006. A True Targaryen

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Aemond lay against the Weirdwood tree, his hands tearing up the blades of grass closest to him, throwing them away from him carelessly. It had been weeks since Aemma had spoken to him, and she would purposely turn and walk away from her every time he saw her in the halls. She had even refused to apologise for pushing him into the pond when his mother had demanded it. 

He kept wondering what had gone wrong. He had been truthful; he refused to lie to Aemma. Everyone could tell Aemma, and her brothers, were Harwin Strong's children. It was obvious. He had no mind of potentially marrying Aemma, and the thought even made him smile. But his mother would never allow such a thing. She would demand he marry a trueborn lady. Yet, when he explained this to Aemma, she pushed him into the pond and stormed off. And even after so many weeks, Aemma refused to acknowledge him.

He couldn't be blamed for the truth, could he?

He pulled up a large clump of grass, throwing it away from him. The weeks without Aemma had been painful. He missed her company immensely. None of the other occupants of the Red Keep made him feel as warm inside as Aemma did. Her absence had resulted in a noticeable souring of Aemond's mood, with the young prince moping and glowering around the castle. 

The shift had been noticeable enough for Queen Alicent to notice and realise it wasn't just Aemond being a moody teen. 

"The Weirwood Tree has always been a place of solace for me," Alicent said, sitting herself down beside Aemond, "I don't think it would appreciate you tearing up its grass,"

"I don't care," Aemond grumbled, picking at the blades more aggressively. 

Alicent stayed where she was, unsure what the best way to go about talking to her angry child was. She'd never been great at nurturing her children, but she tried her hardest each time. 

"What's troubling your mind? You haven't seemed," Alicent paused, choosing her words carefully, "yourself lately,"

"Yes, I have. I'm always like this," Aemond frowned, glaring at his mother from under his eyelashes. 

Alicent sighed, picking at the skin around her nails. The silence was suffocating, and Alicent struggled to find her next words. 

"You're married," Aemond finally said, grabbing more fistfuls of grass.

"Yes, I am, to your father," Alicent said sweetly, but her smile didn't reach her eyes, "It's been an honour. An honour you'll one day feel with your own wife,"

"What do you do when you get into fights with the King," Aemond asked, staring down at his hands.

"Why do you ask?" Alicent questioned, not wanting to tell her son that she had never won a single fight. 

"I mean, if you said something that was actually true, and she - I mean the King," Aemond corrected himself, not meeting his mother's prying eyes, "If the King didn't like it and got mad about it, what would you do? I mean, you told the truth, it's not-"

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