An Eye For A Lie

7.Reunions

"That is not my brother," Daemon lamented sourly. "He looks like a lifeless corpse!"

"I believe we should also consult Maester Gerardys," Rhaenyra suggested. "Perhaps if he can examine the King, he can recommend a better course of treatment."

Aelyria continued to listen, being lost at words of what she was hearing. Her parents described in detail the meeting they had with the King, and his conditions were nothing short of deplorable. Her siblings shared the same horrified expressions, and concern was deeply engraved on their faces.

It made her stomach churn at the thought of seeing her sweet grandsire like that, and she dreaded the moment she would have to.

She sank into the plush cushions, throwing away the gruesome mental image she had created.

"I don't trust a word that comes out from that whore of a Queen's mouth," Daemon said with spite. "These snakes are poisoning him!"

"If that were the case, he would have met his end long ago, my love," Rhaenyra tried to reason.

Aelyria shook off her head, her gaze wandering aimlessly, landing on the crackling fireplace. The dancing flames cast eerie shadows on the walls, mirroring the turmoil within her. She absentmindedly traced the intricate patterns on the armrest, her mind consumed by the heated exchange she had with Aemond.

"What makes you think you deserve peace, sweet niece?" His voice echoed in her head, intermingling with her parents' anxious murmurs.

It was a dangerous dance between them, reminding her of the ever-present darkness lurking.

The lies, the truth, the pull, the push.

She tried to dismiss her conflicted emotions as foolishness, a weakness she couldn't afford in the midst of her family's trials. But the truth gnawed at her, refusing to be ignored.

Aelyria saw glimpses of vulnerability in Aemond, buried beneath layers of bitterness and resentment. There was something broken within him, something that mirrored her own inner turmoil.

Her mind fluttered at the moment his hand wrapped around her throat, holding her close. Adrenaline coursed through her body as she felt captivated by his touch, reveling in the sensation of his fingers on her skin.

A sick pleasure ran through her when the pressure of his grip tightened around her neck, feeling more alive than ever. Her fingers tentatively touched the area, retracing the sensation he had created —a necklace of animosity and longing. She both ached and recoiled at the feeling, her mind in chaos.

Wild and willful indeed, she tutted at herself.

Long gone was the lonely silent boy she knew, in his stead was a grown man now, handsome and proud.

"...missing an arm, an eye along with half of his face! His body is rotting from inside and out! What kind of illness can cause all of this?"

"...the King's health has always been frail but now it's deteriorating rapidly. We must be prepared for whatever comes next."

His long silver hair spilled like a river of molten gold, cascading over his broad shoulders. And his figure was lean and tall, his chest and arms subtly more pronounced than the rest of his body —a testament to all the years of honing his skills in sword training, she figured.

His presence was majestic, even his walk had caught her eye, confident and vain, with an unapologetic air of self-assuredness.

"...where were you, my sweet? The King asked about you?"

Only a vain man would wear perfume —lemon, that stung her bitter like the truth, lilac, that reflected proudly his indigo eye as the royal blood of Old Valyria— and as his reputation foretold, his spirit was relentless and unforgiving.