you to the ice rink for morning practice, raising an eyebrow when you look at the clock on the wall and see it’s already 6am.

He’s never usually late.

Arryk walks towards you with an unnatural spring in his step to say how early in the morning it is, smiling beneath his facial hair, looking entirely put together in the suit he wears. Does he wear that everyday?

“Aemond will be a while yet, shall I get you to the rink first so you don’t lose out on practice?”

You nod, downing the rest of the coffee to give you some semblance of life, standing up to follow him, “Sure, thank you”

You follow him to the car, sliding into the passenger seat, rubbing your eyes.

“Is he alright?” you ask, as Arryk pulls his seatbelt on.

He nods, putting the car into gear and setting off, “He’ll be alright. Just a small headache. The eye sometimes gives him some bother”

You drive in silence for a bit, the roads mostly clear from how early it still is.

“Have you been with them long? Working for them I mean?” you ask, trying to fill the silence with something.

“A while. I joined after Aemond’s accident”

You swallow.

The accident.

Sensing your silence, Arryk looks over briefly, “You don’t know?”

You shrug, shaking your head, “I figured if he wanted to tell me he would”

Arryk nodded and turned away again, clearing his throat with his eyes back on the road. He didn’t say anything else until you arrived at the ice rink, obviously not wanting to let slip any sensitive information that Aemond wouldn’t have wanted to share. But it was clear he knew.

It felt like everyone around you knew some kind of secret, and you were purposefully being kept on the outside, but just within reach.

This ice rink was by no means large and you’re thankful at least that it’s empty, so that you can do the pre-practice stretches in relative peace. You just stick your airpods in and play whatever you have on shuffle, using the free time Aemond isn’t here to start on the ice.

It’s nice every once in a while since starting training with Aemond, to have everything to yourself, music in your ears, hair down, the breeze of the air conditioning through your locks. Sometimes you find yourself just gliding, eyes closed and inhaling slowly and purposefully through your nose, letting the smells around you fill your senses.

After doing countless laps and trying certain jumps you know you’d be doing with Aemond later, you look at the clock. 45 minutes have passed and still no sign of Aemond.

Feeling entirely too hot from the exertion of practising, you huff and tug the shirt you’re wearing off, leaving yourself in only the sports bra.

Modesty be damned, I’m too fucking hot for this.

Tugging it over your head, adjusting the sports bra underneath, you don’t even register the double doors opening with the airpods blasting in your ears. It’s only when the flash of white hair passes as you slide along the ice, that you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Fucking hell” you mutter quietly, pulling out your airpods quickly.

Aemond shucks his bag onto the floor, not making eye contact as he slips onto the bench with his skates in his hands. He looks more irritable than usual, dropping his skates with a sort of carelessness you wouldn’t usually associate with him.

You watch his face, tense and irritated, looking down as he ties them, his eyebrows drawn together.

Skating up to the edge, you bite your lip, wondering if you should say anything at all. Would it just make him more difficult? Would he just stay quiet?

“Are you okay?” you ask, coming out more weakly than intended.

“Yes” he answers harshly, unconvincing, “Fine, clearly”

Woah, okay.

You lean over the edge on your elbows, watching as he fails to tie his skates the first time, cursing to himself at having to do it again, irritably looping them once more.

“Arryk said you had a headache”

Sighing once he’s double tied his laces, he leans on his knees, finally looking up at you, his whole body tense and rigid. He doesn’t say a thing. He just stares, as if he’s shocked you had the audacity to even talk to him, his glass eye reflected in the sharp blue tone of the lights.

It's like all the air has been sucked out the room. And the world only has you two left in it. The way he stares makes you both uncomfortable and breathless at the same time.

And you're unsure if you think it's a good thing.

A glimpse of what he acted like when you first met is there, watching the way his grip is tight, his forearms taut and shoulders hunched.

He opens his mouth, but you beat him to it.

“I have some ibuprofen…if you want it”

His mouth closes instantly. And his brow softens somewhat, although not unwinding entirely. His gaze falls to the floor for a moment, and he nods, looking completely resigned, much like he did on the night he talked to Alys Rivers.

Like a child in pain.

Hopping off the ice, you rifle through your bag that’s seated next to him, eventually extending the pills to him. He moves his head, his good eye starting at your legs and running over the entirety of you, before looking at your eyes. It makes you go all warm, watching the way he pauses at your middle, where the slightest bit of skin shows beneath the sports bra.

“Thanks” he says quietly, taking the pills from you and popping some out the foil. His fingers graze yours only slightly, and you press your lips together, turning away from him quickly to get back on the ice.

Your chest feels all hot and tight. Must be the hotel breakfast. That bacon did taste funny.

Something inside tightens as you turn to watch him swallow some water, watching the muscles of his neck. And then his large hands palm at his hair, pulling it to the back to tie it haphazardly, with no real care as several strands fall out from his grasp.

Why is that kind of hot.

What is wrong with me.

This is Aemond we’re talking about.

Despite knowing that there is no way those pills have kicked in yet, he tugs at his shirt as he gets out on the ice. He has one hand occupied with his phone as he meets you in the middle.

“Fuck. Speaker’s not working” he murmurs, fumbling with the settings on his phone.

“Oh”

You move from right leg to left leg, anxiously. Pulling at the fabric of your leggings while you think of a solution.

“We could uh…use my airpods” you respond, pulling the case out, “one each?”

He only moves his eye to meet you, his mouth wrinkled down in disgust. For some reason it makes you laugh.

“Oh come on, they’re not dirty” you smile, handing him one, “business partners, right?” you say, sticking the left one in your own ear.

Not friends.

Business partners.

He sighs, reluctantly sticking the right one in. You put the music you’ll be performing in a few days on repeat, sticking the phone into your sports bra in lieu of pockets.

“Give it to me” Aemond says, one hand limply extended.

“What?”

He looks at you, “Your phone” he adds, “I have pockets”

You pull an awkward face, swallowing thickly.

For some reason retrieving the phone from the sports bra feels weirder than putting it there, especially when you hand it to him and he presses it against his thigh to stuff into his zip pocket. God his hands are so massive now when compared to the size of the phone.

Stop. That.

Oh gods, was I sweaty. That’s so gross if I was.

He luckily doesn’t comment on anything like that. A small mercy.

You practise one. Two. Three times. The clock ticks by quickly as you're both immersed in training. Trying various parts of the routines, as well as a particularly difficult new jump, one that at first you have some trouble with.

Aemond throws you in the air and you have to spin three times, timing it perfectly so that your front is against his in time for him to push you back for the exit, hands joined.

It’s had…questionable results so far.

Misjudging how quickly you need to spin in the air, your feet aren’t in the right position and you fall chest to chest with Aemond, his arms reaching around you to make sure you don’t slip.

“Shit!” you whisper, annoyed at yourself, “Sorry”

You hate that when he catches you, his grip on your bare arms, that you can’t help but blush, every hair standing on end. Especially when he looks down at you, hoisting you up back on your skates once you’re balanced, “You okay?”

Completely too annoyed at yourself to care right now about the proximity, you shake your head, “Can’t hack that one”

Aemond bites his cheek, “Let’s try a double spin first then”

Realising you’re still very close, you skate back, clearing your throat, “You sure?..”

He shrugs, “We can work up to the triple if we want, but as long as we do a throw, still counts”

You nod, tucking your hair behind your ears, “Sure..”

If there is something you’ve noticed since you met and began working with Aemond, it’s that his style of skating, much like Helaena’s and Aegon’s, is very technical. Calculated. Overly-thought out.

Much like ballet, figure skating is as much about performance and emotion, than technical ability. Unfortunately for Aemond.

He’s so pragmatic about his approach that there’s barely room for any real emotion in his performance. He’s always straight-faced, tight-lipped. So much so, you wonder if he actually enjoys any of it.

As much as you hate to admit it, he was right. Starting with the double was an easier approach, and it came more naturally. So when you did several attempts after the triple, tucking your arms in on yourself for the spin, the last few were landed, making your insides swell with pride. Eventually, you look at the clock and wince at the time, so both of you take a break for a much needed drink.

After having crossed the technical bridge, time for the emotional one you suppose? No harm in asking, right?

“Can I ask you something?” you ask quietly, leaning backwards against the ledge, arms rested on it.

Aemond’s eye finds you mid-sip of his water bottle, and he licks his lips, his weight on one leg, wordlessly urging you to continue.

You swallow, wondering how best to word it, “Do you enjoy it?”

“Enjoy what?”

Isn’t it obvious?

Your eyes zip around briefly, “This? Figure skating?”

He’s quiet for a long moment. Answering your question without needing words.

“I enjoy it enough”

Enough.

Aemond is so guarded. Even now, he holds his arms over his chest, protecting his heart. Silence stretches between you at his answer, as unconvincing as it was, you nod your head with eyebrows raised, not wanting to say anything more that might dampen the mood on your training for today.

Being around him is like stepping around a sleeping dragon. One brush against it, however soft it would be, it’d wake in a sort of angered panic, assuming danger.

That is how you would describe him. Whatever you said or did, it’d be interpreted as an attack.

“You don’t believe me” he responded after some time.

As much as you feel you dislike him, you can’t lie to him, so you shrug, “Not really”

He narrows his eyes, “Why”

Fucking hell. Here we go. Now I’ve done it.

You sigh, already feeling an argument brewing where you hadn’t intended, “I think it’s no secret that when you perform you look like you’d rather be anywhere else” you say, shifting about on your skates, stretching your arms anxiously, “Unless you’re just like that with me” you add, under your breath.

He rolls his eye somewhat, humming. In neither acceptance nor denial.

Was that a yes? No?

“I just think if we’re going to stand a chance in these Championships we should at least make the effort with performance. For the scores” you nod to him, “That’s all I’m saying”

Aemond scoffs, “Oh, so you think you’re giving me advice now?”

Oh there’s the sleeping dragon.

Your head retracts, shocked by the sudden sass. Maybe the ibuprofen has kicked in, “We’re skating partners, aren’t we? You don’t value my good opinion, seeing as, shockingly, I existed as a skater before I met you?”

He shakes his head, as if amused, “Just find it funny”

You bite your lip, now visibly annoyed. Your skin blooms in frustration. Not this shit again. No fucking way.

“Funny in the sense that you still think that just because I’m of no notable house, not so far up my own ass I can’t see the sun and not such a nepo-baby that-”

“I fucking told you not to call me that” he snaps, his eye now serious, his stance too as he pushes off the ledge to stand before you.

You shrug, “Is that not what you are?” you challenge, “Your brother and sister get to represent the Reach just because your mother is from Oldtown, and you make it to the Championships every time despite not being able to show a slither of emotion on your face-”

“It’s because I’m fucking good at it” he counters, “Emotions has nothing to do with it”

“Doesn’t it? You can be good at it, but you don’t fucking like it”

He goes all quiet, his fist clenched at his side, shaking.

“It’s as clear to the judges as it is to anyone, you don’t enjoy it. I don’t doubt you probably did at some point”

He swallows, as if preparing himself for what he’s about to say.

“And because you’re so perfect?”

“Didn’t say I was-”

“Yeah, that’s because you’re not” he interrupts, making you go quiet and still, “Don’t you dare try to act all high and mighty to me. My family is well-established and good at it. There doesn’t need to be a deep and meaningful reason why I do it. I don’t need to dig deep to find any semblance of purpose in my life, unlike your shitty one. If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all-”

Aemond stops his chaotic ramble when he finally turns to look at you, seeing the horrified and tearful expression on your face after you’d heard him say it in his fit of rage. His face drops instantly, replaying what he’d said. It didn’t seem like him at all, to go on such a rampage of horrible words.

It felt like someone was speaking through him. Like he was a puppet on a string, performing the actions of others.

But he had said it nonetheless.

You laugh weakly, feeling your insides twist painfully.

“My class, huh?...” you repeat, shoving the knife inside him deeper. The word seems to make him shudder now, despite him being the one who said it.

If you didn’t laugh you’d cry. So you did just that.

“Well, I’m sorry you feel so disgusted to have people of my class doing your sport” you respond, skating backwards away from him.

With tears covering your vision, making the ice look like one big blob of white, all you manage is, “Fuck you, Aemond”

You hear his voice, once, twice, calling your name. The last time is exasperated, carried with a sigh once he realises that you’re too angry right now to even hear him. It all happens so quick you don’t have time to think, the way you pull your skates off without untying them first, hurtling your bag over your shoulder and pushing the doors open so hard they bang against the wall, filling the empty sounding room with an echoed slam.

You don’t look back at him. He doesn’t fucking deserve it.

You don’t even text Arryk to come pick you up. You just walk, legs carrying you as quickly as you’re able, one in front of the other and counting up and down in your head in an effort to calm yourself down. The air was hot and oppressive around you, closing in, making you feel even smaller than Aemond had just a few minutes before.

No tears. Don’t cry. He doesn’t deserve them.

He doesn’t deserve them.

If it were up to me, I wouldn’t let the likes of your class skate at all.

The replay of the words breaks you and you hurl your bag at the closest wall, but it does nothing to expel the annoyance and frustration you feel inside. The skates inside the bag make it so heavy that it falls to the floor with a thud. You stand there watching, breathing heavily in the air of the early afternoon.

For a small, brief flicker of a moment, you regret throwing your bag with the skates inside. Knowing that it was Rhaenys who gifted you them, and that an argument with Aemond didn’t excuse treating such nice things in that way. All the emotions you have kept back are still there, sitting behind your eyes.

Not in public.

So with a resigned sigh, you pick the bag up and walk the fifteen minutes it takes to get back to the hotel, hoping and praying to every god there is that Arryk or Aemond doesn’t see you on the way back in the car.

The hotel is luckily air conditioned. You can't tell if you're hot because it genuinely is hot, or if you're just so angry you might literally be steaming.

So intent on making a beeline to your hotel room, you nearly collide fully with a familiar brunette.

"Shit! Sorry, I wasn't look-Johanna!" You sigh, red-faced, looking right into her deep brown eyes, that are crinkled up with a smile.

"Gods, you look…hot, and not in the good way" she remarks, her eyes looking over you. You can't help but look at her outfit, all a lovely golden colour that suits her in its entirety.

Instinctively, you wipe your neck, embarrassed at how you must look.

"Yeah, I uh, just came back from training"

She looks around, "Where's your partner? Aemond"

"Oh, uh, he decided to hang back" you lie with a smile, hoping it lands. But her smile indicates that she knows it's not entirely true.

Her deep brown eyes look over your expression, her lips tightening into a reassuring line that’s akin to a smile, “I get it, you know” she says, to which you cock your head, “Not being on good terms with your skating partner”

She sees the way your eyes go wide, and your mouth opens to contradict, “Save it. It’s obvious”

Fuck. Is it really that obvious?

“If it were up to Jason, he’d have stopped competing ages ago” she muses, eyes flickering to the floor every once in a while, tugging her jacket around her tighter, “It’s me who’s the competitive one”

“But you two skate so well together?” you ask, confused. They’d always been very good skaters together, only spurred on by the fact that they were married.

Johanna laughs, “I’m not stupid. I know Jason’s fucking around on me” she admits without a hint of weakness in her tone, “It’s the least I can do to get back at him, forcing him to compete with me”

Part of you feels sad for her that she knows he’s cheating, but can do nothing about it. But you can’t help the mischievous smile on your face at her so-called ‘revenge’. You’re at least grateful that the person you’ll be up against tomorrow isn’t so hell-bent on winning that she’s outright mean to you.

After a moment, she taps your shoulder, “It’ll be alright. Show him what you’re made of”

You blink, still smiling from her quip before. Even when she leaves the foyer, you stay planted on the spot, bag digging into your shoulder from its heavy contents, feeling the familiar heaviness in your stomach as well.

Show him what I’m made of?

I tried that already. And it still wasn’t enough.

If there’s anything to be grateful for, it’s that Aemond isn’t back at the hotel yet.

But it is only in the sweet relief of silence in your hotel room that you realise…

Great. He still has my phone.

It doesn’t take long for you to really wallow in self-destructive feelings. Stipped down to your baggy clothes, sat in bed, flicking through the terrible hotel channels that are just not doing it for you, and picking at several crisps and popping them into your mouth.

Knock Knock.

It almost makes you jump out of your skin, however soft the knock was.

Your jaw clenches when Aemond’s voice calls your name, staring at the door as if looking right through it.

He sighs, his voice muffled, “Come on, I know you’re in there” he says quietly. You can hear him shuffle from foot to foot. You can imagine him, standing there, with his hands stuffed into his pockets, his leg shaking while he turns his thoughts over in his head.

He sighs again.

"Please"

Part of you wants to smile at the way he says it. Like it's hurting every little bit of him inside to even consider apologising. But the thought of the smile never really comes to a full one on your face, and your lips continue to turn down into a frown, watching his shadow moving side to side underneath the crack of the door.

You didn’t move an inch. You just watched as he stayed for longer than you thought he would.

The shadow moved, and your phone slid face down under the door, before his footsteps were muffled and far away down the hall. You heard his hotel room door close softly, the light switch clicked against the wall, and the bed slats once again creaked louder as he flopped down on it.

Knowing he is right there, on the opposite side of the wall, no longer gives you that fluttering feeling. It makes you feel somewhat uncomfortable that he’s so close without seeing him. Restless.

Padding over to the door to retrieve your phone. Several messages line the home screen, obscuring the view of your background, you and Ellyn at the ice rink for Christmas and her falling into your arms, not being quite as adept at the skill as her sisters. It never fails to make you smile.

Rhaenys - Manager: 3 unread messages

El 🦌 - 1 unread message

Unknown number - 5 new messages

You cock your head somewhat at the unknown number. And with 5 new texts from it too.

Swiping open your phone, you're met with the absolute essay of the text from the unknown number.

Fuck that, I'm not reading it without a drink in my hand.

So you sit on the bed, a can of gin and tonic in one hand, scrolling through the long text.

At first it doesn't really make sense.

You raise an eyebrow. Reading on.

You swallow, reading all of the words.

You hate that you laugh at that last bit. You can imagine him pacing around, seeing the unread texts he'd sent and hitting himself realising your phone had been in his pocket the whole time.

Something squeezes tight in your chest, reading all of it over one more time.

Aemond hadn't apologised. Not specifically anyway.

I didn't mean any of it.

You sigh, tipping your head back against the headboard with a light thud, staring up at the ceiling of the hotel.

It's late. The match against the Lannisters is tomorrow.

Do you forgive him?

It felt wrong to forgive him for what he'd said, especially after all the times he'd been rude to you before.

Forgiveness would imply that he'd apologised, which he hadn't. You felt like you at least deserved that. And if he couldn't give that to you…

You save his number under ⛸️. Not having the energy to write his name right now.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard, your leg moving erratically. Thinking of what to say back.

Be civil. But not too nice. Otherwise he might think it's all good.

You didn't want him to think that.

So you settled for something simple. Something indifferent.

Being in the dressing room without Alicent to fuss over your skates compared to now, sitting in front of the vanity, alone, with your hands clenched tight in front of you, it makes the loneliness tug at your heart. Sitting heavily in your chest.

You should feel pretty. Your outfit is a standard leotard with mesh detailing at the collar, short sleeves, little rhinestones dotted on the skirt to catch the light. The fabric was white, similar to the one you wore at the first match, but not exactly the same, and you can imagine what it would look like when you were skating, capturing the glimmer of the lights and cutting through the air like a whisper.

You’d done your hair yourself, half up half down. With a silver ornament at the back to keep it secure. The pieces that were pulled at the front were waved to the best of your ability, hair sprayed within an inch of their life to stay that way. Your makeup was the same, a barely-there approach, as it was all you were comfortable with.

But you didn’t feel pretty.

Aemond hadn’t replied after what you’d said the night before. You watched as the three bubbles appeared and disappeared a few times, but in the end it was clear he was intent to leave you to your thoughts and give some semblance of space. Since he said himself, he knew he’d fucked up.

You weren’t sure if you were relieved or not that he didn’t reply. All you could think about right now was the match, the move you had practised the day before, and how you were going to best execute it.

“Triple spin in the air, land on the right leg…” you mumbled, tracing the steps of the routine in your head.

The door to your dressing room swung open and your eyes locked eyes with Aemond’s in the mirror. Your heart lurched into your throat seeing him, after what had happened in the last 24 hours, with your partnership potentially hanging by a thread. Your cheeks grew hot with embarrassment, sensing that you really didn’t know what to say.

He briefly met the gaze before looking down, closing the door behind him and leaning against it. His hair, as opposed to last time, was in a loose bun, straight strands framing his chiselled face.

“We’re on in 10” he said simply, his left leg twitching in barely-contained anxiety. He bit his lip harshly, something akin to irritation gnawing on his insides.

Anxiety you knew didn’t come from performing the routine itself.

He was afraid of what you would do. Or what you would say.

Swinging your legs off the chair, you pull one of your feet up to the cushion, making sure the laces are well tied and in their place, your eyes trained solely on them and not on him, who was still standing by the door, as if guarding it.

“Look, I-”

“I’m fine, Aemond” you interrupt him, lacing the other one, “Let’s just get this over with please”

Aemond looked as if he’d been slapped. Like he did that night when he’d spoken to Alys Rivers.

“I didn’t mean any of it” he continues, despite what you’d said. When you look at him now, standing up on your skates, he chews on his lip, taking his time to make himself look at you. His eye rakes over your outfit for this routine, leg still bouncing, “You look nice, by the way”

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Will you stop saying that like we’re friends, Aemond” you snap, “Just business partners, right?”

Aemond sighs, “Will you stop twisting anything I say into an insult about you?”

“So, is that what that was yesterday? Me twisting your words?” you look at him incredulously, daring him to deny it.

“No-fuck-I didn’t say that” he barks back, his volume increasing, clearly struggling to string together the right words he wants, “What I meant was-”

You shake your head, having had enough, “Just leave it, Aemond. I don’t need to hear it, from you in particular. Can you move please?”

He stays stock still against the door, blocking your path, even stepping forward as a means to say he is most certainly not finished. For a brief second, panic flits through you, not quite remembering how tall and broad he is compared to you.

“What I said yesterday was wrong-”

“You’re fucking right, it was wrong!” you bark back this time, stunning him into silence. He wears a stoic look, his chest rising and falling steadily.

“Do you know how hard I worked to get where I am today, despite my class as you so nicely pointed out. If it really offends you so fucking much to be paired with me, then why agree to it in the first place if you’re just going to bitch and whine about it all the damn time!”

“I-”

“No! I deserve to fucking be here, Aemond, just as much as you. I don’t know if I will ever be good enough in your opinion, but I am slowly realising that I don’t care about that. If you don’t think I am good enough to be associated with you or your prestigious family, I am totally fine with th-”

“You are good enough” he says flatly, his eye twitching somewhat as his muscles tense up, “Better than most, in fact”

You scoff, not affected by it now. No way.

“Well, you have a funny fucking way of showing i-”

You didn’t realise it at the time, how close Aemond had really stepped towards you, so embroiled in the argument with him that it didn’t seem to matter. His stance, his attitude, didn’t make you flounder.

But what did make you stiffen up and go hot all over was when Aemond’s hand made its way around your waist to pull you close to him, and his other hand cupped the back of your neck to tug your face flush to his, silencing you with his lips on yours.

His fingers curled over your skin in a desperate hold, the one around your waist feeling like it was burning a brand right through your outfit. Your hands braced on his chest in shock of what he’d done, fingertips barely touching the skin above his black shirt, so much so you swear you’re able to feel the thrum of his rapid heartbeat.

Just as quickly, he pulls back, his cheeks flushed near-undetectably and his mouth open to breathe, with soft pants coming from his plush pink lips. Your wide eyes flit over his own, from one to the other, to gauge a reaction, despite him being the one who had kissed you. The sapphire glistens in the somewhat low and harsh light of the dressing room and his good eye doesn’t nearly look as blue, but almost so dark from how wide his pupil is dilated, that it’s completely black.

Neither of you wait to see what the other has to say, now that a line has been crossed, it cannot be uncrossed.

It’s unclear who moves first, but all you know is that you’re kissing again, your hands on his shoulders, his own tightening impossibly around you. You feel the weight of every movement behind his lips, tilting his head to gain better access to your hot and waiting mouth as he slips his tongue against yours, sending off each individual kiss with a wet click. It’s a mess, your teeth knock near-painfully against one another, tongues fighting an ever-losing battle.

Aemond moans low in his throat, almost inaudible as he savours the taste of your mouth, his lips anchoring yours open the entire time. With his weight falling forwards, your backside meets the harsh edge of the vanity, making you wince a gasp quietly into his mouth. It only serves to spur him on, his hands fall to your hips, squeezing the flesh beneath the outfit in his large palms, kneading it as if to commit the contours to memory. As if he thinks he may never get to do this again.

He moves like it’s instinctual, his hands falling to grasp at your buttocks, he growls, lifting them onto the vanity, his hold so tight there that it sends a gush of arousal straight to your centre, especially when Aemond leans forward once more to stand between your legs, his obvious erection slotting neatly against your clothed core. His hips move with the rhythm of your desperate kissing, chasing the friction against your flesh he so desires, and you can tell by the way his lips part against yours, a breathy moan slipping into your mouth.

"Fuck" he breathes quietly.

You moan back when he squeezes your waist tightly, his fingers digging in. Thank the gods, this isn’t a cutout dress, otherwise his fingerprints would be clearly visible in red, digit shaped marks for everyone to see. For some reason, that excites you, a dull buzz making its way up your spine as you increase your hold on his shoulders and then his neck, hanging desperately onto him as he pushes flush with you, his chest almost touching yours.

Aemond’s hand drops to your thigh, squeezing the skin in his fingers, his thumb making its way up until it grazes over your clothed heat. It’s like he knows exactly what to do to you, and his fingers tease your clit through your leotard, pressing softly and drawing a desperate breathy moan from your lips. Your hips move towards him, chasing the brief, softened contact he applies, core clenching around nothing-

“On the ice in 2!” someone says from behind the door.

Aemond immediately withdraws, cheeks now genuinely flushed against his pale skin. His wide eye continues to hold your gaze, searching your expression for a reaction to what the two of you just did.

His throat bobs as he swallows and steps back, peeling his hands off you and adjusting his trousers to hide the tent that has formed, the size of it shamefully impressing you for a second. Your hands pull back slowly, slipping off the vanity on wobbly legs and smoothing the skirt back over yourself, briefly noticing the imprint of his hand marks on your bare thigh.

His hair somewhat dishevelled, he uses his hand to smooth it back down. He wets his lips, missing the door handle once before finally catching it, “See you out there..” he says shakily in a weak voice, before he disappears, leaving the door open.

Leaving you to comprehend this sensation that tugs in your stomach. Leaving you to remember the way he’d just kissed you, just touched you, like nobody had ever done before. Even the mere thought of it makes your chest erupt in pink and flutters settle in your core.

Aemond had just kissed you.

And you liked it.

Shit.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 9 months

Text

A Perfect Score - Chapter 1 - Ice Cold | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: The opportunity of a lifetime presents itself | Word Count: 5.8k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: language, mentions of injury

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Welcome to A Perfect Score, I hope you like the first chapter! It's a lot of set-up here but I am hoping it's not too boring.

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

Halting in the middle of the rink, you lean down, tugging the strings of your skates back through their holes even tighter. Damn things are always too big. You make a mental note to text Rhaenys later to get rid of them and invest in some more that actually fit well enough to practise in.

The sound of blades tearing through the ice is beginning to grate now, so you think it’s been long enough. You’ve been practising perfecting the Fankick to Illusion move for at least an hour now and your thighs are starting to scream for reprieve.

Another lesson you feel you’ve learned over the years is to listen to your body when it needs rest. Pushing yourself so hard in the past has never turned out with good results. So now all you can think about is going home, icing your muscles and eating something a bit gratifying, even if it means cheating on your strict diet.

It’s only when you stand up that you realise your core kills, and you wince slightly once you push yourself on your skates towards the edge of the rink.

And as if it couldn’t possibly get worse, a wide-stupid grin is plastered all over Jace Velaryon’s face as he skates up to you. His wild curly brown hair is sat unruly at chin length, and he wears entirely grey sportswear, paired with black skates.

“Fancy seeing you here” he muses, as he circles you on the ice.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Actually I was just leaving”

Jace feigns disappointment, his lips turning down into a playful child-like frown, “Shame. Was hoping we could practise together”

You huff, skating backwards away from him, “In your dreams, Velaryon”

“Your loss!”

"You not pestered Luke to get into it then?" You call, amused.

Jace rolls his brown eyes in the back of his head, almost losing balance as he does, "Nah, he's terrified. Won't come near it!"

"Shame, it'd be like watching Bambi-On-Ice" you joke with a grin. He pulls a fake-amused expression, sticking two fingers up at you in retaliation before skating off himself.

You swivel round on the ice, to be greeted with a bright, smiling face as Ellyn Baratheon waits there at the side-lines waving at you.

“Hey El” you say, all puffed out as you walk on your skates to the nearest bench, your muscles screaming now that you’re off your feet.

She smirks, raising an eyebrow, “Jace trying to chat you up again?”

“Trying for sure”

Ellyn hands you a hand towel which you take graciously to dab the back of your neck, “I don’t know how you do this everyday” she says, shaking her head, “Floris not here?”

“No, I haven’t seen her” you shrug, “Why are you here anyway. You Joe Goldberg-ing me?” you smirk at her, undoing the laces to your skates and rubbing the sensitive skin at the ankle.

Ellyn raised her eyebrows, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder, “It’s hardly Joe Goldberg-ing when I know you, idiot” she jokes.

Taking a long sip from your water bottle, you furrow your brows, “What’s up with you? It’s not like you to be worrying after Floris”

“No it’s not that” she argues, “Dad said she was having a tough time with training and I thought she’d be here so…”

You shrug, “She’s not come to train here in ages”

Ellyn hums looking around, looking back at you with wide eyes, “Don’t look, but him in the stands, he's been staring at you the whole time I’ve been here and he totally just caught me looking”

“Well now I just have to look, don’t I?” you smirk, looking around her.

She is indeed right.

High in the stands, arms tightly behind his back, wearing a long dark green coat, is Otto Hightower. He has a stern face beneath the greying beard on his face, eyes constantly set into a frown. Once he sees he has been noticed, he pretends to observe the other skaters, but it’s blatantly obvious he was staring at you, and has been doing so for the past few weeks.

“Oh, him? He’s always here” you say to Ellyn, pulling a face, “Some sort of - I don’t know - talent scouting or something?”

Ellyn passes you your trainers, “Does he always stare like that?”

“Yeah but he’s harmless. It’s Lars, Larry…fuck I don’t remember his name, but it’s him you should feel weird about”

“Gods, yeah! Floris told me!” Ellyn gasps, looking around to make sure the guy isn’t around, “Is it true he was found in the women’s locker room?”

You nod, amused, tying up the laces to your shoes.

Ellyn chuckles, “Jesus, the stuff you guys put up with. Makes me glad I never got involved in this business” she gestures with her hands to the ice rink.

“Hm” you hum, “Anyway, are you going to take me out to eat or what”

She links arms with you, “Charming”

You spare a look over your shoulder at the man in the stands, who looks cagier by the second as he turns, eyes trained entirely on you and stalks off out of booths, his long coat brushing against the seats. He walks away with a purpose only Hightowers seem to possess.

Ellyn, in her true Baratheon nature, takes you to Storm’s End, a popular brunch spot that sells cocktails in the early afternoon. Partly because she genuinely enjoys the food, but also because her dad owns the place. Suppose special treatment works sometimes.

Also in her true nature, she orders two mimosas, indicating that even if it’s not your cheat day, sometimes you just have to live a little, she says. Ellyn harps on about a guy she’s been texting who she matched with on Tinder, who turned out to be a Class A twat when she found out that he’d also matched with every single one of her sisters and tried to chat them up as well.

But as much as she is trying to mask how concerned she is, you can see it. After being her flatmate for so long, it’s difficult to not see.

“Why are you so concerned about Floris?”

Ellyn sighs, “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t. She’s an adult and she can take care of herself and all but she’s just being really secretive. I just don’t like thinking that she’s keeping her troubles to herself. Even Cass has no idea what’s going on and you know what she’s like”

Your eyes widen in agreement, biting back a grin.

“Control Freak”

You both say in unison with a giggle.

You stab at your lunch with your fork, “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m in ‘the business’ and I don’t know what’s going on with her” you say, “I’m sure she’ll come around. Like you say, she’s a big girl”

“I just think with all these championships coming up, it’s going to her head”

You hum in agreement. But before you can say any more, both you and Ellyn stare at one another in shock when both of your phones light up at the same time, with different Caller IDs. Hers with ‘Dad’. And yours with ‘Rhaenys - Manager’.

Giving one another a weird look, Ellyn senses the urgency in hers and scrambles to her feet, urging her phone to her ear. You accept the call putting it to yours,

“Rhaenys?”

“Where are you right now?” she asks, urgency in her tone.

“Uh…Storm’s End, why?” you ask, “Has something happened?”

“Are you with anyone?”

“Yeah, Ellyn, but she’s on the phone to her Dad - Rhaenys, what’s going on?”

You hear her sigh over the phone, her usually calm demeanour is somewhat hurried.

“Floris has injured herself quite badly. A broken ankle. She won’t be able to compete in the Championships”

With the phone still pressed to your ear, you look up at Ellyn, who is practically tearing her hair out across the room, half-shouting nervously down the phone, receiving the same news as you are right now.

“How do you know this?”

“I have my ways”

“No but, why are you telling me this?”

Rhaenys sighs again and you feel the panic winding its way up your throat, sending every hair on edge. You’re annoyed and flustered in equal measure that you can’t see her face, and wished she would just tell you what the hell was going on.

“Otto Hightower has approached me, asking for you”

What. The. Fuck.

Okay, that’s not what you expected to hear.

“Otto Hightower. You’re kidding right?”

“I wish I was” she answers in a flat tone.

“Well - uh - why not Baela or Rhaena?”

“He doesn’t want them, they only do Singles. Now that Floris is injured they need another skater to join their team”

Your mind feels like it's whirring a million miles an hour.

“Wait, Otto Hightower wants me for Pair Skating?” you ask, confused, “Rhaenys I’ve never done Pairs either!”

“You think I don’t know that!” she retorts, her volume increasing and cracking down the phone, “If Otto wants you, you have a shot at going to the Olympics. With the Targaryens”

The Targaryens.

A figure skating family powerhouse. Combined with the Hightower management, they’re quite the force to be reckoned with. You’d heard of them, being involved in figure skating for most of your life, as they always represented the Crownlands, but they were like a myth, only spoken about but never seen. And as well as that, they’re steeped in layers of controversy. It’s the only thing that is ever so slightly colouring your judgement.

“Rhaenys, I don’t know about this…I’ve got Ellyn right here-”

“There’s a schmoozing event tomorrow night. They’ll all be there. Just go and see how you feel and then we can talk about it, okay?” she offers, her tone more gentle now, “At least give it a chance”

Your gaze is brought back to Ellyn, who looks significantly less stressed out than a moment ago, but still with the phone pressed hard to her ear, talking under her breath. You swallow anxiously and wonder how Ellyn would take it if you so quickly snapped up the opportunity that was presented only because her sister was injured. It feels like the room is spinning, with no sign of stopping and the feeling is making the blood in your veins feel like jelly.

The Olympics.

Was there really a chance that could ever happen?

With a strained, quiet voice, you finally speak, “I’ll think about it”

Rhaenys makes a noise down the phone like the tension is leaving her body, “I’ll text you the details”

As quickly as either of you are able, you accompany her to the hospital to see Floris. And when you see her, it takes every ounce of self-control inside you when Floris shows a photo of her injury not to outright gag. Rhaenys wasn’t fucking kidding, broken ankle your arse. It was facing in the most unnatural direction. Whatever move she was trying to do clearly had gone buttfuck wrong and all her weight had completely snapped her foot.

You manage to sneak in some snacks for her, before leaving Ellyn alone with her to chat amongst themselves while the rest of the Baratheons arrive.

It leaves you to think finally, in quiet, in the comfort of your flat with the kettle boiling softly about what Rhaenys had suggested.

It could never have happened on your own. The Targaryens were well known in the Figure Skating industry, and not always necessarily for the right reasons.

You were too young to remember fully, but after becoming a skater, you began to hear rumours of Alicent Hightower. Some in judgement and some in sympathy. Even the details, you couldn’t tell if they were biased or not.

Alicent Hightower was a brilliant figure skater. The Sweetheart of Oldtown, they called her. She was graceful, professional and had all the makings of being Olympics worthy. And she was only in her early twenties when she did make it, although that didn’t come without the berating and hounding of her father, Otto Hightower, who was and still is her manager, except now he manages her Targaryen children as well. It was always in the press, Otto would be caught berating Alicent in restaurants and outside of championships, he was so desperate for his daughter to make it big. You count the blessings and thank the gods that your parents were never like that.

When she did make it to the Olympics, it had come out that she was having a secret relationship with a judge on the panel, Viserys Targaryen, without disclosing it. In the conflict of interest, and when she was found to be pregnant, she was disqualified and banned from competing professionally altogether. It devastated her noticeably, as the press loved to point out, shoving their cameras in her face wherever she went.

Something about it had always rung tragic to you though. She was only in her early twenties, and Viserys was much older and had already been widowed, with a child around the same age as Alicent as well. A fact you couldn’t help but find gross now that you’re older. But not only that, Viserys was extremely close with Otto, and the whole ordeal reeked of his involvement. An act that in the end, destroyed her career.

The controversy lasted years, as Viserys was also fired from his job on the board, but with his severance he was at least able to raise the family he’d made with Alicent, going on to have a further three children with her. And you didn’t doubt that she was probably happy now, with her four children all grown, but there was something about the entire thing that made you incredibly sad for her.

Ping.

Your phone screen lights up just as you pop some leftover pasta into the microwave.

Jace was always sweet. You’d known him a while and he always seemingly had a thing for you, something he desperately cannot keep to himself even if he tried. He’d even asked you on a few dates, once upon a time, but you’d always said you see him as a friend. And gods, you felt like a bitch but you couldn't help how you felt. He was sweet, but a bit too sweet. Like brother sweet. And it would just be too weird.

That didn’t stop him from shooting his shot though.

You hear the jingle of keys as Ellyn shuffles through the door, sinking into the sofa with a sigh having been on her feet all day. She doesn't need to ask for a drink, you already have two mugs ready.

"Pasta?" You ask,

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Dad took us out"

“How is she?” you ask after a beat, pulling the pasta out and dishing it up for yourself, leaning against the counter.

“Fine, but devastated, obviously” Ellyn sighs, grabbing a mug of tea you’d made for her, “she was looking forward to the Championships”

“I bet she was, bless her”

Ellyn furrows her brows, “She said she couldn’t tell me much…about anything”

You pull a face, “Why not?”

“She said she had to sign an NDA”

You scoff a laugh, "What the fuck? An NDA? Fucking hell, trust Otto to keep her quiet"

“Yeah well, she can’t tell anyone anything, not even her family” Ellyn tuts, burning her tongue slightly on her tea, “She told me Otto reached out to Rhaenys though”

Your face blanches and you look over at your flatmate, “Oh yeah?” you say shakily, “Yeah, um, Rhaenys called me at Storm’s End…telling me about Floris”

“She roping you into it?” she asks with a nod,

“Something like that”

Silence falls and the only sound is you tapping your fingers nervously on the bowl you're holding.

“I won’t do it”

Ellyn frowns, “Why?”

“Because I would feel shitty going for it knowing that it was literally going be Flor-ow!” she pinches your arm, “What was that for!”

“For being dumb” she says smirking, “listen I don’t care. Floris injured herself. It’s not like you’ve stolen her place or anything”

“That’s what it feels like though” you pout, rubbing the spot where she'd pinched you, "trim your fucking nails as well, that hurt"

She pinches you again, albeit not as hard “That’s for being dumb again” she says, “Listen, how many people get personally asked for? To compete in Championships. The Olympics!”

You sigh. Still not entirely convinced.

“Don’t give me that. If you want to do it then go for it. What reason do you have not to?" She asks, giving you a pleading look.

"I don't know! I have like imposters syndrome or something! I've never done Pairs, why does he want me?" You reason, stabbing a piece of penne, "The Targs are big, Ellyn. I'm not sure I'm ready for that…"

She scoffs, "Fuck me, who is?"

Your phone pings again with an email from Rhaenys, detailing the information for the schmoozing event tomorrow. You sigh as you read it.

"Who's that?"

"Rhaenys. Says there's an event tomorrow, the Targs will be there with Otto and she said if I wanted the opportunity I should go and meet them…" you explain, scrolling aimlessly through the details on your phone.

"Do it" Ellyn says, giving you a reassuring smile, "I'll hate you if you don't"

"Ok, ouch"

"Do it then!"

You pout, "But that means I have to shave my leeeegs…"

"I swear to all the gods, I will dump that penne pasta all over your dumb little head if you don't"

You'd laugh, if you didn't know Ellyn. But fortunately, you do, and you know she's deadly serious and absolutely would.

She puts on that pouty little look as well, sticking her bottom lip out, dangling her legs as she sits on the arm of the sofa.

You sigh, "Will you help me find a dress?"

She grins, clapping her hands excitedly, "Can I do your hair as well?"

Rhaenys wasn't kidding when she said it would be lavish.

The car will pick you up around 18:30. It's going to be a fairly formal dress event, but nothing too glitzy. Wear something sophisticated.

Yes ma'am.

As promised, Ellyn went the whole nine yards with helping you pick out a dress, deciding ultimately on a mid length black number with spaghetti straps, taking Rhaenys' advice and not wearing anything too much. That paired with heels and some gold accessories, and with Ellyn having done your hair in waves, it looked entirely professional.

But knowing this didn't help your nerves.

You sat nervously in the back of the car the entire time bouncing one leg, feeling the hot whips of panic at the back of your neck.

Am I overdressed? What if you can see my pantyline? What if I shit myself, I've not got a spare pair of underwear. Is this neckline too low? Will a nipple spill out?

"I know that look" Rhaenys' smooth voice snaps you out of your panic, "You won't be convincing anyone when you look like a slapped arse" she grins.

Rhaenys looks gorgeous as always, dressed in a beautiful sea blue with mesh at the top. Her hair is perfectly braided back without a single strand where it shouldn't be. She's always so classy, it's disgusting really.

"Sorry" you sigh, "I'm nervous"

"The only thing we should be nervous about is if there is wine or not" she retorts with a smile, pulling out her compact to check her lipstick hasn't bled.

"When I was your age it was all different. No licking the proverbial arse, shall we say"

You furrow your brows, "I don't want to be thinking about arse licking in front of Otto Hightower, thank you"

Rhaenys laughs, wiping some lipstick from her lip line, "Just relax. I'll talk you through who is there and what they do"

The car stops and you gather your dress as you step out, looking at the grand looking building in front of you. Rhaenys shuts the door softly as she leads you up the stairs, her heels clicking with each purposeful step.

"You do look lovely tonight, I'm sure there's nothing to be nervous about" she says, looking lovingly down at you and brushing a waved lock of hair out your face.

"I don't look overdressed?"

She scoffs, "Trust me, they will be. They like to make an impression"

A member of staff greets you both at the entrance, slipping your coat off your shoulders to hang up, just as another descends upon you two to offer a glass of Prosecco, which you clutch nervously in your grip, following Rhaenys through the foyer to the function room at the back.

"It's not wine, but at least it's alcoholic" Rhaenys muses as she sips a little, wiping her lipstick mark off the rim after she's done.

The function room is wide and grand, decorated top to bottom with lights and decorations that reflect a glimmer off the large chandelier that hangs overbearingly in the middle of the room. There's a softened chatter that fills the space, a hushed one that you think only people of a certain status are able to converse in.

You scan the room briefly, amongst the sea of heads. Some you know as judges who attend the local competitions. Others who you scarcely recognise from TV, who hold high standing as managers of bigger figure skaters.

It screams old money, or just money in general. There's a large table, with a spread of small bites, as well as staff members going around with canopies and refills of beverages.

It's almost overwhelmingly nice. But stiff-backed, formal, without a hint of carefree nature.

Sounds like figure skating alright, you think, sipping your Prosecco anxiously.

You suddenly feel a chill on your bare arms and shoulders. Perhaps spaghetti straps weren't the best idea.

Rhaenys points her ring clad finger in the corner, "There he is. The man himself" she says, a bit of annoyance to her tone.

When you follow her finger, he's already looking at you. Otto Hightower. He's wearing a dark green suit, his tie perfectly underneath his stiffened collar. His eyes are trained between yourself and your manager, as if trying to figure out a puzzle he can't solve. He stands tall as well, towering over most people at the event.

He's talking to (or rather tolerating) none other than that creepy guy, whose name you barely remember. The one who has been caught on more than one occasion in the women's locker room. After realising Otto is no longer listening, his icy gaze also meets yours, his lips turning into an amused smile of sorts that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swear to all the gods you see his gaze flit to your feet. But you must be imagining it.

Otto crosses the room with purpose in long strides, with a self-assured smirk on his face that is visible beneath his beard.

Rhaenys already has her hand stretched when he takes it to politely kiss her knuckles, "Rhaenys. It has been too long" he greets in a quiet, rasp.

She smirks too, pulling her hand away, "Not long enough, I would say"

He at least has the decency to laugh at her 'joke'.

You feel small when he turns to you, taking your hand to do the same as he asks your name.

"A pleasure. Otto Hightower" he bows his head slightly.

I know who you are, you think. And I'm definitely not freaking out.

"Pleasure is all mine. It's very nice to meet you and thank you for inviting us" you reply, as calm as you are able. Rhaenys beams, as if to say you're doing well.

Otto nods, turning his attention to the other side of the room, where a young man with short-ish silver hair has accidentally broken his champagne flute. His brow seems to lower a little.

"Aegon!" He calls, making the young man snap his head up in surprise, shoving whatever he had in his hand into his mouth hurriedly.

Otto pats Aegon's shoulder as he stands next to him, giving the former a chance to excuse himself, but not before whispering something into his ear.

Aegon is tall, but not as tall as Otto, and his platinum hair is in a cropped choppy style above his shoulders. He's wearing such a dark shade of green, it's nearly black, his white shirt has several of the top buttons undone as well. He flashes his white teeth in a wide smile while his eyes roam over your shoulders, one hand coming to shake yours,

"Nice to meet you. I'm Aegon" he muses. You nod with a friendly smile, your gaze briefly caught by Rhaenys moving away and speaking in a hushed manner with Otto in a way that can only mean business.

"You look horrified" he grins, making you snap your gaze back at him, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, do I?" You rub your neck, "it's just nerve-wracking I suppose"

"I don't blame you. We're not all scary when you get to know us"

You smile, slightly relieved at his casual nature, something you chalk up to him being a similar age, "You included?"

He shrugs, "I'm easy going. All this fluff annoys the fuck out of me"

"Inevitable, for the industry we're in" you smirk around the room, the bubbles dissolving on your tongue.

"In any case, I'm looking forward to working with you"

Aegon furrows his brows, confused, "Huh?"

Panic begins to gnaw at your gut, "Aren't we going to be doing Pairs?"

His smile returns, "Oh no! I do Pairs with my sister, Helaena. She's over there" he points out. The woman he's referring to is on the other side of the room, trying to catch a stray moth that had made its way inside. Her cream dress makes her look positively mythical, coupled with her platinum waves cascading down her back.

"Oh right, so…" you start, "...sorry, Otto mentioned me doing Pairs…"

Aegon pokes his cheek with his tongue, as if amused, "Oh yeah. You're going to be with Aemond. Unfortunately"

"Unfortunately?"

Aegon grins, in no attempt to hide his amusement by pressing the champagne flute in his hand to his lips and taking a large sip.

“My brother is complicated. He’s outside having a smoke, but don’t expect conversation”

You open your mouth to ask more, but Otto’s hand clamps over his shoulder, urging him back. Aegon smiles one last time, mouthing good luck. Rhaenys, now with a fresh drink in her fingers, raises her eyebrows at you.

“I’ve spoken with him” she starts, in a hushed tone, taking your arm and leading you to a quiet corner of the room, “He gave me his terms”

“And?” you ask expectantly.

“I gave him mine as well. He wanted you to be signed to his management, which means living in residence for the duration of your contract. They have facilities. A cook, a private rink for practise, a spare room for you-”

“What about El? I can’t just leave her high and dry without a flatmate”

Rhaenys waves the issue away, “I anticipated that, don’t worry. They will cover the cost of your room. You will also be doing Pairs with Aemond, not sure if it was mentioned to you before”

“No it wasn’t” you reply, almost annoyed. “So will Otto be my new manager?”

“Not exactly. He will be handling your competitions and training, but a certain percentage will still come to me, at my behest. I figured you wouldn’t want a change of hands entirely”

“You figured correct” you smirk at her, “What do you think?”

Rhaenys looks across the room, eyeing Otto, who is now speaking to a woman you can only see the back of. She had long wavy auburn hair tied loosely in a ponytail and wears a slim suit fitted perfectly to her figure.

“I think it’s a good opportunity. Everything is paid for and you’d be in with a good shot”

With your lips caught between your teeth in thought, you trace your finger over the rim of your glass, weighing up the options you’ve been presented with. You’re at least grateful that Rhaenys hasn’t just agreed blindly without asking you first. She is a good manager like that. Something you desperately don’t want to slip.

“Okay” you reply with a sigh, your chest deflating at making such a big life decision in such a short space of time, “I’ll do it”

Rhaenys squeezes your arm lovingly, her lips turning up into a smile, “I’ll confirm with him now then”

You watch as her blue gown billows as she walks away, taking another deep breath to ground yourself. Your skin seems to tingle with anticipation, maybe even excitement, wondering what training and residing alongside the Targaryens will mean. Not only that, but with none other than the Sweetheart of Oldtown herself. You wonder what she’s like in real life now, since she was forced away from the business all those years ago she’s kept herself quiet from the press.

Feeling utterly too hot and stuffy, you cross the room, out of the oak french doors that grace the back of the event, slipping out subtly while Rhaenys speaks to Otto once again, joining the chestnut-haired woman.

The chill of the early evening bites at your skin, but a welcome feeling once you press your back against the cool brick, having a moment’s reprieve from the crowds. You pull out your phone, thumbs working quickly to type a message to Ellyn.

Ping.

Um? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!

“You shouldn’t be out here”

You nearly drop your phone jumping out of your skin. The voice seems to come out of nowhere.

But the smell of cigarette smoke wafts into your face with the dull breeze and when the smoke clears, you see who you previously slipped right past, leaning on the other side of the french doors.

He’s tall. Taller than Otto it feels like. And though he hasn’t introduced himself, it isn’t difficult to guess who he is judging by the long platinum hair pulled back into a messy bun, the sharp features only Targaryens seem to possess and the half-hooded, almost annoyed stony stare. Unlike his brother and Otto, he is wearing entirely black, like he’s attending a funeral. His outfit is fitted perfectly, save for the one top button nestled beneath his tie that is left undone.

Aemond Targaryen.

He hasn’t even turned his head all the way to you, his two fingers coming up to his cigarette, pulling it away to blow the smoke from his pouty lips. He taps the ash to the side with his fingers, raising an aggravated eyebrow when you don’t reply.

You swallow nervously, tapping your fingernails on the glass you’re still holding, willing the dryness out of your throat. You’re not sure anyone would be able to deny, he’s handsome. And it’s unlike you to think any man is beautiful, but he is. He probably knows it as well, hence the annoyingly self-assured way he holds himself.

“Needed some air” is all you’re able to say in return, clicking your phone off.

Even as you turn away, in your periphery you see his tall form push off the wall and stride purposefully towards you. He stops just shy of you, holding out the cigarette he was smoking in his fingers as an offer to calm your nerves. Your blood feels icy when you look up at him, having to properly look all the way to even see him, and finally see the other side of his face.

An angry scar runs jagged through his skin, from his forehead to the middle of his cheek, right through his socket and eyebrow. It’s not quite red, but more a dull colour, probably with age. His left eye doesn’t quite look the same as his other, a slightly different shade of blue. Your gaze briefly flits between the two, taking in his features. He’s got such an angular face, it almost looks as if he’s been carved from stone and could be put on display in those fancy museums. But more than anything, something flutters in your belly at the thought of seeing him on the ice, with you.

Shaking your head, you reply softly, “No thanks. I quit”

He shrugs almost imperceptibly, bringing it back to his lips, turning away from you to blow the smoke into the wind. And for some reason, watching his neck flex, his fingers deftly holding the cigarette and his tall, broad stance, it makes your body go all warm.

He doesn’t look back at you when he says, “It’s a glass eye”

“What?”

His gaze flits down finally to you, “You were looking at my eye”

“I wasn’t”

“You were”

You lick your lips anxiously, hot embarrassment creeping in at the revelation you’d been caught admiring him. But Aemond doesn’t smile, he remains stony-faced and impassive.

“I wasn’t going to ask” you respond, crossing your arms, running your palms over your arms that have now erupted with goosebumps. From the chill of the wind or his presence, you’re not sure. Aemond huffs, as if he doesn’t believe you though.

He gestures inside with a kink of his head, “You should be in there. Making connections”

You furrow your brows, “I’m not interested in that”

An amused smile, similar to the one Aegon had done, makes his lips curl up slightly. Before now you weren’t able to see the resemblance.

“Hm, Sure you’re not” he muses, pushing the cigarette into the brick next to you to stub it out, “Let me guess. You just love to skate. Skating is your life and it’s all just a bit of fun?”

Your lips part in annoyance at his blatant rudeness and the fact he is so openly judging you before bothering to properly get to know you.

“You-”

“You’ll be eaten alive” he muses, with a lazy smirk, walking backwards a few paces, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, “I’m not sure you can handle it”

Before you can even say anything, he gives a low laugh, deep in his chest, as if he’s so pleased with himself at getting a reaction, before striding back inside, back into the hustle and bustle of the event inside.

Irritation eats at your insides. It’s clear he’s only said what he did to draw a reaction and he’d nearly fucking got one. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t want to slap that stupid, self-assured look off his face when he expressed a kind of pride at talking down to you. As handsome as he is, a shitty personality paired with a nepo-baby attitude dulls the warmth in your gut.

I’m not sure you can handle it.

A shuddered, exasperated breath runs through your nose with the anger that builds inside.

“Fucking asshole”

I’ll show him.

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