𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖚𝖓𝖇𝖚𝖗𝖓𝖙

Aemond Targaryen in House of the Dragon 2.01

His eye, sharp and calculating, settled on the woman before him. Daenerys Stormborn, she had called herself. The name echoed in his mind, stirring something deep within him. She was a Targaryen, that much was clear, but her presence was more than that. She was like a figure drawn from the old Valyrian legends, a woman of fire and blood, standing tall and fierce with a dragon at her side.

He studied her in silence, taking in every detail of her Targaryen beauty. The silver of her hair caught the firelight, gleaming like molten silver, cascading down her shoulders in soft waves. Her violet eyes were sharp and intelligent, yet there was something deeper in them, something both ancient and youthful. Her skin was pale, smooth as marble, and she carried herself with a grace that spoke of both power and nobility. She was not a warrior in the way he had been, but there was a strength in her, a fire that matched the dragon at her back.

Her features were striking, reminding him of portraits he had seen of their ancestors, the dragonlords of Old Valyria. Yet, there was something uniquely hers about it all. She was both familiar and unknown, a reflection of his own bloodline, yet shaped by a different world, a different time.

For a moment, he found himself lost in that beauty. There was something mesmerizing about her, something that called to the very core of him. She was a reminder of what he had been, what he had fought for, the legacy of House Targaryen, the power of their blood, the unyielding spirit of their line. But she was also something new, something beyond the stories he had known.

As he watched her, a flicker of emotion crossed his usually guarded face. It wasn't just her appearance that drew him in, it was the way she stood, the way she looked at him with both caution and curiosity, the way she embodied everything their house had stood for. There was a fierce pride in her, but also a vulnerability that she kept hidden beneath the titles she wore like armour.

Aemond took a slow step forward, the weight of his gaze never leaving her. He could feel the warmth of the fire on his skin, the faint hum of magic in the air, but all of it seemed distant compared to the intensity of the moment. She was real, this was real, and yet, a part of him still struggled to believe it. He had been dead, lost in the abyss of the God's Eye, and now he was here, standing before another Targaryen who should not exist.

Slowly, cautiously, Aemond reached out, his hand trembling ever so slightly as it hovered just above her cheek. His fingers brushed against her skin, warm and soft beneath his touch. It was real, she was real. He cupped her face gently, his thumb tracing the curve of her cheekbone as if to confirm that she was not some figment of his imagination, some illusion conjured by the strange magic that had brought him back.

" Daenerys, " he murmured, the name carrying a weight that felt both ancient and new. " You are...like a vision from the past. A reminder of all that we are...and all that we could be. "

His eye held hers, searching for something, perhaps a recognition, perhaps an answer to the countless questions swirling in his mind. He could see the fire in her, the same fire that burned in him, the fire of their bloodline, of the dragons that had once ruled the skies.

" I am...Aemond, " he said, his voice steadying as he spoke his name. " Aemond Targaryen. Second son of King Viserys, rider of Vhagar...or at least, I once was. "

His hand lingered on her face for a moment longer before he let it fall back to his side. There was still so much he did not understand, why he had been brought back, why she was here, what this world had become in his absence. But for now, he was content to find his footing, to understand where he stood.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, a flash of his old self breaking through the confusion. " Tell me, my Queen, " he began, glancing down at his bare form with a hint of humour in his voice. " Might I trouble you for some clothes? It seems I've come back to life rather...underdressed. "

𝕾𝖍𝖊 𝖌𝖗𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖆𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖚𝖑𝖑 𝖍𝖊𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙, 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖙𝖎𝖑𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖚𝖕𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖘𝖙𝖚𝖉𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖋𝖆𝖈𝖊. There was a deep line extending from his forehead, over his eye and to his cheek. It was a nasty scar that Daenerys assumed to have once been a very painful and slow healing wound, but one that did nothing to diminish his beauty. In fact, the uniqueness of it may have even added to his appeal, not only in how he looked but through the types of questions that would arise from such a scar. What had he survived and was he a formidable opponent? Daenerys noted he had sharp features, a strong jawline and high cheekbones. An elegance complimenting his calm intensity and deep, liquid honey voice. Just as how Targaryen’s had always been described, his beauty was unrivalled.

𝕽𝖍𝖆𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖑 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖓𝖔 𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖚𝖘 𝖋𝖆𝖗. He remained by his mother, silently observing as the other Targaryen reached his hand out to bring it towards her. Just as she was curious about him, his actions would show that he was equally curious about her. In truth, Daenerys half expected this to turn into nothing more than a distant memory. One that would fade over time and leave her questioning if she ever truly experienced such a thing or if it she had simply dreamed something so vivid she could convince herself it was real. His fingertips, hesitating only briefly before brushing against her cheek, proved her wrong. Flesh against flesh, he was as human as she was. The blood of the dragon coursed through his veins, convincing her in this moment that it was fate that brought them together. It was no coincidence that she would come across caves long since sealed to find the only other Targaryen left. She was meant to find him.

𝕳𝖊𝖗 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖈𝖑𝖊𝖘 𝖇𝖊𝖌𝖆𝖓 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖆𝖝 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍, 𝖆 𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖗𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖜𝖆𝖗 𝖘𝖍𝖊’𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖊𝖓𝖌𝖆𝖌𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖓. ❝ Aemond Targaryen, ❞ Daenerys repeated after him, testing his name on her tongue. She only knew parts of the Targaryen history, most of her knowledge linked back to the stories her brother would share with her. She had heard of the Dance of Dragons, for Viserys always took great joy in talking about them. Even more than Aemond, it was the name of Vhagar that she recognized. ❝ My brother told me tales of the dragons and my ancestors, ❞ she spoke, and now it was her turn to reach out to delicately graze her fingers against the face of the man who stood before her. They traced below his scar, over smooth skin and down towards his chin, her eyebrows pulled together in fascination and contemplation. ❝ How is it possible? ❞ She would ask, her voice barely above a whisper. It was a question meant for neither of them, but for whatever force had brought Aemond Targaryen back to the land of the living all these years later.

𝕯𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖋𝖆𝖈𝖊, 𝖆 𝖈𝖚𝖗𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘 𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝖊𝖞𝖊𝖇𝖗𝖔𝖜𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝕬𝖊𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖉𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖆𝖘 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝕼𝖚𝖊𝖊𝖓. For now, she was pleased. To address her as such seemed to imply that he has no intentions of challenging her. Her gaze dipped down between them, however momentarily, before flicking back up to fall upon his face once more. A smile graced her lips, humor dancing across features that were lightly flushed pink. ❝ Until I can properly grant your request, this will have to suffice, ❞ she told him, slender fingers pulling at the ties that kept her cape on her shoulders. She allowed it to slide into her hands, which then situated the article of clothing around Aemond’s own broader shoulders. There was enough fabric for him to be able to hold it shut at the front, thus doing a decent job at covering him for now.

The icy waters of the God's Eye swallowed him whole.

The weight of his armour dragged him down, pulling him deeper into the cold, unforgiving abyss. Aemond's lungs burned as he fought against the crushing depths, each movement slower than the last. Vhagar's mighty roar echoed above, but soon even that faded, replaced by the muffled silence of the lake's dark embrace.

He could feel the life slipping from him, the furious heat of battle extinguished by the freezing waters. His last thoughts were of fire and blood; his family's words, the legacy he had fought so hard to uphold, all slipping away beneath the surface. A bitter finality settled over him. This was how it would end, his legacy submerged and forgotten, the gods watching in silence.

And then...nothing.

Time lost meaning in the abyss. Aemond had no way of knowing how long he remained in that watery grave. Days, years, centuries; it all blurred together into a void where even memory could not reach. Yet something kept him tethered, a thread of ancient magic perhaps, holding both his body and soul in suspension, waiting for a moment when the world would call him back.

Light.

It was blinding at first, a searing contrast to the darkness that had held him captive. Aemond's senses returned slowly, each one dragging him back into a world he no longer recognized. The ground beneath him was solid, the warmth of a distant fire radiating through his chilled bones. He drew in a deep, ragged breath, the air foreign yet strangely familiar. His fingers curled instinctively against the earth, as if testing the reality of it.

Then, he saw her.

Silver hair, catching the flicker of flames, framed a face that stirred something deep within him. Aemond's single eye fixed on the woman standing before him, her presence both commanding and ethereal. She was Targaryen, that much was clear. But she was not of his time, nor of his memory.

Who is she? The thought gnawed at him as he struggled to rise, his body protesting with each movement. The battle at the God's Eye felt like a distant nightmare, and yet, it was the last thing he remembered before darkness took him.

" Where... " His voice was a rasp, barely more than a whisper as he forced the word out. " Where am I? "

He looked around, trying to make sense of the world around him. The air was thick with the scent of the sea and the warmth of fire. The landscape was unfamiliar, this was not the godswood of Harrenhal, nor any place he had known in life.

Then his gaze drew back to her and he could see the depth of her violet eyes, filled with both strength and something else. Compassion? Curiosity? It unsettled him. In her, he saw echoes of the past, of dragonlords long gone, yet there was something new, something that did not belong to his time.

" You, " he breathed, forcing himself to focus on her. " I've seen you somewhere before. " His brow furrowed, frustration welling up in him as the memories refused to surface clearly.

The words tasted foreign on his tongue. He had always been a man of certainty, of purpose, and now all of that felt stripped away. What had happened to him? Why had he been pulled back from the brink of death only to find himself in a world he no longer understood?

𝕯𝖆𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖘 𝖐𝖓𝖊𝖜 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖉𝖗𝖆𝖜𝖓 her restless dragon, Rhaegal, to the mouth of the cave. No matter how she tried to call him back to her, he would keep returning to the same spot, crying and calling out to her while circling overhead. Covered in overgrown vines and showing signs of neglect, it would have been many years ago that someone last ventured inside. By now, it was long forgotten by humans, blending easily in with the environment that surrounded it. The caves were wide and large inside, spacious enough that one of her dragons would be able to accompany her. Drogon was her largest and the one she rode, but it was Rhaegal who was leading her. She walked with a torch in hand, time lost on her, until she had reached what she assumed to be the source of Rhaegal's agitation.

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖙𝖚𝖓𝖓𝖊𝖑 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖚𝖕 𝖎𝖓𝖙𝖔 𝖆 𝖗𝖔𝖔𝖒: a dead end where torches on the walls were already lit and burning brightly, providing a gentle warmth in the otherwise cold caverns that never saw daylight. Her gaze was drawn to the middle of the clearing, for upon the ground lay a young man. Long silver hair, much like her own, draped over his bare shoulders, face concealed save for the sharpness of his jaw. He was only just coming into consciousness when she approached, circling him with slow footsteps while she observed him. Friend or foe? She could not know for certain, but those who chose to make an enemy out of her were met with a fiery end. Trust did not come easy when so many had tried to kill her.

𝕳𝖎𝖘 𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖉 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖆𝖟𝖊, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕯𝖆𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖘' breath hitched in her throat, her movement halting and posture going rigid. It wasn't the fact that he had one eye--the other replaced by what she assumed to be a sapphire--that stunned her into silence, but the fact that his silver hair was accompanied by violet eyes. Another Targaryen. All this time, after the death of her brother, she had thought herself to be the last. If this was not a trick of magic, then who was he? There hadn't been so much of a whisper about another Targaryen, nothing that would have led her to believe that another one still walked this earth at the same time as her.

❝ 𝕴 𝖆𝖒 𝕯𝖆𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖗𝖞𝖘 𝕾𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖇𝖔𝖗𝖓 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕳𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖊 𝕿𝖆𝖗𝖌𝖆𝖗𝖞𝖊𝖓, ❞ Daenerys began to introduce herself, so effortlessly finding the authority and confidence she had claimed back for herself after the antics of her brother, the man responsible for making her feel so small and taking her voice from her. She'd gained a newfound respect from others and herself. Her gaze, both mesmerized and puzzled, never left his. He claimed to recognize her, but she was not sure that she recognized him. For that reason, she could not begin to understand when or where they would have intertwined. ❝ --The First of Her name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.❞

─── 𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖘𝖙𝖔𝖗𝖒 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖆𝖕𝖘𝖚𝖑𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖒 𝖜𝖆𝖘 dark and menacing, black clouds and heavy sheets of rain obscuring the clarity of the ground below and blanketing it in a thick veil of swirling shadow. The wind was fierce, and even despite the powerful drive behind Drogon’s musculature, it sapped his energy and forced him this way and that, bending him to the will of turbulent gales.

      Above the boisterous rumble of angry thunder, Drogon could just barely hear Dany’s voice, but he could feel it, her commands reaching somewhere inside of him and prompting him to head towards the ground. A powerful roar rumbled out from his open jaws as he obeyed, tired wings driving the weight of his body downwards into the black gloom below as the wind fought to push him in the opposite direction, threatening to send them both into a dangerous spiral.

𝕭𝖊𝖙𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖒𝖔𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕯𝖗𝖔𝖌𝖔𝖓 while he attempted to combat the harsh weather, swerving this way and that and turning so sharply that she feared she might be flung off, Daenerys was struggling to hold on and stay atop her dragon. She had both hands on two separate spikes, clutching tightly to them even as the cold from the elements sapped the feeling from her fingers. Fear gripped at her, but beyond that, burning brighter and stronger, was determination. This would not be the end of her story. It was only just beginning.

Dany's thighs burned and ached in her efforts to keep herself secured, squeezing even as rough scales scraped against her flesh. Try as she did, one sharp movement had been enough to make the Targaryen lose her seating. She found herself falling to the left, her grasp on the spikes impossibly tight while her weight tugged her downwards. All that was keeping her from plummeting to her death was her own two arms and hands, her legs no longer straddling the great beast. She was hanging off of one side of him, trying desperately to pull herself back up.

female awesome meme: [5/10] lead female characters