Haven't I Given Enough? (Always The Fool) - Aemond Targaryen

13: The Bed of Strong

Sunlight warmed her cheek, stirring her from the sleep she had managed to find.

Stretching awake, Harlys froze as she remembered all that had occurred overnight. She had flown on Vhagar to Dragonstone and gotten their terms accepted, returning before anyone noticed their absence, and now she laid peacefully in bed.

Beside Aemond.

Rolling over to face him, she watched the way his chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths. She had never been able to deny the fact that he was handsome, but never had she given a voice to her thoughts. Not once did she think she would get the chance. His silver hair was a mess from both sleep and the flight, but she was certain that hers was in a similar state.

And he still wore his eyepatch.

"Should I be worried that you're studying me so intently?" Aemond asked, voice hoarse with sleep, without opening his eye. She blushed, but did not look away.

She would not look away any longer.

"Worried, yes," She teased, a grin toying with her lips as he finally opened his remaining eye and turned so he was facing her. "But not about me, dear husband."

"Hm," He hummed, but they both knew the significance of her words. It was the first time she had addressed him as her husband—and meant it.

A quiet, content lull fell between them in which they studied the other in the soft glow of the morning light. Though Aemond still wore his eye patch, he had taken the tie out from his silvery hair, which flowed unbound over his shoulders and the pillows underneath. Tentatively, she toyed with a few strands, twisting them around and watching as they spun back to straight. Not once did she feel his attention stray from her face.

"Tell me about the scar." She asked, voice seemingly loud in the otherwise quiet room. She watched as he hesitated and lifted her gaze to his stare. This was not like all the other questions she had asked him previously; his scar was connected to one of the worst nights of his life, and had been his biggest insecurity since.

She reached a hand across the space between them and found one of Aemond's, easily threading their fingers together as if they had done so a thousand times before. He drew in a deep breath, and spoke.

"It was after I claimed Vhagar," He began. Subconsciously, she began brushing her thumb against his hand. "Baela and Rhaena were not pleased that I had done so, believing that Rhaena had a right to the beast, since it previously belonged to their mother."

Harlys, knowing the story already, watched Aemond closely.

"They had seen me riding Vhagar that night, and woke Jacaerys and Lucerys. The four of them confronted me in the tunnels when I tried returning to the castle." Her heart ached for young Aemond; it was the dragon that chose the rider, not the other way around, though she was certain he had a hand in playing the antagonizer in claiming Vhagar. But there was so much to consider when thinking about Aemond's childhood; the pressure he had been under to achieve and the lack of attention from his mother that he so desperately chased after. "There was an argument, and then a fight. Baela and Rhaena threw the first punches, but I had more training than them. Jace brought the knife, but it was Luke who took my eye."

She squeezed his hand under the covers. How afraid must he have been after that? Did he know that his nephews and cousins would cease the fight after taking his eye? Or did he believe the killing blow would come next?

"After, when we had been found by guards and brought to my father's chambers, my mother demanded that Rhaenyra give her Luke's eye in exchange for mine." She was horrified by his words, but not surprised. How was Aemond ever expected to have a chance when his mother made such claims? "I told her that I was fine with the way things had happened, that I got Vhagar for my troubles, but she was insistent. There was a struggle between my mother and Rhaenyra, and that is how the true queen got the long scar running down her forearm."