Opposition; Aemond Targaryen

twenty nine; the king who lived

Aemond never much liked being fawned over. He had experienced it too many times from his overbearing mother. Perhaps she was not being overbearing, but just a mother, whichever it was made him hate it regardless. It made him feel small, vulnerable, and as a prince growing up in the Red Keep you should be neither. 

So, when the maesters gathered around him prodding at him, servants fussing as they scrambled to bring him things of comfort, he scowled, unable to do much to stop them as his voice was hoarse. More than likely from the lack of using it. 

His wife, the queen, stood at the foot of his bed watching him carefully, a troubled look in her eyes as she stood their clad in nothing but a dressing gown, one arm folded across her waist, the other in her mouth as she chewed on her fist. 

She was elegance personified. The calm in the storm as others buzzed around her, but even with the chaos going on she never moved her eyes from him.  He could not do much but watch. His body was tired, complacent to stay in the same spot he had been for who knows how long.

He could see the stress in her eyes, the dark clouds that seemed to be brewing in them, the large circles under them, dampening her tan skin. She had been restless without him and for that he wanted to take her into his arms and apologize profusely. 

He could see the maester approach her, could not hear what he said to his wife, he could only observe. 

Aemond tried to force himself to sit up, managing to scoot up a few inches before wincing. He opened his mouth, forcing the words to make themselves known, "Naerys." he tried to say. It had come out more like a whisper, but she had been watching him closely enough to see it, even if she could not hear it. 

"Everybody out." Her loud voice commanded, her arms falling to her side as she rushed around the edge of the bed, almost as if she had fought herself to stay away long enough for the maesters to do their job.

"Your majesty," the nameless maester who had been steadily prodding Aemond since he awoke spoke from beside him. Naerys' eyes shot to the man, full of violet ire.

"You have assessed him, no?" Naerys cocked her head at the man, he bowed his head in response before nodding to the others. 

Quickly servants and maesters alike rushed out of the room, but not before mumbling prayers to both Aemond and Naerys.

"Long live the King." they had murmured in their departure. 

Aemond watched as they fled, silence overtaking the husband and wife. He did not need to look at her, knowing she was already staring at him. Staring at him like he was not real. 

King, they had called him. 

Naerys had succeeded in taking the Iron Throne, they had succeeded. 

Aemond forced his head to turn so that he may look at Naerys' face. He found her gaze locked upon his entire being, tears streaming down her face. 

Aemond reached a hand out to her, grasping her own delicate hands before attempting to pull her closer to him. 

Although his efforts were weak, she stumbled forward, gingerly scrambling to sit on the bed and be as close to him as she could without hurting him, but Aemond wasn't in pain, if anything this was his own personal heaven. 

His wife, the queen, standing before him like an ethereal angel, both of them alive and the rulers of the Seven Kingdoms.

Naerys wouldn't stop crying, she quickly reached up hastily wiping her tears away, "I'm sorry." She exhaled.