⸻ ( Aemond Targaryen )
The blood on her lips tastes like religion, like a poem, like the way he looks at her. In the blissful night, with hands as gentle as rain, she will strangle him.
( house of the dragon ) • 2022
( editing in progress )
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129 AC the third day of the sixth moon
CORLYS VELARYON deserved to be eaten by a leviathan. Aemond stepped off the carriage in front of the sprawling stone palace before him. Ornate statues were perched on the eaves and climbing wisteria dressed the ivory columns of the portico with an obscene shower of flushing blooms.
Sightless faces of dragons, sphinxes, manticores and other strange beasts watched him silently as if judging his very existence. Relics of the past; remnants of his ancestry that still flowed through his veins. The sun blazed above and the balmy air was choked with the cloying scent of spiceflower perfume. It reminded him of the Street of Silk back home.
Loose stone crunched beside him as his nuncle alighted from the same carriage. His dark violet eyes swept over the grounds and entranceway with cat-like familiarity. An amused smirk twisted Daemon's lips as he remarked, "I see they've decorated for us."
Aemond grunted with indifference. He would not have been there if not for his father's insistence though he would have preferred to accompany the Sea Snake himself instead of his uncle. But Daemon was the only other at Lord Corlys' side when they made their clandestine accords with the Lyseni during the Battle for the Stepstones. A war waged before Aemond was even born and now the Lyseni have returned for their recompense.
It could have been worst; at least it was not his grandfather. Gods forbid, it could have been Lyman Beesbury. Fortunately, the man would not have been able to survive the voyage to Lys and it would have been a shame for his father to lose his Master of Coin.
The large bronze doors were thrown open by unseen servants and a man walked out to greet them. He looked young though the thin lines across his face betrayed his true age, with short dark golden hair that curled at the edges around his neck. Daemon strode forward to clasp the man in an affable manner, grins adorning their faces as they exchanged exuberant pleasantries.
Aemond allowed his eye to survey the palace walls towering above him and he noticed a flicker in one of the windows. A face peeking from behind gossamer curtains before quickly disappearing with a swirl of tawny gold locks.
