#sonolynn

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Aemond was a vice. He corrupted everything he touched and everyone he loved. He made the wind stop singing and the moon stop shining. At least, that was what everyone had told him, or made him, believe. 

But you were different. Somehow in this dark and cruel world Aemond found a beacon of light. He found you. You made him feel. Anything. Everything. All at once. He felt overwhelmed with you; How could someone like you-internally unsullied and outwardly unbroken by the horrors and disappointments of life-be so comforting to him, and yet also find comfort in him. 

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He laid his head on your chest, his large hands gripping your sides as you ran your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes, sighing as he melted in the embrace. You two said nothing yet a million things at once. “You’re safe with me.” “I love you.” “You’re going to be okay.” All these things circulated Aemond’s mind instead of the normal, self deprecated thoughts that lead him to do drastic things. 

He looked up at you, his eye softening as he caught you already staring at him. He breathed out slowly, his large palm stroking your sides absentmindedly. 

“You keep me sane.” He whispered, staring into your eyes as he slowly trailed kisses up your naked body. “Sane…comforted…” He murmured, his eye fluttering closed at the feeling of your soft skin against his chapped lips. “Loved.” He finally breathed out, before resting his forehead against the side of your neck. He’d often do this, breathing words that seemingly didn’t make sense, but felt like small praises to you. 

You smiled, looking down at your hands. You slowly laced your hands with his, admiring how they looked together-as if these two specific pairs of hands were always meant to melt into the hold of each other. 

“I am glad I can be such a comfort to you, Aemond. Just as you are to me.” You breathed out, bringing his hand up and kissing his knuckles. 

“Why?” He asked. 

“Why what?” 

“Why do you feel comforted by me when I am so broken?” 

You paused for a moment, thinking over your answer as you played with his long fingers. 

“Broken things can be mended.” 

“Sometimes I fear that I am too broken to be mended.” He sighed heavily, closing his eye and nuzzling his head against your neck.

“Perhaps it is the broken pieces that make you Aemond Targaryen. Perhaps it is the fact that you are so easily broken down that makes you the man that you are.” You replied. 

“That man sounds weak.” He scoffed, his hands tightening slightly around your hand and waist. He always feared that he would lose you. He would never leave you, you were too precious to him. You were too much of a comfort to him to let go, which in truth, is why he thought that you’d leave him someday. He depended on you and your comfort so much that he feared at times, it could be suffocating. 

But you didn’t mind. When you saw Aemond, you saw the broken boy of his youth, deprived of what he could have had; Love, affection, acceptance. You wished to give such things to him. You wished to make him want for nothing, as long as he had you. 

“That man sounds vulnerable,” You corrected, pulling away from him slightly to stare down into his lilac eye. “Vulnerability is what carves connection, Aemond.” At your words he hummed, sighing heavily as he replied, 

“Vulnerability kills people like me.” “Only if you are vulnerable to the wrong people.” She breathed out, remembering all the times he tried to be vulnerable with his mother, only to have her manipulate and abuse the vulnerability to try and get into her son’s mind. 

“Everyone seems to be the wrong person.” He replied. 

“Everyone? Even me?” You asked. 

“No. Never you.” He answered. 

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“You burned down Sharp Point?” You questioned, and the offense in your tone almost made Aemond flinch. Aemond clenched his jaw, holding his hands behind his back as he looked out over the terrace. 

“It needed to be done.” “Why? To prove your worth? Solidify the fact that you will stop at nothing if it means to gain something?” You almost laughed at the notion, and Aemond’s anger got stronger. How dare you question him? The Prince Regent, the protector of the realm? 

“I have my reasons.” He answered. 

“Reasons you have yet to share with me-” “I needn’t share everything I do with you. You have no taste for political jargon such as this.” You scoffed as he spoke, staring up at him in disbelief. 

“Political Jargon? Aemond you killed and harmed innocents.” 

“The cost of war.” Your heart stopped. You didn’t expect him to be so callous, so heartless when it came to the very civilians that the crown deepened on. Suddenly, he continued, “I must go to Harrenhal.” 

“Why?”

“To face my uncle.”

“And if you die?” 

“At least it will be done in battle.” He spoke, you softened. Aemond would never admit it, but he did fear death, the great beyond that no one knew about nor wished to experience. You stepped forward, gently wrapping your hand around his. A gesture not of forgiveness-you thought that you could never forgive him, for being so cruel-but a gesture of comfort. Because even if Aemond was a cruel man, he was no monster, at least not in the depths of his heart. And even if he was, monster’s needed comfort too. 

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The next morning Aemond would leave for Harrenhal. You watched as he readied his horse to ride to Vhagar. You studied him, looking for any signs of anxiety or uncertainty. But of course, you saw none. Aemond was good at the mask he wore, good at keeping it on but never good at taking it off. 

You stepped forward, taking his hand in both of yours. He looked down at your hands for a moment, before he sighed and brought the hand up to his lips. 

“I will return.” He murmured, kissing the soft skin of your knuckles. You smiled at the feeling, sighing softly as you spoke, 

“I have no doubts that you won’t.” Aemond seemed pleased by this. He leaned down, pressing his lips against yours in a quick, hurried manner before pulling away. He studied you for a moment, not because he was afraid to forget your face in the eye of death, but because he needed a reminder of what he wished to come home to, of what was at stake. 

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The news of Aemond’s death came to you quickly, and in the dead of night as you sat by the fire. A guard had come to you with the news. 

Your husband has passed, princess. At the hands of Daemon Targaryen. 

You felt your world crumble and your very being shaken. He had died, fighting like a true Targaryen. Yet the notion did not comfort you. It did not bring you solace to know that your husband had died like a Targaryen. You had longed for his arms, for his loving gaze and gentle caresses. 

Grief did not even begin to describe how much pain you felt. You had lost your husband, your childhood friend, everything that you had based yourself around; your past, present, and your future, gone. 

You screamed, as the servants gossiped, for days. You cried until your eyes bled, and you screamed until your throat felt as though it would throw itself up. 

You blamed Alicent for making her son like this. You blamed Viserys for never being there. You blamed Daemon for landing the killing blow on your husband. But, you feared that above all you blamed yourself. 

You could not have stopped the murder of your husband, nor his inevitable death, but the idea-the slightest notion-that you could have held him back for mere moments, or that you could have asked him to suspend the trip, genuinely anything to make him stay. Yet you didn’t, and the idea gnawed at you. 

Not even a full moon after Aemond’s death you died of what only the Maester’s could describe as heartbreak. And in the afterlife he waited for you. And there was light in the darkness again.

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You stood aimlessly behind the bar, humming softly to yourself as you cleaned the dirty pints in front of you. This was how you spent most of your mornings; cleaning the dirty cups, trays, tables, pints etc etc, only to fill them up later and throw them in the hands of extremely intoxicated men. But, every night came with the same routine. 

Drunk men. 

Filling and empty pints.

Cleaning tables. 

Aegon. 

That was the order in which your night always seemed to go. And you always looked forward to when the drunken prince would stumble his way into the brothel and make his way over to her. There were times when Aegon would find himself in the bed of one of the ladies, but he would always make a point to walk his way over to the bar, sit down, and have a “pint”.

In truth the pint was just water, because you did not wish for him to get sick. 

And, in truth, Aegon knew this, but he indulged you nonetheless. 

“A moment of your time?” Aegon asked softly, a goofy smile on his face as he slid two dragon coins over to you. You rolled your eyes, accepting the coins. 

“And what would you like to discuss today, my prince?” You smiled at him, leaning over the edge of the bar, tilting your head slightly in Aegon’s direction. You had always found him captivating. The premise of how someone could look like they washed their hair in straight olive oil and yet look devilishly handsome always made the gears turn inside of your head. 

“Well…My mother is a raging cunt,” Aegon frowned gently, shrugging as he reached over the bar and grabbed himself a full pint, “and she seems to not like it when I have fun.” 

“You do spend half of the Targaryen wealth on this particular brothel, my prince.” You smiled softly as he drank the pint, knowing you were in for a long night. 

“I do not understand her. She says I ought to be in the library. Studying.” At his words, your eyebrows furrowed. Aegon? With his head inside of some books? That was like asking him to stay sober for more than three hours at a time. 

“For what exactly?” 

“That,” Aegon said while pointing his pint straight at you, “Is exactly what I said. She wants me to study, and yet she will not tell me why. She wants me in the training yard for a war that has not happened in a decade, she wants this, she wants that! It is sickening how much she expects of me, really.” You listened carefully as Aegon spoke. It was often that he would come in and spew his disheartening thoughts about his mother. You had grown to expect it honestly; if it was a day in which Aegon did not come in and rant about his mother, then perhaps it was a good day. 

“She is your mother, my prince-” 

“Aegon.” He corrected. He had a habit of doing such-correcting you in the middle of your thoughts. 

“Aegon,” You spoke teasingly, before bending down and grabbing a dirty tray. “And you are her firstborn. Such things are natural for a mother.”

“And you would know?” Aegon spoke with annoyance, but his face softened slightly as he realized what he said. “Fuck. I’m sorry I-”

“I’m not offended, Aegon. You are right; I do not know what it is like to have a real mother,” You leaned forward, your eyes gazing into his own as you smiled softly. “But what is common knowledge is the fact that mother’s only wish the best for their children. Hence, perhaps, why she has such high standards for you.” 

Aegon went silent at that. He didn’t wish to correct you. You did not know Alicent like he did, obviously; She was his mother, and he lived with her. Yet, it never felt like she had his best in mind. More so, he thought quietly to himself whenever you would say such things, or when his mother would berate him, that she only had survival on her mind; Only thinking of her best, no one else's. 

“Sometimes, I think these standards are too high.” 

“What if you are just not reaching far enough?” 

“Everytime I try to grab at or even meet her standards it is like she raises them!” Aegon angrily slams his drink on the table, his face now slightly flushed. “She does not let me get to these standards of hers. And I do not think I ever will.” His voice faltered, and when you looked up, you noticed the glossy nature of his eyes. You frowned softly and you placed your hand over his, a comforting gesture that wasn’t remotely comforting in a situation like this. 

“Aegon-” “Dont.” He spoke more harshly than he meant to, but you didn’t take offense. You never did. 

“I did not mean to hurt you.” You spoke softly, as if a slight infliction or raise in your tone would set the gates flooding open. 

“You didn’t. You never do.” 

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Aegon sat in his chambers later that evening, his mind reeling with the words you had spoken. He thought to himself over and over again about the way your words felt. 

“What if you are just not reaching far enough?” 

In truth the words stung, they hurt like hell and even though he knew them to be true, he never once thought that they would come from you. 

As he sat, and pondered, he made a silent promise to himself.

He would make everyone around him proud. He would reach as far as he could, strive to be the best. If at all to make you recant your words. Or, he would give up entirely, perhaps run away and sail as far as he could. 

In Aegon’s mind, he seemed to enjoy the latter. The idea of running away and starting a new life with a new name in a new place was seducing beyond comprehension. But, how would he do it? 

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Eat, clean, wash, repeat. You told yourself. You were ready for another boring, dull day. One just like the others, and only continuing the next day. As you were cleaning, Aegon walked in, a set determination on his features. You had never seen him look so determined in the multitude of years that you had been by his side. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and you opened your mouth to speak but Aegon shook his head. 

“I have a proposition for you.” He spoke hurriedly. That's when you noticed his attire. The hood around his face, and the shitty clothes that he wore. You had never seen Aegon so dressed down, and never had you expected to see it. 

“A proposition?” You spoke softly, cleaning the mug carefully as you eyed him. His determined face didn’t falter, and before you knew it, Aegon grabbed your hand, and dragged you towards an empty room. Once inside the room you stumbled back, giving him a look. 

“Aegon what is this about? You cannot just drag me away from-” “Run away with me.” He spoke hurriedly, like time was chasing him, which, in truth, it very well could be.  You stared at him for a while, your mind refusing to actually comprehend the fact that a Taragryen Prince just asked you, a barmaid, to run away with him. 

“You jest-”

“Maybe before but not now.” Aegon walked closer to you, gently taking your arms in his calloused hands as he stared you down. “What you said yesterday made me realize that I would never be enough. Not for my father, nor my mother, nor anyone. But you..” He trailed off, staring into your eyes. His heart skipped a beat, at least he thought. He did not know truly. 

“But me..?” The words that came from Aegon’s lips confused you like none other. He had many drunken rants before, but this, even though a “sober” thought, was hard for your mind to comprehend. 

“You think me better than what I was made for.” His voice dropped, and he placed his hands on your face, cupping your jaw with the utmost tenderness. “You are my one true friend.” 

“I do not see how this correlates-” 

“It does! I swear to you it does.” His voice dropped, a pleading and pathetic sound. You didn’t seem convinced. 

“Aegon you’re drunk-” You moved to get away from him, but he grabbed your arm and pulled you close to him. 

“Not this time.” He spoke, his eyes piercing into yours. “You’ve always said your life, as it is now, is just as strenuous as it is boring. It needn't be! Not anymore!” “Aegon, this is ridiculous! You speak nonsense-”

“I have enough money to pay for a ship, or-or a carte ride! One that will take us as far as Winterfell or as far as Dorne.” “The..North? Dorne? Aegon this is madness! You speak of giving up your luxuries, your pleasures-” 

“Pleasures and luxuries be damned, I wish to be free!” He raised his voice slightly, but only a bit. He whispered your name, his eyes softening and his hands itching to touch you. “Free, y/n. Just as you do! If we run away we would never need to know boredom again.” 

You listened to his words, because oh did they sound tempting. Running away with your one friend to a new land and masking new identities. It was thrilling, and it was risky beyond comprehension but you couldn’t shake the feeling of excitement that laced through your veins with every word that he spoke. But, even with the excitement came logical reasoning. 

“Money and coin do not last forever, Aegon.” “ I am a prince. I can get us enough coin to be comfortable for the first couple months. Then, well, then we may work, and trade, just as the common folk do.” 

“You? Work? That is more unbelievable than the notion of running away.” 

“Do not jest with me! Now is not the time for you to jest!” He stared at you, watching you as you mentally went through all the downsides and upsides to running away with him. But, the longer you took the more restless he got. “I am leaving tonight, late in the evening around the twenty-third hour. I will be waiting at the docks. If you come you come, but if you don’t, we will never see each other again.” 

And with that, Aegon gave you one more look over before he rushed himself away, clear on his intentions. 

You stood, absolutely shocked. How dare he? He comes to you whilst you are working and demands that you make a decision in less than a mere few hours? This was a life altering decision, one that very well could get you killed if you were found.  

Maybe it was the adrenaline of getting caught, or the idea of living a life of comfort with your dear friend. Perhaps the latter, perhaps both. But which ever it was, caused you to start packing your bag, taking a few changes of clothes and a necklace, the nicest thing you owned. 

You gave yourself a once over as you threw the hood over your head, staring at the mark on your chin. You ran your finger over it for a moment before you turned, grabbed your bag and left your brothel room for the final time. 

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Aegon stood at the dock, placing two gold coins in the crewmate's palm. The crewmate bowed, a small “thank you, my prince”, before he rushed off. The hour was almost at the twenty fourth, and with a reluctant sigh Aegon tried to mentally prepare himself for the trip alone. But, then he heard your voice. He immediately turned, smiling widely as he saw you. 

You ran up the dock, panting softly as you stood in front of him. 

“I cannot possibly let you drink yourself to death. At least, not alone.”

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